The Snake's Nest

Crutches for the crippled, band-aids for the wounded. Kisses to soothe the pain.

As a child, I liked to scratch my skin until it bled. I liked the sight of it; the tiny rivulets of red.    

The best part however, would be to pick on the scabs to see what hid underneath.

Even as I learned that the result would be no different, no matter how many times I executed this experiment - I continued to dig my nails in deep. Perhaps out of stubbornness. Perhaps out of conviction.

One day there'd be a great discovery, of that I was sure - still am - I suppose.

Nowadays my skin remains untouched, albeit a bit marred from the experience. For a while I believed that I had outgrown this habit of mine. But I've come to realize that I apply this behavior to most of the things that I happen to come across. Thinking about my line of work and field of research; it makes sense, doesn't it?

I find people to be the most interesting of subjects. I'll scratch them raw, pick them apart. To me, their thoughts are my tiny rivulets of red, and I'm just waiting for an opportunity to see what hides underneath.

"Sy, we're waiting for you."

Ah. I had almost forgotten.

The boy stands slouched against the wall, the black uniform ill-fitting on his slender build. Everything about him is exactly that. Ill-fitting. Gawky. With a face that speak of nothing but disinterest, and a posture that makes my limp bulldog look gracious, it's no wonder he hasn't found a lab partner. Instead of attending classes, he's been placed under my command, assisting me with my research.

A privilege rather than a punishment, if you ask me.

“Do you have my charts?” I ask.

“Of course.”

I'm not sure what's worst. His smug attitude that reverberates in every word he utters, or the fact that he actually seems to know what he's doing. After mentoring the kid for almost a year, it's evident that he's not completely witless. I grab the clipboard from his slippery fingers as we head out of the office.  

The facilities the school has granted my latest project lies separated from the campus area. Whenever my colleagues ask why, I often tell them its for the sake of practicality. It's the truth. To some extent at least. But it would be more accurate to say that it's an absolute necessity to have enclosed premises when your human test subjects - or  children – whichever you prefer, tend to escape during the first initiation weeks.

I often muse about what professor Mo once said to me. How the new-builds reminded him of a prison, with their iron curtains and barren decor.  He also said that they suited me just fine. I, if anyone, would imprison my students. I couldn't help but to laugh at that.

It takes time to get oneself from point A to point B in this massive building. I glance at Qi trailing behind me. His long neck is bent at an awkward angle, the vertebra prominent beneath his livid skin.

“Stop dragging your feet, would you?”  

He only nods in response.

The walls in the corridor have been replaced with reinforced glass. I'm quite happy with this change. The full view into the wards enables me to observe my masterpiece in the making; a welcome distraction.

The newest addition of students are assigned to look after the little rascals which yet have to undergo testing. It might be the hardest task around here. The children of the slum are known for being unruly things.

One of them spots us, her eyes narrowing. She tilts her shaved head in wonder, as if in deep thought.

I stop.

Her hand forms a tiny fist and extends a middle finger, as she mouths a 'fuck you'.  

A toothless grin.

There's a strangled noise coming from behind me. Was that Qi laughing? My hands cramp in my pockets. I turn to look at him, perhaps to scold him, or to finally punch that lax face of his.

I open my mouth, but find no words.  

“Apparently, this is another crude tradition kept alive at the outskirts of Rim. The one-finger salute. The gesture is a phallic symbol of sorts,” A smile spreads across Qi's thin lips. “I'd take it as greeting if I were you.”

“I knew that,” I say, turning my heel to feign indifference.  

I quicken my pace, no longer caring if Qi gets left behind.

Entering the eastern wing and taking a turn to the right, we reach our destination. Behind these doors awaits no crutches for the crippled, or band-aids for the wounded. No kisses to soothe the pain.

My greatest achievement; the Neuron Trigger.