Profanely Powered (Episode 4)

Posted: July 21, 2011 by luzob in Random

Back again…

That lockout was much longer in length than I would have ever imagined. I am mostly unharmed, and still able to write, if one could call it writing. The incident was apparently a complete mess, with Coats running about and every other staff with a serious look of “I hope everything is alright” on their faces. It was amusing, at first, to watch the proverbial cockroaches skitter around randomly, as if they have no clue what is going on. According to my knowledge a small band of Zappers found some unique way of communication (they are all in solitary because of their electrical charge amplification) that involved the electric grid in the facility. One of the Coats found them speaking through the wires and must have been a new hire for the AAPP, because he decided it would be a good idea to open the offender’s cell and question the individual. He ordered the Zapper to sit still while he questioned him and searched for contraband, which sitting still is the most dangerous thing a Zapper can do. Usual protocol mandates the wearing of heavy electric suits while in contact with a Zapper, and if this rule is breached there is little in the way of punishment from the Chairs (informal name for the higher-ups in the facility). The judgement comes from the millions of volts pumped into your nervous system, resulting in instant demise. This green Coat must have attained this fate himself, and within seconds the rogue Zapper disabled the South3 floor’s locks (all locks are sectioned by floor, which is then sectioned North and South), allowing half a dozen individuals to bolt (my apologies for the pun) out into the third floor, wreaking havoc along the way. Yet another safety protocol ensured that these electrified men would not get very far, but just far enough to lockout every cell in every wing. As a general slap on the wrist, the Chairs declared that every patient would stay locked out until the appropriate repairs and security overhauls were finished. As a final cherry upon this gloomy cake they also shut down the electrical grid for this as well, until a secure connection could be established. This meant no writing for me, as my interface is reliant upon electricity (more on that at another time).

To keep myself entertained I began communicating with every object within my vicinity. Obviously this had little bearing on decent conversation, but did prove to stave off the most violent of boredom for a while. Obviously they have enabled the electric grid once again, and I can continue my therapy.

I should not have said what I had just said, but because it has been alluded toward for some time now, I may as well elaborate…

There is a reason that I am writing/saying/transmitting these to the world around me. The words one could be currently seeing are not written by my own hands; for I, the narrator Wayne, have lost the ability to use my fingers and arms, and have little mobility from even my legs. This has only become apparent to me within the last few weeks, but my motor functions have slowed to near-nothing. The Docs could not figure out my ailment, but through certain drugs and surgeries are attempting to “fix” me. This process has left me with much distress, and as part of my mental conditioning, one of the Docs gave me an interface I could “speak” to via brain/thought patterns that bring about words upon a small monitor, and with another thought can be sent everywhere. They believe this to aid in my recovery, but has done very little from my observations. Usually a transport device is used by a patient such as myself to become more mobile, but due to my Power it is deemed too dangerous for those around me. So here I lay, softly turned every other hour by an automatic system meant to prevent bedsores, wondering when my arms will move again. At least I can still transmit my thoughts until they may shut down as well. I am learning of new emotions almost weekly, and this week I am beginning to learn of despair. I do not shed tears like many other roommates have, I do not feel the sort of sadness I encounter daily within the blank walls of the AAPP. I do feel as if I miss being mobile, though. Even pacing about my room is a luxury I cannot obtain anymore, and this is why I use the word despair. At one point I believed I wafted around, future-less, and with no goal other than to exist like a seed in the breeze. Now this seed has become a dormant houseplant, destined to be watered and dusted, and not even seeing the future of getting out of bed by myself. Quite unfortunate, indeed.



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