Altered by Jack Alden

Author:Jack Alden [Alden, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-13T22:00:00+00:00

6

Warren takes me to a different section of the medical wing this time, and I’m immediately carted off by a man in a white coat. I try to pay attention to my surroundings but there’s too much to take in. Machines, tubes, solutions, doctors—all things and people I know nothing about, using terminology I don’t understand. It’s intimidating, and I try not to let how much it’s affecting me show, but all it takes is a single scan of my heart rate to give me away. It’s racing.

A woman with solid white eyes tells me to take a deep breath and relax. I want to tell her that that’s kind of hard to do when strangers are zipping around me, pulling at my clothes and sticking things on my skin, but I figure it’s probably a bad idea to talk back to the lady with the needle in her hand. So, I choke it down and take a deep breath. It doesn’t help. I briefly consider asking her where her pupils escaped to, but I figure that’s probably also a bad idea. Maybe a worse one.

Besides, it’s likely just a genetic modification. I remember reading about them a few years ago when they got popular in the wealthy sectors. People were volunteering, even paying, to have their genes altered to produce strange, exotic effects. It didn’t always go as planned, if I recall. A boy in my class, Lyle Madden, was obsessed with the idea of having a tail, not that he could have ever afforded the procedure.

The woman with the white eyes sticks the needle in my arm and draws so many vials of blood that I’m scared I’m not going to have enough left to keep me alive. She smacks on a colorful bandage afterward, makes me drink an entire cup of orange juice, then sends me off to another room.

This one is cozier, a little less clinical. A new man in a white coat drops into a seat across from the rolling chair I’ve occupied most of the morning. He has a bushy gray mustache and wrinkles around his eyes, but his voice is young and clear. “Hello, Prudence.”

“Dagger.” It’s automatic. His brows raise.

“Your middle name,” he says. “Is that your preferred name?”

I nod.

“Very well,” he says. “I’m Dr. Quorn. I’ll be in charge of your psychological assessments throughout the coming weeks. How are you feeling today?”

“Dizzy,” I tell him, “and a little freaked out.”

“That’s natural,” he says. “This many medical tests in a single day can be overwhelming, especially for someone of your background.”

“My background?”

“Yes,” he says. “Your limited exposure to technology and healthcare.”

My face heats up. I grit my teeth.

“That angers you.” He looks me over, and I narrow my eyes but don’t say anything. I know better. The president’s warning pops in my ears. Monitor your attitude.

Dr. Quorn smiles, and the wrinkles on his face multiply. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” He jots down a note on a pad of paper in his lap.

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