Subject Nightingale 1: Birth and Death (2 page)

Nightingale gasped and pulled her head back when his touch only increased the pain. Suddenly her head was filled with more images she didn't understand. She saw Doctor Metzger and Phellman arguing, she saw him adjusting the hoses and calibrating the SENDS, and again, she saw herself sitting in that throne. The images flashed across her mind in an instant, and she couldn't even begin to explain them.

“What did you do to me?” she choked out, opening her eyes halfway to glare at the doctor.

“
You need to calm down, Nightingale,” Metzger said as he retrieved a syringe and a small vial from one of his lab coat pockets. He stuck the needle into the vial and drew its contents. “This is a sedative, it will help you sleep. You need rest.” He leaned in to prick her arm with the needle.

“
No!” Nightingale shouted, and suddenly Metzger found himself paralyzed.

His eyes widened and he tried to move, but he very simply could not. Like a living statue he was frozen in front of his subject, his body unable to perform actions even as basic as blinking or breathing.

“What did you do to me!?” Her temper suddenly flared, and Doctor Metzger was hurled clear across the room. His back slammed into the door and he landed hard on the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath in a pile of those hoses.

“
It worked!” Metzger coughed out, and he laughed. “Holy $#!%, it worked!” He continued to laugh as he felt along the floor for his syringe, but it was lost in the hoses.

“
What worked!?” Nightingale shouted and sprung to her feet; her legs were like rubber, so she just fell back down into the chair. She suddenly felt trapped and afraid. She clenched her teeth and panted for breath as she began to panic, her face flushing red and contrasting her emerald eyes as she glared at Doctor Metzger.

When he couldn't find his syringe, the doctor instead reached for a thin black bracelet he wore on his wrist. He continued to laugh, disturbingly joyously, as he squeezed it with his entire hand. “
You
worked! Subject Nightingale was a success!” A red light began blinking on the bracelet.

“
What's Subject Nightingale!?” she shouted again, and suddenly Metzger began to choke.

His eyes widened and bulged, and his face burnt red. He kicked at the hoses and grabbed at his throat, but there was nothing squeezing it. The pressure was tremendous; he felt his throat collapsing, but he couldn't feel anything but his own skin. “Y-you...are!”

Tchk.

Something in Metzger's throat snapped, and his body went limp. His eyes glazed over and blood trickled from his mouth.

Nightingale calmed down the instant he died. She didn't quite realize what had happened, as if she had immediately forgotten where she was and what she was doing—as if she had known in the first place. She let out a deep breath and then touched her top lip when she felt something warm on her face. She frowned curiously as she looked at the blood on her fingertips; her nose was bleeding? She grabbed the hem of her plain white T-shirt and wiped the blood off her face, wiped her hands off on her matching white pants, and then the door slid open with a sudden
whoosh!

Her eyes went wide as saucers when several men dressed in black tactical gear suddenly aimed rifles at her from the hallway. One of them knelt to grab Doctor Metzger's body, dragging him out of the room by his shoulders and then checking his pulse.

The team paused for the diagnosis. “Doctor Metzger's dead,” he announced, and then everyone pointed their rifles back at Nightingale.

“
Take her out!” one of the men ordered.

“
No!” she shouted, and the door slammed shut. “I didn't kill him!” She had just woken up here, and now she was being accused of murder? She didn't even touch him!

“
The door's malfunctioning,” one of the other men said.

“
Well get it working again!” another one barked.

The door slid open several inches, but quickly slammed shut again. Nightingale was beginning to panic, she was starting to cry; she wanted to hide, but the room was too small. She wanted to get away from here, wherever she was, but the only way out was through that door. She didn't want those men to get in. She didn't know what they wanted, but they seemed to blame her for the doctor's death.

The door slid open completely, and Nightingale winced at the sound of it slamming. “No, stay out!” she shouted, and then it slammed shut again.

“
Is she overriding building security?” one of the men asked.

“
That's impossible, she's just a kid. She couldn't access security from in there even if she knew what to do once she was in.”

“
It's just the door that's malfunctioning.”

“
It's not the door, the door's fine! All the building's systems are online and fully operational!”

“
Just get this %$#@!^& thing open!”

The door slid open, and then immediately slammed shut. Nightingale's head pounded as this continued; opened, closed, opened, closed, each
whoosh
of the door adding another layer to the already intense pain. She felt more blood dripping from her nose; it trickled down her lips and off her chin, and her eyes widened in panic when she looked down at the amount she was able to collect in her hands.

The door slid open one final time, and then something hit her shoulder. She grunted and winced, looking down at the long dart sticking out of her. She became dizzy and her vision blurred; she couldn't keep her eyes open. Her head slumped against the back of the throne.

She heard the footsteps of those men rushing into the room, and they began shouting, “Clear! Area secure!”

Nightingale passed out.

