Chapter Twelve - Part Two: Interrupted Sleep
Still, she had to say that replacing the bones in her forearms sounded like a better option. Even if she didn't sign on with the Chosen, she wasn't so naive to think that she wouldn't be attacked again. The last few days had shown that there were a lot more Others out there then one would expect. Who knew if they'd be friendly or hostile the next time she came across one?
Having indestructible forearms would give her some kind of protection against attacks, and it was great that, since it was her bones, no one would suspect a thing.
Still.
She was contemplating replacing her BONES. Once again she had to take a mental step back and marvel at how she got to this point in her life.
In the end, there wasn't much argument to be had.
'What's the procedure for replacing my forearms?'
[DUE TO THE PAINFUL NATURE OF THE PROCEDURE, THE HOST WILL VOLUNTARILY BE PUT UNDER SEDATION AND INTO REM SLEEP. THE PROCESS WILL TAKE APPROXIMATELY FIVE HOURS, 14 MINUTES, AND 28 SECONDS. THE HOST WILL BE BROUGHT OUT OF SEDATION AND AWAKEN AS NORMAL IN THE MORNING.]
'Any side effects?'
[THE HOST MAY EXPERIENCE SOME SORENESS IN THE FOREARMS. HOWEVER, THIS DISCOMFORT WILL PASS QUICKLY AFTER WAKING.]
Leta sighed, mentally scolding herself for drawing this out and to just get it over with already.
'Okay. Internal Characteristic Reconstruction. Replace current forearm bones with Atlanite structures containing repositories.'
[MODIFICATION CONFIRMED. PLEASE LAY IN A COMFORTABLE POSITION.]
She adjusted her position, laying on her side as she usually would when sleeping, tucking her arm under her head before thinking better of it.
'Am I going to mess anything up if I lay on my arm?'
[NEGATIVE.]
She settled back down. 'Okay.'
[SEDATION IN PROCESS.
GOOD NIGHT, HOST.]
Like going under for an operation, Leta could barely count to three before her eyes were closing and she was out…
[HOST HAS RECEIVED BLUDGEONING DAMAGE FROM STRANGULATION.
WARNING.
HOST OXYGEN LEVELS ARE DANGEROUSLY LOW.
WAKE UP.]
Leta gasped as she was suddenly thrust into wakefulness, then gauged as a lack of air caused black spots to swim into her vision.
In her addled brain, she could only perceive light colored hair and something like a vice around her neck, pressing down into her trachea and cutting off her air.
[WARNING.
HOST OXYGEN LEVELS ARE CRITICALLY LOW.
OBSTRUCTION TO AIRWAYS MUST BE REMOVED IN TWENTY ONE SECONDS TO AVOID IMMINENT HOST DEATH.]
Leta could perceive her eyes stinging, bulging as the lack of air to her brain caused the veins in her eyeballs to swell. She could taste blood in her mouth from accidentally biting her tongue as she tried to pull at the arm - yes, she could perceive it was someones hands around her neck, choking her. Her vision swam with black and green tinged spots, obstructing her sight as all the strength seemed to be slipping away.
[IMMINENT HOST DEATH IN TEN SECONDS.
NINE…
EIGHT…
SEVEN…
SIX…]
Suddenly, Leta was gasping and coughing as her oxygen deprived lungs inflated with a flash of black and the snap of fast moving clothing.
The weight that had been pinning her down was wrenched off her, and through her wheezing, Leta could hear a loud thud as something heavy landed against her wall.
Through watery eyes, she saw a dark figure standing over her prone body, dagger in one hand and a rod of metal with a slighting bent end baring two metal thorns like the split of a snakes tongue.
The dark figure stood crouched over her like a dog to his wounded master as whatever had attacked Leta earlier slowly shambled to it's feet.
Her attacker's movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as if it had been a marionette that just had it's strings reattached.
When the attacker rose to their full height, Leta gave an uncontrolled gasp.
She knew this person.
She'd laughed with them, cared for them. They had toiled under hot suns and below the sea together in the pursuit of their shared passion.
If someone had told her that she would be betrayed, she wouldn't have believed them.
And yet, the purple bruises forming around her throat could not lie.
"Dr. Galloise?" She wheezed, shocked nearly speechless.
Something was wrong though. Dr. Annika's eyes seemed unfocused as if she were sleep walking, her lips parted. Her head lolling slightly on her neck like she couldn't quite control herself, and though her grip earlier had been strong, her arms seemed to hang limp at her sides.
Dr. Galloise's head made a sudden, jarring tilt to the left, then she sprung at Leta again, more agile than she would have anticipated.
The dark figure leaped at her supervisor, just as nimble, their odd crowbar shaped weapon coming up to block the claw-like hands the doctor brandished.
The figure rolled his wrist and pushed, the metal rod forcing the doctor's hands away and sending her back, only to be pulled forward by the rod's hooked end and have the figure knee her in the solar plexus.
Dr. Galloise grunted, then her eyes rolled into the back of her head as the dark figure used the pommel of their dagger to jab into the back of her head.
Like a puppet whose strings had once more been cut, the doctor unceremoniously crumpled to the floor.
There was only a single moment of silence, as if both Leta and her protector waited to ensure that the doctor was out cold, before the dark figure straightened and pulled a braided length of leather from somewhere on their person.
"Who are you?" Leta inhaled, rubbing at her sore neck as she watched her protector bend down and bind her mentor's hands first, then her ankles.
"You're guard. Who else?" A masculine voice replied with a scoff from under all that black clothing.
"Gonna have to be a little bit more elaborate than that." Leta grumbled, readjusting herself on the bed into a more comfortable position.
Her rescuer turned back and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She could tell, even in the dark light of the room, that the man who'd come to her rescue was of some Asian dissent, with eyes so black his pupil and iris looked to be one. A scar ran from his hairline to cut through his left eyebrow, ending just below the outer edge of his eye.
"You've met Ismene, yes?" He remarked, his accent tight, his vowels precise. Too strong and short to be Korean, too drawn out to be Chinese. Japanese, she'd wager.
"Yes?"
"Then you know that when Eriene hands you a post-it note saying the guard you, you don't shrug it off and say your busy. Now, come." He responded, sheathing his dagger at the base of his spine, "As you can see, your nightgown and Pickle Rick slippers are little protection for you. We must get you to safety, and Eriene will purify this woman of the poison in her mind, and we have little time to do so."