The Greatest Hunter (Two/?)
Title: The Greatest Hunter (Two/?)
Author: readthemedia
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: R/15, to be safe for future updates.
Warnings: war themes, violence, swearing, blood, panic/psychological attacks and nightmares
Summary: The greatest hunter will survive alone, with no-one left to love.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse or any of its members; and all of this writing is completely fictional.
Author's Note: Finally finished chapter two! Might be a lot slower in updating as exams and stuff roll around, but I'll be posting whenever I can!
The time following my diagnosis in Head Hospital became somewhat of a sterilised, lifeless blur. Days faded in and out without relativity; nights meant a dark room, illuminated with a thousand electric stars, flickering on and off with each beep and moan.
All that I was certain of was that I felt myself growing stronger and stronger. And that, you know, I had become an orphaned Nation ward with half a memory and a tattooed wrist.
Completely standard.
After a few monotonous days, Doctor Rowe took me back into his sterile office and declared me fit enough to be discharged. This was despite the nightmares that started to creep into my dreams every night, and despite me waking up to my screaming and the sound of my rapid heart rate beeping through the room’s monitors. As long as I was physically sound, he had said, I had no need to stay under medical observation; the psychological side effects would most likely fade out over time as I came to terms with my ‘situation’.
I guess there was no official ‘cure’ for night terrors- at least, none that the Government’s medical team could provide. I’d have to figure that one out myself; just like everything else I had seemingly forgotten before I was rescued.
Nurse Anderson entered my hospital room shortly after, and began to disconnect me from the remaining few electronic machines that surrounded my bed. She was gentle in her actions, deftly pulling out each needle and stopping the pinprick of subsequent blood with a well-trained thumb. She then helped me to stand- I had become a lot stronger over the past few days, almost as good as new- and helped me into the room’s small shower ensuite and
‘I’ll be waiting outside- you have a three minute allocation of water. Knock when you’re finished, okay?’
I wish I could have sat underneath the shower for hours; perhaps the soft rumbling of the water on my bare shoulders would have lulled me to sleep and kept the nightmarish monster at bay. A vague memory unexpectedly sprang to mind- a time when resources weren’t as scarce and when water use was less regulated, when I was relatively young and allowed to splash around in the family bath. The thought took me completely by surprise; I hadn’t expected any memories of my childhood to come back to me that quickly. Maybe my brain was healing; maybe this retrograde amnesia shit would be over sooner than anticipated, and I would be able to remember my parents and my home and my life and…
The water shut off as I lay sobbing, curled up on the shower floor, whispering to myself over and over that whatever this was, whatever had happened, whatever lay ahead, I would figure it out.
I would be okay.
A few beats, before Nurse Anderson’s uncertain voice came from outside the door.
‘Are you okay, Matilda?’
I paused for a moment, before wiping my nose with the back of my hand and shakily rising to my feet.
‘I’m okay,’ I called back.
I was careful not to slip on the wet tiles, stepping out from the shower and grabbing the standard issue towel that had been left on the bench for me. I dried off the droplets off my skin, unsure of what was water and what were tears, and rubbed the towel through my hair. I could remember that I detested having long hair, and that I had been a tomboy all my life- between my naturally stick thin frame, hardest jaw and my androgynously short hairstyle, I could almost be mistaken for a boy.
I wrapped the towel around my body and cautiously knocked on the back of the bathroom door. Milliseconds later, a small package of clothing slid underneath the door; vacuum packed and sealed with a sticker bearing the Nation’s familiar green and blue circular logo.
‘Inopia subpressum’. Scarcity towards recovery.
Ripping the package open revealed a loose smock shirt and a pair of elastic waisted pants, presumably standard issue on behalf of the Nation. Both were way, way too large for me upon wearing them; however, it’d have to do, considering that I had no clothes of my own (as far as I was aware, everything I had was burnt to ash or ripped off my body when I arrived in Head Hospital). One of the disadvantages of being a short, slip-thin beanpole, I supposed.
