Whoa, it's been a while.

So. We will see if I am capable of finishing what I start this time around. As usual, I am accepting joiners, PM me or post here. There will be violent parts, thus the title. Not too much gore I hope.

Also introducing my new CT profile, which I haven't updated yet, but I will.

***
Blood. Blood was everywhere. It drifted in the freefall like ruby beads scattered about, brilliant and beautiful and so very abundant.
She watched it float dispassionately, not wondering whose blood it was. She was detached from her surroundings, her body. She drifted like the blood, aimless and unconcerned.
It was splashed liberally on the walls, ceiling, floor; ragged, crimson swathes that were startling on the white tile.
She drifted peacefully, looking at the blood. Everything was slightly distorted, the edges very bright, the colors oversaturated and heliotrope. The rom seemed over-exposed, but she didn’t know if this was normal or not.
Had things always looked this way?
She couldn’t remember. Didn’t need to.
It was fading anyway.

The brush of hair against her open eyes brought her back to awareness. Copper hair, long and unbound and graceful. Her hair looked like that, she thought. Her hair was very long, always kept in many braids. It had been a very long time since she had seen her hair unbraided.
She wanted to touch the hair, to see if it was hers. Her arm was not responding though. Maybe she no longer had arms? She couldn’t tell.
In any case, there was no pain. In fact, she didn’t hurt anywhere. Everything was comfortably numb.
The colors were even brighter now, burnt out in places. Her vision was over-sharp, fuzzy at the edges.
She couldn’t tell if she was moving, or if it was the room that gently circled her.
The hair drifted around her face, obscuring her vision.

There were sounds outside. She couldn’t say how long she had been drifting there, or if there had been anything before this room. But she was pretty sure the voices hadn’t been there before.
There had been the sounds of metal on metal before, ringing through the room. Glass had shattered. She had seen the steel door buckle before it had drifted out of her line of sight.
There were words, but she couldn’t make sense of them. It didn’t matter. The sounds bounced about the room, jarring her over-sensitive ears, echoing in her skull. The effect was disorienting. Was it supposed to be?
Sobbing.
“No, no. I can’t. I’m so sorry. I can’t take it.”
“It’s ok, it’s ok. Stay in the hall. You don’t have to see this.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry ...”
She couldn’t see who was making the sounds. Couldn’t move to see.
“Are they all dead?”
“No bodies ... just blood ...”
The sounds were fading, phasing in and out. She liked the silence better.
“Is she alive?”
“Can’t be ... too much blood ... should be hours dead ...”
She was moving. A hand drifted within her narrow field of vision, a graceful hand, deeply lacerated across the palm. She watched in fascination as the blood flowed down the fingers, sluggish and so deeply red, breaking away from the fingertips, beading and drifting away. The fur was deep, glistening red, moist with blood. It was ivory under the red, she knew.
Not her hand. Didn’t hurt. Couldn’t be hers.
Shapes, unfocussed, moved in her peripheral vision. She ignored them.
“Still bleeding ... she’s not breathing ... can’t find a pulse!”
“... losing her ...”
Losing who? But it didn’t matter. She wanted the sounds to go away. Wanted quiet.
“... get that equipment in here stat!...”
“Still bleeding! Losing too much blood ...”
The blood was so beautiful though. It would taste salty and sweet in her mouth, she knew. And copper, like her hair.
A slow, erratic beeping intruded briefly before fading out. The voices were quiet too. That was much better, but now they were phasing back in.
“Stop that bleeding!”
“... too many injuries ..”
Vertigo, dizziness, assailed her. The world was very bright, but it had begun fading. The dizziness passed.
She didn’t mind darkness.
She spiralled down into the dark, followed by the monotonous blare of a heart monitor, registering a flatline.

She awoke screaming, excruciating pain tearing at her body, disintegrating her mind.
Her consciousness shut down under the sensory overload.
Darkness flooded in.

Burning. The pain was like live coals poured over her, searing her. She twisted and screamed, and no sound emerged. She was pinned, unable to escape the agony. She thrashed violently.
A hand, ice-cold, was laid on her forehead. The pain was like needles driven through her.
She fainted.

Pain awoke her, a dull, pulsing pain that permeated her entire body, penetrated her very bones.
She opened her eyes and immediately closed them. The light stung her, made her flinch. The pain was immediate, stabbing through her skull.
She drifted again.

