Chapter Text
"What's two plus two?"
I'd like to answer, I really would. I can feel my frustration mounting as my body refuses to respond. Matter of fact, I can't even feel most of my limbs.
"Ffff?" I try. At least I made a sound that time.
"Incorrect. What's two plus two?"
"Ffooouuhhh."
"Incorrect. What's two plus two?"
Four. Four, for Pete's sake. Four! I glance from side to side, and I don't like what I see. What is this place?
A hospital, I answer myself. It must be. Why else would I have this breathing mask? And — oh, gosh, that doesn't look good — tubes everywhere. Literally everywhere. I close my eyes, breathing hard. Call me a little squeamish, but I don't think anyone's ever been exactly partial to the idea of metal jammed deep into their skin, filling them with who-knows-what and —
Okay. This line of thinking isn't helping. I need to focus and accomplish something. Is the robot voice still listening to me?
"Four!" I shout, and praise the Powers That Be, it comes out clear. Hurts my throat a little, though.
"Correct," say the voice. "What's the cubed root of eight?"
Seriously? I try to lift my head. It doesn't go very well. "Two times e to the two-i-pi."
"Incorrect. What's the cubed root of eight?"
Okay. Not built for testing my intelligence, just my presence of mind. I can handle that, I guess, even as freaked out as I am. "Two."
"Correct."
I wait for a moment. "What? No more math problems?"
The computer doesn't respond. I guess that leaves me free to figure out what the heck is going on. Which might be difficult, given that I still can't feel my legs. Or my hands. Or even my stomach, for that matter. Am I hungry? I have no idea.
With some effort and non-profanities, I manage to get my head up so I can look around. It's not looking good. What kind of accident could have caused...this? I can't see any physical injuries on myself, although one of my arms is kind of curled up under this weird feather —
Oh. My gosh.
I had thought I was lying on a feather blanket. Weird, sure, but what about this isn't? But when I look closer, I can see it's too oddly arranged, even bony in some parts, and I just know.
Those are wings.
I'm lying on wings.
"What...?"
My head drops back to the bed even though I want to stare at them forever. The weirdest part is...they looked like they were coming right out of my back.
But that's impossible. Someone must have cut off a giant bird's wings and stuck them in a hospital patient's bed, right?
Right?!
This nightmare is getting more insane by the minute. I want to figure everything out right now, but I'm so tired I feel like I might fall asleep in the middle of pulling off the electrodes on me or something. Should I be doing that? My mind racing, I drift back into sleep.
Waking up is less scary. The robot voice is conspicuously absent, and I'm numb (not sore!), so for a moment I can forget about all the tubes, even the one up my butt.
Yeah, okay, it's not a great morning. But you have to take the little victories as they come, you know?
I open my eyes to asses the situation. As far as I can tell, everything is exactly as I left it. Which is kind of odd. If I was in a hospital, I'd see some sign of human activity. Maybe I'm being quarantined. I don't feel sick, though. I actually feel a heck of a lot better this morning, and I think it's time to use that feeling to my advantage.
Okay. One thing at a time. Experimentally, I lift my head. That works. I lift my arms. Those work, too, although I still can't really feel them.
"Hand motion detected." The robot voices comes without warning and scares the crap out of me. "Remain still."
"What? Why —"
The robotic arms move blindingly fast. Within seconds, all the tubes and electrodes are gone from my body, except the butt tube, the IV, and the catheter. Well, it's progress, for sure, if a little terrifying. I've been freed.
Mostly.
I sit up to the best of my abilities. I feel really heavy. I'm probably just tired.
I look back. The wings came with me.
"Holy!" I whisper. So they are literally attached to my back. Maybe I'm a genetic experiment. I'm in a supervillain's underground lab and he's got hundreds of modified soldiers just waiting to do his evil bidding. Yeah, sure, that sounds about right.
But hey, I can't jump to conclusions. Maybe they're not growing out of me. I swallow back my racing heartbeat and tentatively try to reach that awkward shoulder-blade spot that's hard to get at on a good day.
My breathing hitches. Oh, they're growing out of me, alright.
It really sinks in then. Wings. I am a human with wings.
Why?!
It's a good question, but not one I can answer right now. I wrack my brain. Did something happen to me? Did I fall in a vat of radioactive slop? Get kidnapped by aliens? Was I in a freak car accident involving an eagle?
...have I ever even driven a car?
"Wait," I say aloud, because seriously? I should know this. I probably drive to work every day, right? That's something people do. That's something I would do.
It comes to me slowly, in a crescendo of panic. I don't know. I can't remember a single day of my life.