I opened the door of the bathroom to find Nurse Anderson sitting on the edge of my hospital bed, electronic tablet again in hand. She looked up at me as I stood in the doorframe, giving me a once over to assess that I indeed was okay, and then nodded once before standing.
‘They’ll be here to take you soon.’
My head cocked to the left slightly in confusion as I walked over to my bed and sat down on the edge. ‘They?’
The nurse again smiled her sympathetic smile as she reached towards the door handle of the room; for some reason, she had a slightly scared glint in her eye, a slight apprehensiveness before she answered. ‘They, being your new family, Matilda. The Nation.’
I looked down into my lap, bluntly reminded again of the reason why I was in Head Hospital in the first place. ‘Ah. Right.’
When I looked up again, Nurse Anderson had slipped out of the room.
I was alone again; alone with nothing but my half a memory and my tattooed, barcoded wrist.
----
I don’t remember falling asleep on the side of the bed- sleep must have crept up on me and snatched me from consciousness when I blinked too slowly, my eyelashes dragging on their bottom lids out of sheer sleep-deprivation.
I do remember, however, being jolted awake by the sound of marching feet resonating from down the corridor. Each footstep seemed to sound closer and closer to my room; what sounded like a pack of heavy-footed elephants raucously stampeding down a linoleum pathways.
I instinctively jumped up from the side of the bed, unsure of what was happening yet steady on my feet. I cocked my head to the side, listening intently; the lack of sleep, combined with the drugs that had been pumped into me over the past few days, seemed to make my hearing all the more keener.
There was a millisecond of quiet, where no footsteps echoed, before there was a loud knock on my door.
‘Ward zero-nine-zero-six-one-nine-seven-eight, are you present?’
I looked down at my wrist, and the barcode that had been (at some unknown point) inked into my skin.
Matilda Bellamy, 09061978.
I repeated the number over and over to myself in my head, almost as a comfort mechanism. I supposed, with a bittersweet feeling in my stomach, that I would have to memorise it somehow- that number, for all intents and purposes- was my identity now.
The voice came again from outside; controlled, authoritative. ‘Ward zero-nine-zero-six-one-nine-seven-eight, are you present?’
I backed myself into the far corner of the hospital room, balling my fists as part of an instant flight or fight response. I remember distinctly thinking that whoever, or whatever, was at my door was kind enough to knock before entering; whether that was a decision on their part, or on the part of Head Hospital, I didn’t want to think about. My mind began to race- perhaps this was the ‘they’ that Nurse Anderson had worryingly spoke about before she had slipped out of my room? The fear that had appeared in her eyes in that moment hadn’t gone unnoticed. I suddenly became petrified of what lay on the other side of that hospital door; my breath started getting faster, my heart racing out of my chest. I could feel the nightmarish monster from my dreams crawling into my reality, his glaring red eyes staring at me from across the room, preying on my vulnerabilities like always.
What could I do, but face whatever was behind that door?
’Present’, I whimpered, shielding myself with my hands- indeed, I had nothing else.
The room’s door swung open to reveal an entourage of soldiers, yelling loud commands with harsh expressions on their faces. Each and every one of them wore blue and green uniforms- the standard colours of the Nation- and every single every one of them seemed to push forward towards me, through the tiny doorframe and into the tiny hospital room, in a giant rampant huddle. All I could do was scream and collapse into the corner, closing my eyes tighter and hyperventilating as they surged towards me. It was like my nightmare all over again, with each towering soldier metamorphosing into individual manifestations of the monster with those bright red eyes and grinning teeth, and it was all I could see, and I couldn't escape, and…
I blacked out.
----
By the time I came to, I quickly realised that I was not in Head Hospital anymore.
The first thing I remember noticing was being strapped tightly into a seat of some sorts. I was still wearing the standard issue clothing that Nurse Anderson had supplied with me, and my hands and feet weren’t restrained; it was just my torso that had been locked in by a seatbelt.