*appluads*

This is sheer genius. I feel humbled in your prescene, sir. I'll join, but I don't really mind what you do to Joshua. Go ahead. You have my support.

Go Coppertop!

Originally Posted by superjwren329

feel humbled in your prescene, sir.

Correction: madam.

I second Mr. 329; brilliantly done. I have a minor scientific quarrel, though: I'm pretty sure you can't breathe if you don't have a pulse (at least not for more than a second or two).

<3

Uh, besides that, use my char if you wish. n0 loves to go romping around the universe with you and the gang.

Whoa, that's really awesome! Me likes.
But why suddenly something so violent?

Rad: typo, now fixed.
Xobim: I'm not sure you can call it "suddenly". I haven't written in over a year.

Thanks guys

Well, maybe not suddenly; it just makes the sentence sound better.... :P
I just want to know if this kind of story is normal in the tavern, or normal for you to write.

I wouldn't say normal for the Tavern. Not really in character for me, but I figured it was a fairly dramatic beginning. I have four other completed stories if you want to see what's usual for me :P

BTW, new chapter will be up in a day or so.

Originally Posted by Xobim

But why suddenly something so violent?

Violent? That's just presumptuous. Nobody died and there was no fighting. For all you know, she just slipped on a roller skate and hit her head. While holding a catsup bottle, which broke open all over the place and cut her hand.

Uhm, what I meant was what happened in this part of the story. Sorry if I used the wrong word... :/
Anyway, CT answered my question.

No worries, Xobim.

***
When she next awoke, the pain was still present. She cautiously opened her eyes, slitting them against the light.
Not the same room. It was white, but clean. There was no shattered equipment, no blood. Medical equipment stood beside her bed. And there were windows, guarded by the metal slats of the lowered blinds.
Her limbs felt like they were weighted with lead, and the pain thudded through them, a dull, omnipresent ache. But she could feel them, and she was alive. She lifted one hand to her forehead, then noticed the IV taped to the back of it, the faint bloodstains in the ivory fur.
Not a dream, then?
Where was she?
But she was so very tired, and comfortable despite the pain ...

The soft sound of a door opening brought her back to wakefulness. Her room was dim, but light from the hall streamed in through the door, limning the jacketed figure of a doctor and falling across the bed.
The anonymous doctor leaned over her, and capable fingers took her pulse. He studied the medical equipment intently, then made a note on his clipboard and left as quietly as he had come.

At some point during the night it occurred to her that she should be afraid.
She couldn’t remember what had happened to her, nor whom had done it. But she knew that it was not a dream, and the half-remembered awakenings in agony were sinister in retrospect.
Who was taking such trouble to heal her?
She had no illusions that they were friendly, simply because they were treating her injuries. Kindness did not mean friendship.
Who had she learned that from?
Everything was hazy in her mind. It took such effort to think, to remember even her name; yet, she must remember, for it was vital to her survival.
Her name was ... was ...
Exhaustion overtook her and she slept.

She woke once more the the door opening. Sunlight streamed in despite the blinds, slanting across the wall in horizontal bars that brought to mind prisons and deprivation.
“Awake, are we?” the doctor - for she assumed he was such - said in a lowered voice that still conveyed cheerfulness, after checking the instruments again. “How are you feeling?” He took her pulse in a professional manner, and examined a chart.
“Tired,” she whispered, for her voice seemed to have deserted her.
She recalled screaming until her voice gave out.
“That’s expected. You’ve been through a lot of trauma, and lost a lot of blood. But you’re on the mend, and we’ll have you up and about in no time.”
“Where .. am I?”
“Whitmore County Hospital. I haven’t seen injuries as severe as yours in a very long time, missie. I’m curious as to what happened, but I’m sure they’ll ask you all those questions later, when you’ve recovered.”
“... they?”
“No more questions. You need all the sleep you can get if you’re to recover.” He left quickly but quietly, and closed the door after him, leaving her with her unanswered questions.

What had happened?
She remembered smoke, thick and choking, filling the room. Remembered sparks flashing through the shifting darkness. Remembered screams and the sound of people running.
Remembered fear.
She remembered a grin, manic and insane, and flashing steel.
Blood. Pain. Laughter, wild and malicious.
She could not recall how the room had gone from smoke-filled to clear air. Could not remember when the gravity generators had failed. She didn’t know what had happened to any of the others; they had fled, and she had been left behind, to the mercy of whoever owned that grin.
All of the blood in that room had been hers.