"What's my name?!" I ask the computer. It has no answers for me. I look around the room, spotting two bunks identical to mine. A wave of relief crashes over me. People, finally. "Hey! You two!" There's no response. "What are we doing here? Hello? Are you awake?"
In my anxiety, I've moved a little too close to the edge. I very nearly tip off the bed, managing at the last possible second to right myself.
"Full-body motion detected," says the computer. "What's your name?"
"You tell me!" Please, tell me.
"Incorrect. Attempt number two: what's your name?"
"Hello! Please, someone, wake up!"
"Incorrect. Attempt number three: what's your name?"
"I've got wings and I don't know who I am or why I'm —"
"Incorrect." Something discoloured sweeps through my IV and I'm suddenly exhausted.
"No, wait. What's my name?"
The robot arms push me back into the bed.
"Do those two have wings?!"
I fall unconscious without learning anything at all.
"What's your name?"
My first conscious thought is, I am really getting tired of that voice.
My second is, I can play this smart. I may not remember my name, but there's a limited number of things it can be, right? That number may be in the millions, but hey, you try coming up with a better plan.
I take a breath and say very clearly, "Juh."
"Incorrect. Attempt number two: what's your name?"
Huh. So my mouth still isn't working quite right. I chew on my tongue for a minute until I'm sure I've got it. "John."
"Incorrect. Attempt number three: what's your name?"
Crap. Where do I go from here? Paul, George, Ringo? (Maybe I used to be a huge Beatles fan.) No, screw that. I've got a better plan.
"Bite me." As the computer begins to speak, I steel myself and rip the IV out of my arm.
It hurts! It's like getting stung by a wasp!! The creepy robot arms jerk into motion and I panic, unbalancing my hammock bed and entering a state known as free fall.
Two electrodes that I missed are yanked right out of "my" (my!) wings. They each take a clump of feathers with them. Imagine getting your hair pulled out by a blender.
At the same time, the still-inflated catheter rips out of me. And that, well. I scream. Loud and high-pitched.
"Physical distress," says the computer. The robot arms come after me. Nope, nope, nope! I scramble backward under the bed. It's just out of their reach, but unfortunately for me, they're computers with endless patience and I've got nowhere to go.
I spend a few minutes squirming and not-crying. Of all the things I was expecting to happen today, "intense pain in my penis and wings" didn't make it onto the list. Yeah, I can feel my wings now. My brain's not quite used to them, so any sensation is hard to pinpoint, but all in all it's a little like having an extra pair of arms. You know, that thing we can all relate to.
With a few final hitching breaths, I make myself sit up. The robot arms rise a little to match my movement. At this point, I'm a little spooked, but mostly ... mostly, I'm really curious. And I think it's time to find out what the heck these things on my back are.
I try to flex them. They twitch. Wow, I'm sore.
I try to lift them. They lift, but they're heavy. I wrap them around my knees and stare at them. They're dark blue on the outside, kind of like a heron, with tan-ish feathers on the inside. Something about the colour sparks a sense of familiarity. Puzzled, I scratch my head, and then it occurs to me. I tug a little of my short hair down into my eyes to be sure. The inside feathers are the exact same colour as my hair.
Huh. When I move my arms, my wings follow automatically, just a little. Like how you can't move your pinky finger without moving your ring finger.
As much as I feel like it, I can't sit here forever. I shuffle awkwardly to the side until my head is no longer scraping the hammock. Luckily, it's still too far for the robot arms. I take a deep breath and pull myself up. It's hard, and I almost pitch forward. My centre of gravity is way off from what I'm used to. I put a hand on the hammock next to mine to steady myself. Hopefully they won't —
"Holy sh —!" I yelp, jumping enough to slip and end up back on the floor.
The woman in that bunk is dead. Like, months dead. She hardly even looks real.
"Don't panic," I tell myself, but I'm too late. My breathing is coming fast and shallow and I'm shaking all over.
I force myself back up. Hyperventilation or no, I need to understand what's happening.
There's only one other person in the room. I can't — I think it was a man. I think. He's even further gone than the woman.
Neither of them have wings.
I take a second to calm my heart rate. None of this makes sense. A hospital would have removed the bodies, and I don't know much about supervillain genetic experiments, but presumably they wouldn't be left untouched for months.
I must have been in a coma. Maybe for the duration of growing my wings? (I'm pretty sure I grew them myself now.) The amnesia could be a side effect. Maybe the other two were supposed to grow wings too, but it was dangerous, and I'm the only survivor.
I slump back down against the wall. Maybe I knew those people. Maybe we're all wackos who agreed to risk our lives for a genetic experiment. Maybe they were like family to me. I may never know.
For now, my only goal is getting the heck out of here. And then getting the heck out of some answers.