#gediman

1 - Unravelled

"Jesus.” Wren exclaimed. “You're still alive…" He stated this plainly, no urgency to his voice.

The man he spoke to could give no coherent reply. Caught in a thick web like a spider's captured prey awaiting the relief of venom, he hung suspended, physically cocooned and mentally unravelled.

"Have you got one?" Wren asked coldly, cutting through the rambling. "Is it inside you?'

Wearily Gediman drifted in and out of consciousness as he mumbled, words slurred and incoherent. Then, clarity amidst the rambling, a single sentence rung clear:

"I've been... made pure…" He smiled sickly, chuckling as though he had said something funny.

"Do you have one or not." Wren spoke firmly, disinterested in twisted riddles. His tone made Gediman flinch before the man returned to a near delirious whimsy.

"A perfect seed has taken root in me, and from me will be birthed God." He laughed again, manically before sharply inhaling and wincing, a deep pain clawing at his chest.

This alone was enough to confirm Wren's suspicions. Taking a beat to think, he made his conclusion swift and decisively. "Okay. You're coming with me."

"I am?" Gediman asked sincerely. Wren did not reply as he began tearing away the cocoon that imprisoned the man. "Wait-" Jonathan protested "We should stay. For the birth." He glanced reverently to the incapacitated queen.

"No." Wren continued freeing him "We shouldn't."

"I can't miss it..."

"You're going to have to."

With that, the majority of the cocoon fell away, allowing the weakened scientist to slip to his freedom, only to be pulled directly into the arms of his superior.

Wren could tell the man was unable to walk, so debilitated from his ordeal he fell limp right into his arms. Jonathan was hardly any trouble to carry over shoulder, he was short and had no real weight to him.

Gediman relented to the confident, firm hold, gently drifting into unconsciousness. He watched the pregnant queen longingly as she disappeared from his sight forever.

And then all was gone to black.

*  *  *

Gently his eyes fluttered open, the room was a pale white, well lit. He felt hungover, like a tremendous weight bore down on his skull. Slowly, he made to sit up, his muscles weak and aching. He was in some kind of hospital bed, with medical devices around him that gently beeped at steady intervals.

He gradually collected his thoughts; it was like he had woken suddenly from a nightmare and needed to discern reality from fiction. He needed grounding, but he could feel his heart rate build pace, preparing for an inevitable panic he couldn't quite identify yet.

Suddenly he tensed, the shattered memories struck him all at once and hurriedly he began clutching at his chest, pulling aside the thin layer of a hospital gown to get to the bare skin beneath. He was met with an unexpected sight, a scar that spanned the width of his chest and another at half the length. A perfect cross.

Running his fingers along the ridges of the recently healed incision, his mind swarmed with ideas, his fears both confirmed and alleviated simultaneously. Questions- too many to count- flooded him.

He felt sick. Stumbling out of the bed and onto the cold floor he scanned his surroundings for anything at all that could help him. He spotted a basic toilet on the other side of the small room which he dismissed at first, but suddenly felt his skin crawl with beads of sweat, and his stomach turned. Rushing to it, he vomited whatever remained in his stomach- not much it seemed.

The world span around him and he entered a fever. Sat down on the floor, he leant on the cool tiled wall behind him and tried to collect himself. The medical machines beeped faster, and to him sounded louder, each piercing tone a dagger in his already embattled mind.

Running his hands through his hair, he lamented a lack of a hair tie. He felt unravelled with it loose. It was… much longer than he remembered. How much time had passed?

He felt like he couldn't breathe, like something was constricted around his neck...

He gasped. Something was constricted around his neck. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, a tight strip, a smooth seamless texture with no clasp. He couldn't even get his fingers underneath it.

Panic crept up again. He assessed his surroundings and located the only door. Desperate for answers he willed himself to his feet and staggered to it.

Locked. Of course...

He tried to speak and failed at first. Attempting to force the door open to no avail he tried again, voice hoarse and strained.

"Hello?" he called out. He didn't know what else to say. His attempts to pry the door open became more frantic, his arms felt so weak. "Hey!" He called louder. His desperation and fear took hold, the door was entirely unmoved.

Despairing he appraised the room once more, there was a large mirror that caught his attention, embedded into the metal wall he could tell even at just a glance that it was a two-way mirror. Driven by pure terror he picked up a small chair and swung it with his entire body into the glass.

Crumpling to the floor from the sheer force, he glanced up weakly at the mirror and a manic smile emerged at the sight of a large crack in the glass. Making to stand once more, his body abruptly gave up on him. He slumped back onto the floor, unable even to push himself up onto his elbows, he was afflicted with a withering force that sapped away all his ability.

Defeated and meek, his voice was reduced to a sobbed whisper. “Help…”

The fever overcame him. As his vision became a patchwork of murky shadows, the last thing to leave him was his hearing, though the world sounded as though submerged in deep waters.

The click of the door unlocking and sliding open with an easy hiss. A sigh and a familiar, tired voice muttering "Fuck's sake..." contemptibly.

And then all was gone to black.

*  *  *