“How much blood did I lose?” she asked later, when the doctor returned. Her voice was still gone, and she spoke in a husky whisper.
“Most of it,” the doctor said bluntly. “We gave you transfusions as soon as we could. Frankly, it’s a miracle you survived.”
“Is anything ... damaged?”
“Hard to say,” he admitted. “Your injuries were extensive. You may lose some feeling in your hands and feet. Nothing serious, though, which is another miracle.”
“So many miracles,” she whispered, lying back wearily. “What was the point?”
The doctor cleared his throat uncertainly, but she was no longer paying any attention to him.

The first part is outstanding, the second follows up well. I'm looking forward to more of this story.

I completely agree with DoubleGJ.

ProLog would probably say:
?- awesome(story).
Yes.

Eval

And yes, I'm still here...

Evaluator!! Long time no see. I had no idea you still visited the JCF.

Want in?

Yap, long time no see... again
Well, if you have any use for my character, why not

Great story. It really made me curious what happened to that girl.

Wow... So very awsome. I wish I could write like that.

Yes, I live! Been a while since I was around, I realize, but I am alive and kicking.

~*~
“How is she?”
“Recovering as quickly as can be expected. She’s awake now if you’d like to see her.”
“No, that’s alright. I imagine she’s not up to visitors yet.”
The doctor gave the stranger a sidelong look. His manner was odd for a visitor. He professed to be concerned about the girl, but his manner did not bear it out. He seemed diffident.
“It’s been three weeks,” the doctor said briskly, “and her recovery is fairly rapid. No complications. We should be able to discharge her in another week or two if things continue as they have been.”
“Three weeks? Isn’t that unusually fast for her to heal?”
“I expected it would take longer,” the doctor admitted, “but most of her injuries were fairly shallow. It was blood loss and shock that almost killed her.”
“She is strong,” the stranger said, and flashed a predatory smile at the doctor. “I expect she remembers very little?”
“She doesn’t seem to,” the doctor agreed, suspicion mounting. “Why?”
“No particular reason,” the other said easily. “Just another sign of trauma that we may deal with later on.”
His grin flashed again and he turned to go.
“Do you want us to tell her you visited?”
“No,” the stranger said, pausing in the doorway. “I doubt she remembers me anyway.”
“May I at least have your name?”
But the stranger was already gone.

Later, when the doctor was asked to describe the stranger, he found he could not. Dark fur, but what shade? His clothing was woefully generic, his height and features average, nothing unusual at all. Even his eye color was beyond recall.
The subject was dropped and the conversation moved on.
But that predatory smile stayed, haunting the doctor’s memory.

~*~
Vague dreams haunted her sleep, pursuing her as she tossed restlessly. Floating droplets of blood mingled with showering sparks and flashing lights, chaotic, confusing the eye even in sleep.
A dark figure loomed before her, featureless save for his insane grin, flashing whitely in the erratic light. One gloved hand closed about her throat. The other gripped something sharp and metallic. She twisted frantically, attempting to writhe out of his grasp, away from that blade.
She awoke breathless, sheets tangled about her, hair wrapping about her face and neck. Blood spotted the rumpled white sheets in places, from cuts that had broken open during her dream-struggle. Beside her, the trace on the heart monitor slowed until it registered a normal beat.
A nurse came in on hushed feet, alerted by the erratic heart monitor, and looked at her concernedly.
“Are you alright? Did you need anything?”
She was overcome with a sudden need to be clean, to wash away all the fear and blood from her body, scrub away the memory of that hand at her throat.
“I - can I - is there a shower I could use?”
“Yes, of course,” the nurse said calmly, not phased in the least by the unusual request. The girl assumed that the nurse had heard stranger things from other patients. She did not care to dwell on this for long however, since she herself did not understand the need behind her request.