Chapter 2
Namesake
 

Nightingale woke some time later to a deafening silence. Her eyes peeled open slowly and she had to squint in the light of a pure white room, hardly able to see where the walls met the ceiling and floor as she looked all over. She groaned as she sat up, pushing herself up with her arms against a plain white mattress, and she immediately flung her legs over the edge of the bed. The momentum pulled her entire body to the floor and she fell, her limbs still weak from all the tranquilizers she had been given.

The sound of her body landing on the floor broke the silence if only for a moment, and comforted her. She remembered all that had happened since waking up in that small room with Metzger—she couldn't remember
anything
prior to that—but that room was enough for her to decide that she didn't want to spend another minute in this place.

She grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled herself to her feet, holding on to the mattress tight until her legs became stable; then she had to take a moment to get used to the somewhat slick soles of her white slippers on the hard floor. Once she was able to stand on her own, she worked on opening her eyes completely. The room was so bright despite any apparent light sources, so it took some time until she could look around clearly.

Once she could finally see, she spotted a large mirror built into the far wall. She saw the dry blood on her face and shirt before she even recognized herself, and then looked at her hands. Nightingale rushed to a silver sink and toilet in the corner of the room, and scrubbed her hands under the running water of the sink until the blood was mostly gone. Her palms were still a little pink, but they didn't look as grim.

After that she stood in front of the mirror and looked herself up and down; she hardly recognized herself. She ran her fingers through her long red hair and touched her face, as if to make sure she wasn't just imagining things. She leaned in closer when she noticed the entire surface of the mirror vibrating, eyebrows pulling together curiously.

“Hello?” she called out, cupping her hands around her face to block out the light as she tried to peer through it. “Is someone there?” She knocked on the glass, and then jumped back with alarm when the entire room seemed to quake.

Beep, beep, beeeeep!

A noise to the left of the wide mirror caught her attention, so she followed it to find a keypad built into the wall. It was all white except for the numbers, so it blended in perfectly with the rest of the room. Red lettering appeared above the numbers, flashing and then scrolling, a red cone of light projecting the words into the air.

Total building override in effect. Please follow emergency procedures. Enter 4069 to exit Observation Room A.

“Observation Room A?” Nightingale said to herself, and then punched in the code as instructed.

Please proceed to nearest emergency exit.

A seam appeared in the wall around the keypad and expanded to the size of a door, and then slid open to the left. Nightingale was immediately greeted by the sounds of a war zone; gunfire, screaming, and explosions rocked the building.

Observation Room A let out into what looked like a private office. The door to the hallway was off its hinges, but she could hardly see through the threshold thanks to a rolling cloud of smoke. Flickering fluorescent tubes dangled from the ceiling, and swayed with the sounds of violence.

Nightingale was beginning to panic again. The keypad told her to find the nearest emergency exit, but she had no idea where that was. She was suddenly too afraid to move; she didn't know what to do, she was paralyzed.

“
I
told
him!” She heard someone yelling from the hallway, “I
told
him this would happen! He brought ECHO down on us all!”

Doctor Metzger's assistant rushed into the office carrying a box of his belongings. Nightingale recognized him from what she had seen earlier.

“I know that bastard has an express route outta here, now where is it...” He didn't notice her as he ran to the large desk and began rummaging through the contents on its surface. “Come on, I know it's here somewhere.” He dropped his box and reached his arm into one of the deep drawers to feel around.

Click!
A tall bookshelf against the wall behind the desk made a quiet noise and then pivoted into the room, revealing a secret passageway.

“
Found it!” Phellman cheered for himself and grabbed his box in both arms, but then noticed Nightingale staring at him.

“
Oh,
$#!%, you're alive!” He looked newly panicked at seeing her, and began backing up toward the bookshelf.

“
Wait, tell me what's going on!” Nightingale said and took a step toward him.

“
The Council found out about Doctor Metzger's unsanctioned experiments, so they sent ECHO in to clean up the place,” Phellman answered, and then shook his head quickly, as if breaking out of a trance. “Listen, just leave, alright? Just run away from this place, and don't look back.” With that, Phellman turned and ran through the passageway.

“
But I don't know where to go!” Nightingale shouted after him.

“
Contact, contact!”

“
Oh, %$#@!”

Gunfire rang out from behind the bookshelf, and Nightingale ran back into Observation Room A. She didn't know where else to go; between the secret passageway, the hallway, and the observation room, the latter seemed the least threatening.

She bolted back into the white room and the door slid shut behind her, and then another explosion rocked the floor. The large mirror cracked and chipped; it was sturdy, but small chunks began to flake off, and the soundproof barrier was broken—suddenly she could hear all the violence. She heard heavy footsteps rushing into Metzger's office, she heard soldiers calling out orders, and she collapsed in the corner farthest from the mirror to hide herself.

She clapped her hands over her ears and shut her eyes, just wanting it all to end.

But she couldn't even think of a place where she would rather be.

Anywhere? Does anywhere count?
she thought, and began to cry.

She gasped and looked up when a quiet chirping caught her attention, the sound suddenly cutting through the rest of the noise. In that moment it was all she could hear, and it inexplicably calmed her nerves and dried her tears.

