Post-Modern Prometheus Part 4
It was quiet – quiet, warm, and comfortable – a far cry from the hospital bed that Fleischer last remembered lying on. When he finally pried his eyes open, he confirmed that he was in a bed, and, not even a hospital bed. He was immediately treated to a piercing headache, though, and pressed a hand to his forehead, wincing. There was no tug – no resistance from restraints, and that in and of itself was at least some reassurance.
No restraints, a regular bed, and – and a regular room?
Fleischer sat up quickly – and immediately regretted it. He gave a small, uncomfortable groan, and covered his face with his hands as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Once the world had stopped tilting and lurching, at least a little, he forced his eyes open again to get a proper look at the room.
It was about as far removed from the other places that Fleischer had woken up in as it could possibly get. There were no ceiling tiles, or
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 2
"It is absolutely imperative that we test his cognitive functions."
The voice was male, distant, and quite adamant. Fleischer wasn't entirely sure, in the dark, whether it belonged to someone, or if he was just dreaming it. His uncertainty, however, didn't stop it from speaking.
"Without a baseline, we can't be certain of the effects the alterations will have on mental condition – we don't want a team of vegetables."
Fleischer finally managed to force his eyes open, and found himself staring up at another set of ceiling tiles. His body was slow to respond, but he did steal a glance around the room. It was another hospital room – but, too new and too small to be his familiar infirmary. His was the only bed present – and, he was strapped down to it.
"Ah, you're awake," the voice spoke, again.
The Medic's attention was quickly drawn to its source – another doctor. The man wasn't in a League Medic uniform, though – just a re
Post-Modern Prometheus Part 1
'Respawn'. That was what they called it.
'It' seemed like nothing more than a supply room, with a cold tile floor, and a fairly boring tile ceiling. The tiles seemed to shift, move, and waver, but it was the bright lights that Fleischer finally closed his eyes against. He forced them open again when he heard someone enter the room – heard footsteps approaching him. It hardly mattered, though; the figures – three of them – were entirely too blurry to make out their faces. He could only assume that the one that kneeled next to him was a Medic, given the blurry white blob that seemed to occupy the space from his neck down, in the vague shape of a lab coat.
The other Medic said something, but the words were lost in the low, pulsing thrum that seemed to be coming from inside of Fleischer's own skull. The sound of the three figures talking amongst each other was entirely too much – as were the lights, and that incessant buzzing, and