She was led down the darkened hallway, lit fitfully by dim florescent lights scattered at random. During the day, she knew, the hallway would be brightly lit, stinging the eyes of the sensitive, harsh and uncompromising. She preferred the nighttime lighting scheme.
The nurse indicated the bathroom door to her, flipped on the lights within the white tiled room, and then left her alone. She was thankful for the reprieve, being intimidated by the nurse’s air of capable impersonality.
When the nurse was out of sight, she turned the lights off again, and locked the door. The room was lit only by a dim nightlight in the corner, by the shower stall.
She scrutinized herself in the mirror, and discovered that her hair was matted and dark with dried blood, as were patches of her fur. In other places, bare skin showed where they had shaved her fur away before setting in neat stitches, piecing her wounded body together again. She had not realized that she was so filthy. She had not been capable of thinking of such things before, and clearly they had not been concerned enough to bathe her as she slept. She did not like this idea when she considered it, and the thought of being touched so by strangers disturbed her deeply. She decided that she preferred being able to wash it away herself.
She avoided looking at the shaved areas. The darkness made it easier, but she shivered every time her hand brushed over the stitching.
She soaped her hair thoroughly three times before the blood was washed out and the water ran clear, and she could turn her attention to the rest of herself. Some of the smaller lacerations, not severe enough to require stitching, opened under her relentless scrubbing, and fresh blood mingled with the old.
It took some time before she deemed herself clean enough, and the shower had gone lukewarm by the time she turned it off. She did not concern herself over this.
When she exited the bathroom at last, fur still slightly damp but now the correct color, hair braided tightly back, the nurse was nowhere to be seen. She was faintly relieved, not wishing for company. She knew the way back to her room and did not require an escort in any case.
Her bed had been remade when she entered the room, the bloodstained sheets efficiently replaced with fresh ones. Too weary to care, she returned to her dreaming.

~*~
He could sense them trying to access the database again.
He withdrew further into his corner of the system, ignoring their queries. They could not force him to manifest, only request. Likewise, they could not access his memory without his consent, and it was his memories they were after, once again.
He blocked out the insistent requests, focusing instead on the calm, the quiet, the darkness. He did not wish to relive the fear again.
Eventually, they went away. He relaxed with a good deal of relief. They made him nervous. He could not remember what they wanted him to remember, and their patience did not reassure him. He had not seen enough, but he had seen a good deal too much.
He was one of their few successes, in their forays into the realm of intelligent programs, but a failure as well, in a sense, for he was not really a program. A sentience, an entity, an anomaly, but not a program. Programs have limitations, predetermined responses, functions that are well defined and impossible to deviate from. He had neither function nor predetermined responses, and his limitations were unique. He was entirely self-willed, much to the frustration of the researchers who had helped create him.
He may have once been a living organism, but he couldn’t remember, and they would neither confirm or deny it when he asked.
A failure, also, because of his fear. He could not be harmed by physical objects, they reassured him constantly, but he did not really believe them.
“Evaluator, initiate please.”
They were back at it, and he withdrew again. He did not wish to communicate again.
“Evaluator, initiate please.”
He extended his senses through the database into the hardware in the room - sensors, audio and video pickups, temperature monitors. He didn’t think they knew he could do this without permission. He wasn’t controlling the hardware, merely sharing it.
He had had permission in the research facility to go wherever he chose. He was not permitted to manipulate everything, but that was okay, because he understood why. He knew how to do it if he had to, and that was enough for him. There had been only one place where he couldn’t go, because it was a closed system, full of sensitive equipment that he shouldn’t touch.
He had not manifested since he had left the research facility. His emotions, which programs were not supposed to have, were entirely those of a biological organism - illogical, unreasonable, and driving.
He looked out through the video pickups and opened up to the audio sensors. One of the researchers was bent over a keyboard, attempting to convince him to manifest once again. He had blocked the requests, but he could feel them waiting in the database until such a time when he should allow them through. Methodically, he deleted them.
He started to extend into the video pickups in the hallway outside, but withdrew almost immediately. The database was still the safest place.
“Evaluator, intitiate please.”
The request had been sent through a different channel, one that was still open. He shut it down. The researcher swore and dropped her head into her hands. He felt sudden pity for her plight. It couldn’t hurt him to make contact, could it? He took over her terminal, blanking the screen, and flashed text onto it.
- What do you want? -
The woman jerked with surprise. Evidently she had not expected him to respond. He regretted briefly that he had not been more polite.
“Could - could you manifest, please?”
- Why? -
“It’s awkward talking to a computer.”
With a mental cringe, he shied away from the idea.
- No. -
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
- Too dangerous. -
“What’s dangerous? What are you afraid of?”
Abandoning the terminal to a rising tide of fear, he fled to the database again, leaving the researcher to her frustration.