“Is that...a bird?” she asked herself, looking up toward the ceiling.

A ventilation cover had come loose; the white grating now dangled into the room, and perched on its base was a small green bird. The feathers on its chest were stark white, and it looked directly at Nightingale as it sung.

“Be quiet, someone's gonna hear you!” she told the bird, and it...listened? The bird stopped singing and Nightingale sniffled, and wiped her eyes with the short sleeve of her shirt. “Thanks,” she said.

She couldn't hear anyone in the other room, and it sounded like most of the violence had calmed down by the time the bird had finished singing. Nightingale was about to stand when it flew off the vent cover and over to her, and perched right on her shoulder.

She frowned curiously at it and asked, “Aren't you afraid?”

She lifted one hand carefully toward the bird's head, moving slowly to not scare it away, but as her hand grew closer and closer she began to doubt her ability to scare it at all. And then when her fingertips stroked its back, she somehow knew that the little bird was actually quite frightened.

“Yeah, me too,” she said.

Then her eyes clenched shut involuntarily, and her headache returned. She whimpered at the images she was suddenly seeing, because she didn't know why she was seeing them.

She saw the bird, a nightingale—her namesake?—living in a tiny cage in Doctor Metzger's office; she sensed its sadness at being locked up, such a profound and deep sorrow, and suddenly she felt tears cascading down her face. The cage fell when the fighting broke out, and the door broke off. The nightingale flew into the ceiling, where it was hiding until it found her.

When she saw the bird landing on her shoulder her eyes snapped open, and she panted for breath. She felt her nose bleeding again; the blood mixed with her tears and she wiped up the entire mess with her shirt, which was becoming increasingly stained.

“Well you're free now, little bird, so go on,” she said through her tears and quivering voice, and gave the nightingale a gentle nudge with her fingers. Nightingale's lips curled into a little smile when the nightingale began to sing again, and she placed her hands against the wall to help herself stand. “Go on, get outta here, you've got a better chance of making it out than I do.”

The bird fluttered off Nightingale's shoulder and flew back into the ceiling vent, and she sighed as she watched it go. Then just as her sudden headache was fading, it returned full force, so she had to shut her eyes. She shouted quietly and slumped against the wall, her stomach suddenly twisting with an intense sense of vertigo for what she saw.

It looked as clear as day—she was flying. She could look left and right; she even felt the wind rushing by her face and through her hair.

“
Why do I keep seeing these things!?” she shouted as she fell back to the floor, holding her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of what she was looking at.

At first it looked like she was soaring through some metal container, but it exited into a hallway. Smoke, debris—bodies. Was she seeing out in the hallway now? She was still flying, around a sharp turn that twisted her stomach into knots, and suddenly she was back in the office right outside. A large painting she didn't see earlier was hanging half off the wall, and she could see the other side of the mirror behind it; she could see into Observation Room A through it, and she spotted herself curled up and crying in the corner.

Nightingale looked up toward the mirror, but couldn't see anything except the return trip. Back into the hallway and through the metal container—an air vent? She grabbed her face and pried her eyes open to make sure they were actually open, that she wasn't dreaming, but she couldn't see through her own eyes. It made her uneasy when she spotted herself again, and then suddenly she had her own vision back.

The nightingale was perched once again on her shoulder, and Nightingale's nose was practically gushing.

“Stop it, stop it!” she shouted, bunching up the front of her T-shirt and holding it against her nose. “Why are you doing this to me!?”

The bird just sang in response, though, and again, the singing eased the throbbing in her head.

Nightingale sniffled and pulled her shirt away from her face. Her nose had already stopped bleeding, but a good deal of it remained dried and stuck to her. She rose and headed back to the sink to wash up. “I don't know how much blood I have left in me, so please don't do that again,” she said politely as she splashed water on her face and washed as much of it off as she could.

Once she was cleaned up, she sighed and walked back over to the keypad. The nightingale remained on her shoulder, its small talons dug into her shirt, looking all over as it had apparently decided to tag along.

“Were you showing me the way out?” she asked. “It looked like things had calmed down...” She typed
4069
into the keypad to open up the door, and stepped back into the office.

Much of the smoke had cleared, and it was eerily quiet. In the distance she could hear gunfire and shouting, but it sounded like it was a few floors away. She couldn't tell if it was a few floors up or down, but hoped it was all above her... She needed to get out of this building, and that meant heading down.

“You got a name?” Nightingale said to the bird, and it responded with a quiet chirp. “Right... Well, let's get going.”

She stood in the remnants of the office's doorway and stuck her head out, looking left and right down the hallway. The crumbling walls were covered in bullet holes, and the floor was littered with bodies, but it looked otherwise clear. As long as she kept her head up, her gaze above the bodies, she found she was brave enough to walk past them. She did her best to keep her eyes forward, only looking down when she needed to maneuver carefully around some rubble or twisted limbs.

A bright red
EXIT
sign at the far end of the hallway gave her hope.