– Another?
– Another.
– How old?
– Late teens.
– Conditi#*?
– ##**@####*#
– #@#*ght?
– Five foot six, #**###**
– **####?
– brow#
– ######
– ######
White noise fades in and out until the silence of darkness finally falls.
Everyone is marked somewhere.
A banjo plays.
Blinking, she opens her eyes. The room is blindingly white. In front of her there is a short, old woman sitting on a crisp white bed. Everything is white: the room, the bed, the walls. Everything is pristine and blank.
From the old woman’s chin a long, grey beard grows, curling at the end where it sweeps between a pair of bare feet. Her teeth grip a pipe, and a ruffled pink blouse explodes from beneath a drab pair of blue dungarees. The face of a grandfather clock swings from her neck by thick, frayed rope.
“Well hello, dearie. It’s a long way from home you are.”
Stepping down from the bed, the old woman edges closer, wearing a disconcerting smile.
“What is gone may never leave. Everyone is marked somewhere. And you’ve been marked. Oh yes, you mark my words.”
The white of the room flares brightly, blinding her again.
– ####
– ###.
– **##?
– **## increased to **##.
– Conditi#*?
– #tabilizin#
– Can you **##?
– No response. Wa##
– Can you **##me?
– Pupils responding. Pressure back to normal.
– Do we proceed?
– Hmm. Muscle is still good. Not too much nerve damage.
– I would prefer a more suitable candidate.
– Her city burned. You know what that means.
– Hmm. And what she carried? Has it been identified?
– There has been no reclamation. She is nobody.
Do we proceed?
– …Begin
Darkness closes in again.
The last thing she hears is the whine of an electric saw.
Everyone is marked somewhere.