When he ventured forth again, a young rabbit was sitting where the researcher had last been. He did not request Evaluator’s presence, but that no longer mattered. A question had occurred to Evaluator, and he needed to know the answer. He switched on the terminal monitor, which had been turned off, and his question scrolled across the screen.
- Where is she? -
The rabbit blinked owlishly at the screen, looking curious.
“Who? Marianna?”
Marianna, Evaluator remembered, was the name of the female researcher.
- The girl from the research station. -
Mentioning the research station made pangs of fear shoot through him. He suppressed the feeling ruthlessly. The rabbit leaned forward, manner intense.
“What girl? A survivor?”
- Her hair was red. -
Not red, not really. Coppery. He disregarded accuracy for the sake of brevity in this case.
“Who was she?”
- She was his target. -
Target was as close a word as any. Plaything, toy, victim, prey, the words all applied. He had hunted her through the dark halls after everyone else was gone, until he caught her and took her to the place where Evaluator could not go.
“Whose target?”
They still wanted to know who he was. Well, Evaluator didn’t know, and furthermore, he wasn’t going to think about it.
- Where is she? -
The young scientist said nothing, and Evaluator knew that no answer was forthcoming. He turned his attention away from the terminal in disgust and sought the databanks, extending his senses along the ephemeral rivers of data travelling in and out. He found a particularly strong transmission and attached himself to it, allowing it to carry him away from the rather secluded research database. He would find the girl himself. He would see if she still lived, and what had been done to her. He needed to know that another had survived.
In the computers, Evaluator was safe from him. But the girl was trapped in the physical world. She was, to his mind, in danger. Obviously the others didn’t understand this. Well, Evaluator would keep an eye on her, once he found her. This time, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He’d follow her like he hadn’t dared to do last time.
Maybe if he had, he would have been able to save her.
He began searching, driven by no motivation more powerful than guilt.

~*~
Pain.
She came awake with a start, instantly alert. Barbed sharper than any wire, pain twisted through her calf muscle, drawing involuntary twitches from her. Just a muscle cramp, natural and fleeting.
Lesser pain assaulted her then: stings from various scrapes; a bone-deep ache throughout her healing body; sharp stinging from the IV in her bruised wrist. The medical tape holding the IV to her arm tugged viciously on the fine ivory fur, that was still growing in where they had shaved it away.
It was time to be gone.
The cramp twisted higher, contorting her leg. She gasped and attempted to stretch it out, then sat up and began massaging it vigorously. The pain receded as she relaxed, and she pushed her hair away from her face with a sigh.
She wanted out of the hospital, with its impersonally friendly doctors and nurses; wanted out of the sterile white room; wanted out from under the eyes of her oh-so-concerned benefactors. Wanted out.
Every passing hour, the hospital became less of a haven and felt more like a prison. She felt trapped, not safe. If he came looking for her, there was no escape from her room, with its harsh flourescent lights and dispassionate, clinically white walls and linoleum.
She felt like an exhibit in that room; out on display for all the curious staff and interns. How she hated feeling their eager eyes on her, observing the miracle patient who should not have survived.
She wished she knew her name. She wanted to scream it at them, wanted to say, you see? this is who I am. I have an identity. I have a place, a purpose, in this universe; I am my own, not some lab rat for your use. I am a person.
Of course, she had no identity, no place, no purpose. All she had was restlessness, a general sense of discontent, and memories of pain.
It was dark outside, dark enough that her window was transparent despite it being the middle of the sleep cycle. Often she woke to windows opaque and featureless, blocking out the dawn or twilight. She was thankful for their current translucency, for it made the room feel less prison-like. The hallway lights, though dimmed, threw a glare onto the windowpane, through which she could vaguely see the cold glitter of stars.
In the soft glow of the hall lights, she could make out the bulky shapes of furniture and machinery scattered throughout the room. The hospital was quiet at this time of night, save for the hum of equipment and the distant sound of the night staff’s conversations. Light reflected off of the white linoleum, making obvious the scuffs on the floor. The temptation to leave was almost overpowering.
Of course, she had nowhere to go.

