One of the man's gloved hands crossed my field of vision, scanning the air above my head as if to make sure I was still alive.
It had been almost an hour since the injection, yet the burning sensation persisted in my veins, as if molten metal were still flowing beneath my skin.
I followed the hand with my gaze, unable to move more than my eyes. My body was a heavy, broken carcass.
After a few seconds, the man withdrew his hand and turned to a small steel table. There he retrieved a container of water, lifted it with exaggerated slowness, then brought the neck close to my lips.
"You wouldn't want to die of thirst, would you?"
His voice was calm, almost gentle, as if he were speaking to a child.
The water touched my lips.
I swallowed the liquid engrossingly.
It was tepid, bland, barely refreshing, but it didn't matter. My throat was a desert, a living wound that tightened with every breath. I would have drunk anything at that moment.
But with the first sip, a searing pain exploded in my stomach.
I coughed violently, water gushing from my mouth, some of it running down my chin, soaking my chest. A moan escaped my lips as my body protested, unable to accept anything after what it had just been put through.
The man tilted his head slightly, observing my distress with mild interest.
"Ah... Your system's still adapting."
His gloved hand grazed my neck, just below my jaw, to feel my pulse. His touch made me shiver with disgust.
"Don't worry," he continued. "Within a few hours, your body will accept fluids again. If you're still alive, that is."
He set the container back down on the steel table with a little clack, then straightened up, absentmindedly smoothing a crease in his blouse.
I was still out of breath, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped animal.
My mind was racing.
Infusion.
What's it doing to me?!
I could still feel the foreign energy writhing inside me, searching my insides, looking for something.
I was cold and hot at the same time. My body no longer belonged to me.
And he... this man...
He was waiting.
Watching me as if I were a lab rat. As if my life was just a test result.
I gritted my teeth, I wanted to at least spit in his face, but even that my body refused to grant me.
So I just stared at him, mustering what little strength I had left to make him understand, through my eyes, all the hatred I could contain.
He flashed a faux-saintly grin before speaking with a pedagogical air.
"There, there. You shouldn't react like that, you know, it's a great opportunity you've got, you should be overjoyed." He ran his hand through my hair and I felt my rage and disgust only increase.
"You don't understand, do you?" He spoke with a flat tone and a hint of disappointment.
He remained silent for a moment, scrutinizing me as one would a defective object. Then, slowly, he removed his gloves, sliding them down his wrists with an almost ceremonial detachment.
"You feel the burn, don't you?" His tone was neutral again, devoid of the slightest pity.
I closed my eyes for a moment. The burn? No. It wasn't just a burn. It was as if something was gnawing at me from the inside, as if it wanted to devour me.
I took a shaky breath, and pain pulsed in my chest.
"What you're feeling is the Essence trying to merge with your body," he continued, as if lecturing a recalcitrant student. "Infusion is a process... brutal, to be sure. But necessary."
He took a step to the side, moving towards a screen hanging on the wall. With a fluid gesture, he pressed a few keys, and graphics appeared, projecting waves of light in fluctuating colors.
"As you probably know, all living beings are born, regardless of ancestry or race, with a reserve of pure energy called essence. This essence is capable of giving a person supernatural abilities..." He swiveled slightly towards me, an analytical twinkle in his eye. "the problem ways you is that although an essence awakening is common, it's still too weak and difficult to improve."
he returned to me with a poised gait. "That's where the infusion comes in. To put it simply, it forces this reserve to awaken prematurely, and at the same time it forces your body to adapt, to evolve."
Just shut up! I said, writhing in pain. How could he speak so calmly in this situation?
I struggled to keep my eyes open, but every word sank into my mind like a white-hot blade.
"If you survive," he continued, crossing his arms, "then you'll have potential far beyond human ability. Isn't that wonderful?"
I let out a bitter, broken laugh.
Wonderful? Grateful?
They'd torn me from my cell, tied me to that table, injected me with that... thing... without my consent, and he dared to speak to me of gratitude?
My jaw clenched, sending a wave of pain all the way to my temples.
"Go... fuck... yourself..."
It was barely a whisper, but I knew he'd heard me.
He didn't react immediately. He just watched my trembling, the uncontrolled twitching of my clenched fingers.
Then, slowly, a smile appeared beneath his mask.
A tiny smile, almost imperceptible, but terribly sincere.
"Good," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Very good."
He seemed to jot something down on a small device before looking up.
"So keep fighting, subject 37." His tone was lower, almost amused. "That's what makes it... interesting."
He turned away, and let the silence settle.
Only the erratic beating of my heart and the echo of his poisonous words remained.