Pulse

TWENTY- NINE

"You son of a bitch! Don't… don't!" The scream that followed was the loudest scream Pierce had let loose since Halloween of 1985 when King scared him by jumping out from behind a tree dressed as Frankenstein's Monster. But this one lasted longer and carried the distinct tone of being pain induced, rather than fear. Though fear was certainly part of it. He could feel the scalpel parting the flesh on his side. He saw the bloody blade as Reinhart brought it away from his body. The pain burned at first, then came in throbbing pulses as his blood seeped from his body. After that, it itched, then ceased. And that terrified him.

"What… what did you do to me?" He'd asked the question several times already. They'd been at it for nearly an hour — cutting his body, breaking his bones, pulling out his fingernails. They tortured him, again and again, but there would be no information that could stop the torture, because the results of the cutting and breaking was what they hoped to understand.

"We perfected you," Ridley said from his stool across the room. He sat in his tailored suit, well out of range of the spraying blood, watching like Caesar at the coliseum, entertained by the bloodletting, but separated from the visceral experience. He even wore a surgical mask that kept him from smelling the coppery blood.

Then came the questions from Maddox, who, true to his nature, observed and took notes, but wore a mask of horror and refused to actually take part in the "operations." His previous patients remained unconscious during the regenerative testing. But Pierce was different. They wanted him awake and answering psychological questions after each injury. And since this operation required only the skill to inflict injuries, Reinhart was perfectly suited to the job.

"Do you know what day it is?"

No answer.

"What was the subject of your doctoral dissertation?" Pierce's jaw muscles bulged as he clenched his mouth shut. "How do you feel?"

Pierce nearly exploded. "How the hell do you think I'm feeling, asshole!"

Maddox jotted down some notes.

Am I losing my mind!?" Pierce shouted. "Am I going nuts!?"

"Actually, given the circumstances, you're reacting quite normally."

Pierce fought against his bonds, but couldn't move. They'd stripped him down to his boxers and strapped him to an operating table. His ankles, thighs, waist, wrists, and forehead were all strapped tight. "Then it worked. You can stop."

Maddox opened his mouth to respond, but Reinhart stepped forward. He held a long knife in his hand. "I'm afraid we're not quite finished."

Eyeing the knife, tears filled Pierce's eyes. In the past hour he'd taken more abuse and suffered more pain than he had throughout his entire life. When other people would have mentally checked out, passed out from blood loss, or simply died, his new body kept him awake, alert, and alive. And though he now hoped for death, he couldn't help but beg for mercy. "No… You don't need to… Please."

"I'm afraid it's quite necessary," Ridley said. "You see, some of our previous subjects did well handling small injuries, much less severe than what you've already endured, mind you. Paper cuts, pinpricks, and the like. But when the injuries became more severe — broken fingers, lacerations, puncture wounds — they descended further into a savage mania with each subsequent injury. You have excelled in the first two categories, but I'm afraid we must also run two more. You see, all of our previous subjects, without exception, became raging lunatics after receiving what should have been a fatal injury. Whether it was their first injury or twentieth, the reaction was the same and instantaneous. Normally, Dr. Maddox here would perform the procedure himself, but as you've seen he doesn't have the stomach for operating on subjects while they're awake."

"And against their will," Maddox added, glaring at Ridley.

"He will thank us when we are done," Ridley said, stepping down from the stool. He walked around the operating table, stepping over pools of blood. "He is the first of his kind."

Pierce knew what was coming next. They were going to kill him. But Ridley said there were two tests remaining. "What's the second test? After you kill me?"

Ridley stopped by the door. He propped it open, ready to exit quickly in case things went wrong. "Decapitation." He nodded to Rein-hart.

Before Pierce had a chance to look up or scream, the large knife slid between two ribs and skewered his heart. The ruined organ spasmed. Blood filled the chest cavity. But death did not come. Not instantly.

Pierce could see the knife handle sticking out of his chest, though his mind, overwhelmed by the intensity of the injury, had not yet registered the pain. And as the oxygen in his mind dwindled and his vision faded, it seemed the pain would never strike.

But then it did.

A pain deeper than anything he'd ever imagined gripped his body. He could feel his toes throbbing. His guts ached. His fingers burned. Then he realized, this wasn't pain from the knife wound. This was bigger. More profound.

Death.

Though his vision faded, his consciousness remained intact. For a moment he longed to see the comforting white-lit tunnel so many near-death survivors reported. He would be greeted by a loved one— Julie — and escorted to… where? But before any of that could happen, a pain, like an electric jolt, shook his body. He opened his eyes and saw Reinhart pulling the knife up and out of his chest.

Now he screamed.

His body, inside and out, itched severely. And though he could not see it, he could feel it healing. Thirty seconds later, he was hale and pain-free. Alive.

"Hallelujah!" Reinhart said in a mock, TV evangelist voice. "He's been born again!"

"It worked?" Ridley asked, stepping back into the room.

Even Maddox had lost his resistance to the procedure. A smile stretched across his face. "How are you feeling?" he asked, skipping the previous questions.

Though he raged at the obscenities done to him, Pierce couldn't help but be thankful he was still alive. Perhaps there was hope? "I feel fi—"

A new pain gripped him. His muscles tensed as an intense itch tore through his body, as though emanating from the bones out. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Something is happening."

He clenched his eyes as the itch entered and filled his head. When it struck deep in his bowels, he opened his eyes again and looked at Mad-dox. The man jumped back, slamming into a metal cabinet, his face twisted in fear. He looked up at Reinhart. Then Ridley. "Lock the room down!"

Then he was gone. The sound of a metal door slamming shut and locking followed. But it wasn't the locked door, or Maddox's sudden exit that captured his attention. It was the reflection in the metal cabinet Maddox had fallen into. Something… inhuman stared back at him. Though distorted by the dent created by Maddox's fall, he could still make out the green-tinged skin and bright yellow eyes. As the face in the reflection mirrored the expression of abject horror on his own face, he realized the awful truth.

He was the monster.