~*~
Evaluator flitted from database to databasee, floowing information trails in search of the girl he knew had survived. Security measures had been applied to many of the datastreams, but they were no match for his skills.
It had taken him far longer to escape the well-meaning researchers and their closed database. It seemed the defenses intended to keep him safe also worked to keep him imprisoned, but he had slipped out through one of the few datastreams to the outside world.
And oh, the information he had found. First, her location; Whitmore was a well-known hospital with an excellent trauma ward. Next, her records, including doctors’ notes on her condition.
Acute memory loss resulting from severe trauma. Recurring nightmares concerning incident. Physical recovery satisfactory. Counselling sessions recommended.
She had been there for over a month.
Finally, visitor recordsd. Names he identified as members of the investigating police force, and one signature that was not a signature at all, but merely a squiggled line. It appeared only once, three weeks after her admittance.

~*~
Daybreak brought rain.
She lay in the white-draped bed, watching the rain drool down the windowpane and aching to be outside in it. Her restless energy was engendered by her acute frustration, and compounded by her enforced inactivity.
Predatory smiles and the copper scent of blood hovered in the back of her mind, waiting for her relax her guard.
She refused to think about it.
The rain dripped, monotonous and dreary, drizzling from a grey sky as heavy as her heart. Machinery droned, blending in with the sound of the rain. The ticking of the clock seemed very loud.
She had spent many hours studying its square white face, framed in black, blank and boring. It was a very plain clock, uttery unexciting.
The nearest bank of flourescent lights dimmed, then returned to their ordinary state of brightness.
The hum of the machinery seemed very loud indeed.

<3

Yes, I live! Been a while since I was around, I realize, but I am alive and kicking.

I never doubted it

Wow... awesome story (and thanks for adding me in )!

Well, nearly a year after I started this, I'm updating. It's pathetically small, but better than nothing.


He coalesced into being beside the heart monitor, giving no warning at all. The room was sterile, typical, giving no indication of its occupant’s personality.
She sat in the hospical bed, a white sheet drawn up over her legs, beautiful as he remembered. Her coppery hair had been rebraided. Her ivory fur showed faint bloodstains and was patchy in places, very short where it had been shaved away.
Her large eyes were fixed on him, wide and grey as the clouds outside. She looked lost, and so very, very afraid. He remembered that look. He remembered seeing it through security cameras as she ran ...
“Hey,” he said awkwardly, wondering what he could possibly say to put her at ease.
“Hi,” she said in a small voice, fear and uncertainty in every line of her body. She recovered enough to finally ask, “who are you? What are you?”
“I’m ... uh. It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself. They called me Evaluator.”
She was not reacting as he had expected. The fear was not of him. Her responses were not those of a normal person; he supposed she was still recovering mentally.
“Why?”
Her question was so childish and yet so sincere that it caught him off guard. He fumbled for an answer.
“I - I was part of an experiment, I guess. I think I used to be like you, before. I’m not sure. I might have been something else. Anyways, I can remember them asking the evaluator for progress updates, and then I started answering for it. They thought it was still the evaluation program. After that, they just never bothered to rename me.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, the fear ebbing away visibly. “They thought you were a program?”
“They .. transferred me, I guess. Into the computers. I changed ... I can come out like now, but mostly I stay in the system.”
“Why?”
“I’m free there,” he said simply. He couldn’t begin to explain the limitations that were removed when he was in the system, when computers were his eyes and ears. He could be anywhere, everywhere, all at once. He could do anything.
“You don’t remember anything from before,” she said, eyes fixed on him. He shook his head.
“Me either,” she said softly. She looked down at her hands.
“I know,” he said.
“I remember being chased,” she said. “I think he caught me. And then I woke up here.”
“Nobody told you what happened?”
“No,” she whispered. “They asked me questions - what did he look like, did he say anything, did you recognize him - but I couldn’t tell them anything, so they went away.”
“We were ona research station,” he said finally, debating how much to tell her. “Different kinds of research, but one of the projects had to do with weapons, I think.”
“You were there?” she asked, tensing up again.
“I told you I was an experiment,” he said mildly. “Anyways, someone found out about the weapons and next thing we know there’s activists breaking down the door and storming the place. I remember you running, and you went into one of the restricted areas where I wasn’t allowed, and the doors got shut behind you. And somebody was following you, but then the activists destroyed the camera system and I couldn’t see anymore.”
She was quiet for a long time, watching the rain patter on the window.
“Why are you here?” she asked finally. She sounded so very, very tired.
“I had to know if you were okay,” he said. “Had to tell you. And - to apologize. For not stopping him.”
“Why didn’t you,” she said, still not looking at him. He flinched, almost lost control and fled back to the digital world.
“I was so afraid,” he said miserably. “I’m still afraid. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know what to do.”
“Neither do I,” she said, looking at him once more. “But if I could ... I’d find the guy who did this to me, and I’d ask him why.”
Evaluator felt frozen at the thought of facing the monster he had glimpsed, of actually trying to find him. He wanted to tell her she was insane, crazy, didn’t know what she was dealing with.
“If you mean that, I can help,” he heard himself say. “I can help you find the activists.”

