Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Ihave a couple days off after my overnight to rest and fix my sleep schedule, but the empty hours soon start to grate on me. My apartment is too empty, too quiet, too calm. I keep waiting instinctively for the other shoe to drop, the next crisis to arrive.
I’ve never been a person who deals well with too much free time. It makes me feel aimless, restless. Guilty. Like every second ticking by on the clock is a waste of precious time.
Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.
It’s bullshit, I tell myself. Bullshit I don’t believe anymore.
Still, I spent my “break” scrubbing my apartment clean, re-dying my blond roots dark again, practicing my shooting at the local gun range, and running off the excess energy on my treadmill. It still isn’t enough.
I thought that working at the MRF would be a worthy enough cause to quiet my mind, but the feeling is still there. Every thump of my heart is a reminder that I’m alive and so many others aren’t.
I have to prove I deserve it. I have to find a way.
The next time I walk into the MRF, I’m relieved to be back at work.
I’m relieved, too, that the sun is shining this time.
It might not be visible from within the stark and windowless walls of the building, but it’s impossible not to notice the change in atmosphere.
Compared to the night shift, it feels downright cozy.
I’m back in the CCTV room today, this time with Ellis at my side.
He talks incessantly about nothing, but right now I don’t mind it.
I soak up the chatter as comforting background noise while I sip my coffee and watch the camera feeds, trying not to stare at the black screen that designates X-16’s cell.
“Guess we better check on him again,” Ellis says, and heaves a sigh as he navigates through the computer. “Shit, I hate this part.”
“What, X-16? Why?”
A furrow forms between his brows as he glances at me. “You don’t feel it?”
“Feel what?”
His look of disbelief deepens. “Looking at X-16’s screen. You don’t feel sick? Dizzy?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t noticed.”
“Huh.” He frowns thoughtfully, but a moment later his bright smile is back. “So you can do it for me, then? Nice.”
He covers his eyes while I perform the required check-in on X-16’s video feed. Nothing seems amiss, and I spend a couple seconds watching, waiting to feel some of the effects he mentioned. But nothing happens, and after a moment, I shut off the feed again.
Hunter Barnes finds me when I’m on my way back from lunch and pulls me into his office to talk.
I’m instantly on guard. Barnes has been fine during my time here, but I’ve had a lot of bad bosses before.
People who are always looking for an excuse to make me a scapegoat, or people who expect me to look the other way when something is wrong.
I won’t tolerate either. And, if I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t have the best history when it comes to tolerating authority figures in general.
“I read your incident report about Subject X-16 from the other night,” he says as he settles into his chair. I perch on the edge of my own seat on the opposite side of his desk. “You went into the observation room to check on him?”
“I did,” I say, brow furrowing.
“And you took the shutter down to speak with him?”
“Yes,” I say. “I asked first, like you did when you showed us the cell.” I lean back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest. I study his furrowed brow, my shoulders tense. “I wrote all of this in my report. Is there a problem?”
The question comes out more defensively than I intended, but Barnes doesn’t react to it.
“I just want to reiterate the risk that X-16 poses,” he says. “It’s best for you to avoid direct contact unless it’s an absolute necessity. A pane of glass won’t protect you during one of his episodes.”
“I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“A nightmare doesn’t constitute an emergency,” Barnes says.
“And if it was something serious enough for you to talk to him face-to-face, it should’ve been serious enough to call in backup first. Especially on an overnight when you were one of the only staff members on duty.
If something had happened to you, we might not have known until morning. ”
“If you didn’t want me to make a call on my own, you shouldn’t have left me alone with only vague instructions to go by,” I say, bristling at the sting of reprimand in his words and braced for a fight.
“You’re right,” he says after a moment, taking me by surprise.
“Look, this isn’t a dressing down. You handled the situation better than most would have.
You’re still learning the ropes, and it’s impossible to prepare you for every eventuality in a place like this.
I just want to ensure your safety. X-16 has been especially volatile lately. ”
My shoulders relax just a fraction. This isn’t how I expected this conversation to go. Barnes hasn’t raised his voice or snapped at me, and the way he looks at me seems genuinely concerned.
“Next time, don’t hesitate to call me or one of the other team members,” Barnes says.
“Better safe than sorry, especially while you’re still training.
Remember you’re part of a team. It’s not a weakness to rely on us when you need to.
” He gives me a crooked half smile. “Working here is tough enough without trying to take it all on your own shoulders.”
I nod, though I don’t return his smile. “Sure.”
He puts a hand on his armrest like he’s about to push to his feet, but then he hesitates.
“And I just want to say… Look, I know that you mean well. And I know, based on how your interview went, that you’re inclined to help others even at your own detriment.
That’s what worries me.” He studies me while I stay silent.
“X-16 very well may be the most dangerous thing in the MRF. I think it’s for the best if you stay away from him. ”
I frown down at the desk. I don’t want to question orders, but it doesn’t sit right with me. “Understood,” I lie.
When I return to the CCTV room—alone this time, as Ellis is out patrolling the perimeter now—I find a thick folder waiting for me. As I flip it open, I realize it’s X-16’s file. A thick file, not just the basic overview Barnes gave us in our binders.
As soon as I’m certain everything on the security cameras looks quiet, I scan through it. It feels odd, like a breach of confidentiality or at least of privacy, but Barnes must have left it here for me. Maybe he meant it as a warning, yet the more I read, the more my curiosity grows.
I flip through the first few pages idly, pausing on a photograph of X-16 when he was first taken into the Facility.
He looks shockingly young and normal, with a boyish face and overgrown hair; his eyes aren’t red but brown in this picture, and he’s lacking the third eye on his forehead.
His face is softer, but those shadows beneath his eyes are already forming, and his mouth is pressed into an unhappy line.
There’s only a question mark listed as his name. Voluntary commitment is stamped under his notes.
He’s only been here for a few years, but the bulk of the file details the episodes Barnes keeps mentioning. There are pictures, too.
I’m accustomed to violence and bodily harm after years of security work, but the photographs still turn my stomach.
Gouges on victims’ faces where nails dug into flesh, eyes that were nearly carved from their sockets, heads slammed into walls and through panes of glass.
There’s a picture of a security officer with his head rammed halfway into a broken television set.
One unfortunate incident involving a metal fork stabbed through someone’s palm.
Security guards, researchers, doctors, many of them noted as leaving the Facility afterward due to physical injury or mental distress.
The former head of security is listed here, too. Fatal gunshot wound, self-inflicted. I force myself to study the picture of his unrecognizable face until bile rises in the back of my throat.
It’s hard to imagine X-16 being capable of such violence, but Barnes did warn that looks could be deceiving. Volatile during flares of high emotion, the notes say.
I suppress a shiver and shut the folder to return my attention to the screens above. After checking the rest, I turn on the feed to X-16’s cell. The moment I do, my blood runs cold. He’s staring up at the camera, his red eyes boring into it, almost as if he’s looking back at me.