Seatbelt?
I quickly looked down at my wrist again and saw my barcode and ID number. I had taken to checking it every now and again, to make sure that I was still in touch with reality and that I wasn’t stuck in the midst of a nightmare. I had noticed that my barcode didn’t appear on my wrist whilst I was dreaming; only when the situation was real, and reality was tangible.
But I don’t remember being moved…
I took a sharp breath in, the memory of the Nation soldiers suddenly appearing in front of my eyes and sending a ripple of fear and panic through me. I had forgotten about what they had reminded me of as I had been balled up against the room’s wall, and had forgotten that that vision had triggered my panic attack and had made me…
Fuck.
I let go of the breath and exhaled heavily, trying to calm my heart rate down and dispel the anxiousness that had come over me. No more of that, I reasoned with myself; my nightmares would stay hidden in the daytime, as much as I could control it so.
It was minute or two before I was okay again, and able to think rationally. I reasoned that I had been taken out of Head Hospital by that sheer mass of Nation soldiers, and had been moved into the back of a steadily moving van. At least, it felt like it was steadily moving; the windows were completely blackened, meaning that I could see absolutely nothing of the outside world. I also appeared to be the only passenger, save for the driver I assumed was manning the wheel.
I thought for a moment before calling out cautiously.
‘Hello?’
There was no change in the van’s movement; it continued to rumble along its path to its destination. The driver obviously hadn’t heard me.
I called again. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
Again, no change and no voice in response. I sat for a moment, relatively stumped; there was no panel between the back of the van and the driver’s seat which would be blocking the sound of my voice. I could see both back doors of the van had been locked, and that there was no sunroof…
I looked up to the roof of the van and saw a small camera, its singular blinking green eye locked on me. I paused immediately, frozen in my movements.
Someone was watching me.
After a moment of standing stock still, like a deer in the headlights, a soft mist began to dissipate from underneath the camera lens, drifting in my general direction.
‘What the fuck…?’ I breathed, unable to look away as the mist floated towards me, like dust particles drifting on a breeze, enveloping me and infiltrating my eyes, my ears, my nose.
I instantly began to feel sleepy, my eyes rolling back into my head and my limbs becoming weak, the darkened van slowly slipping away from my sight…
I blacked out again.
---
The next time I woke, I had found myself lying on a bed in the room I currently occupy.
Again, I don’t remember being moved at all. After the unknown mist had sprayed from underneath the van’s camera, I had just about collapsed back onto the van’s back seat. Between that point and now - sitting on the side of a metallic silver bed in a metallic silver room with one sealed door, one basin and no windows - I remember nothing.
I feel like I’m in prison.
Maybe the soldiers had mistaken me for someone else. Maybe they had stormed into my hospital room, yelling and screaming and ordering, thinking that I was a wanted criminal- or worse, a Rebel spy. I keep thinking, wondering, theorising; how could I have ended up here, of all places?
I stand up from the edge of the bed (my bed?) upon which I had been sitting and slowly pad towards the basin that faces me. I had doubted that the basin would relinquish running water freely given the ongoing water resource restrictions, and I was right; a few turns of the shiny chrome tap and absolutely no water pours out.
Fat lot of use that is, then.
I grip either side of the basin and hang my head. Fuck, I had a lot of questions; none of which seemed to be answering themselves. It could hardly help that I could barely remember who I was, let alone where I was or what had happened to me.
I look down at my left wrist again; the barcode still remained, as permanent as the instant in which it had been (apparently) inked onto me. Another constant check on reality; another bit of reassurance that my mind was still with me, and that my amnesia wasn’t slowly snatching away my active memories as well as my dormant.
I let go of one side of the basin and ran my fingers over the tattoo, thinking for a moment before speaking aloud; repeating the sentiment I had thought about for god knows how long.
‘You’ll be okay, Matilda. You’ll be okay.’