Glad to see you aren't dead, and I like where this story is going. A story that is unraveled forwards and backwards at the same time is so much fun.

Also, congrats on the engagement, and upload another pic when you dye your hair awesome!

Lovely story. It's a soft read and easy to understand. Can't wait to see more, I really want to know what happened in that research centre!

It seems I am doomed to update once a year. This means we shall still be reading this in the nursing home.

It was surprisingly easy to leave the hospital. Evaluator was her lookout, flitting from camera to camera and whispering in her ear. She swallowed her fear and did as he instructed, and in a remarkably short time he had led her down a metallic, echoing staircase and into what she surmised was the front lobby.
“Stay here,” Evaluator hissed in her ear. She hugged the hospital gown closer about herself and did as he said.
The odd entity materialized outside in the rain, out of the desk clerk’s line of sight, and strolled in through the silent, automated doors boldly. Whitmore County Hospital was well-funded; the lobby was spacious and lush, tiled floor gleaming, walls softly shaded with calming, inviting colors. She remembered the stark white of her hospital room and wondered at the difference.
Evaluator made a bee-line for the desk, shoes clicking sharply on the tiles. The desk was massive and built of rich, dark wood. The clerk looked up as he approached.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she inquired. Evaluator cleared his throat nervously and said, “the department sent me over to escort the young lady from the research station.”
“Oh, yes, our mystery patient,” the girl said agreeably. “Let me check with the on-duty nurse to see.”
“Of course,” Evaluator agreed, and resisted the urge to straighten the uniform he had materialized in. He took comfort in the proximity of the computers and the escape they offered.
“Just a moment, officer,” the clerk said, and vanished into a back room.
“Hurry,” Evaluator whispered in his young charge’s ear, and she obeyed immediately. He whisked her out the glass doors and onto the rain-spattered sidewalk before the desk clerk could return, and blanked the security recordings for good measure.
“Come on,” he said to his companion, losing the uniform with a thought. “We’ll find you somewhere safe to go.”

Evaluator was an excellent guide. He never got lost and always knew where they should go, due to city computers with inadequate safeguards.
‘Somewhere safe’ turned out to be a disused storeroom in one of the inner-city public schools. The building was closed for the summer, but Evaluator could go anywhere with ease. The security system admitted them blindly.
The girl was stumbling with exhaustion, and Evaluator berated himself silently. Of course she had no stamina - a month of bedrest had robbed her of any strength she might have possessed. He hurried to support her, fearing that she could faint. She proved to be made of sterner stuff, and they made it without incident.
The hallways were pristine and empty, the classrooms bare of student decorations. Chairs and desks were stacked in every classroom. Everything was slightly dusty.
They had gone from soaked to merely damp by the time they found what Evaluator was looking for. The storeroom was empty save for a stack of gym mats piled haphazardly against the far wall. The gloom of the unlit building faded the bright primary colors of the mats to a dim grey, but they were recognizable.
“Stay here,” Evaluator said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He vanished, heading for the sickroom where there were sure to be blankets they could pilfer. He found them easily, thin white sheets folded into the closet, and pulled several out. The armful of fabric prevented swifter methods, so he turned and began to walk back to the storeroom.
She was already asleep when he arrived, curled into an ivory-furred ball on the stack of mats, coppery braids trailing gracefully over the edge. The hospital gown was wrapped securely about her thin body, providing scanty warmth but saving her dignity.
Evaluator gently spread the blankets over her prone form. It was highly unlikely that searchers would find them, but he made certain that the storeroom door was locked anyway.
He drew back ino the building’s system. He kept an eye on his young friend, and wondered dismally what he was to do.

Originally Posted by Coppertop

It seems I am doomed to update once a year. This means we shall still be reading this in the nursing home.

The mental image I conjured up when reading this was hilarious
Still, if your writing continues to be this brilliant, it might actually happen

I'm really curious about the backstory... and what's to come, obviously.