D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

Her time came.

Just as she'd feared.

Niyota had been at the medical city for close to six weeks when Dr. Wenchell had collected her from group therapy. As the two of them walked he all the while assured her that everything would work out. Truly believing that the therapy he'd chosen would help repair the damage to her mind. It would clear whatever was blocking her and make her think the fantasy she'd concocted was real. As if.

Only it wouldn't have the outcome the doctor was hoping for. As all the members of his staff would come to realize in the moments to come.

All of the Greenwood medical staff-the six members that were in attendance to the therapy-immediately stopped what they were doing, every pair of eyes centered on the middle of the room as the teenage girl-patient Jane Doe- suddenly lurched forward on the table.

"She isn't..." a nurse began.

"It's okay," Dr. Wenchelle quickly reassured them, looking up from the mental patient file in his hands at the reaction he was receiving from the rest of the staff. "She's okay. Blackouts are common during this course of treatment." None of them voiced any further complaints concerning the patient's current welfare, though it was obvious that a few of them weren't quite convinced. All of them had the unsettling feeling that whatever had just happened to the girl, it definitely couldn't be concerned common. Least of all for this.

She wasn't okay.

As all were soon to see.

Writing some more notations down into the medical file opened in his hands, information consisting of the patient strapped down to the table, to come back to later. Aware that Detective Gerald would be back soon, within the next couple of days, to check up on the condition of the patient. He always did. The police department had taken a special interest in the girl's case, especially when it came to Detective Scott Gerald. All of them wanting to ensure that the girl no longer posed a threat to either herself or the Y'Fell family, who she'd fantasized about being a part of. Dr. Wenchell had assured them time and again there was no reason to worry, the girl was on lockdown and had no chance of getting out in the foreseeable future, but he kept coming back.

It happened then.

Suddenly everything inside the operating room changed. Going through some past notes as he walked around the room, Dr. Winchell's head snapped up at a rapid beeping that disturbed the silence. Only in the next instant to be replaced by the continuous beeping, that set off alarm bells for them all. The breath stilling in his lungs, he stared at the heart monitor hooked up to the patient, just in time to watch as the blinking line went flat. "She's flatlined," a nurse said.

A folder fell out of his hands as he too came to the same conclusion, leaving it forgotten on the floor at his feet, he raced across the room. "Get the defibrillator!" Dr. Wenchell shot off orders to his medical team, coming around to stand at the side of the table and reaching for the still girl on the table, none too gently ripping apart the shirt that she wore, shoving the remnants of the torn article of clothing out of the way. "She's flatlined," the nurse pointed out. Again.

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Spurred into action at the thought that there was no heartbeat, Dr. Wenchell leaned over the motionless child and opened up her mouth. "Get it ready," he said. Then placing his mouth over already purple lips, he blew five deep breaths into her mouth, then added five compresses to the center of her chest. "It's back," another said. Relieved by this realization, Dr. Wenchell reached for the paddles and placed them on the center of her chest, a press of a button sent a jolt of electricity into her chest.

For half a second nothing happened. He jumped back when the current of electricity literally ran along the chest of the girl, shooting straight into the paddles that he was holding. "What the hell?" Dr. Wenchell gasped, cradling hands to his chest, smoke drifting up from where he'd been severely burned by the electrical current.

All watched wide eyed, completely horrified by what was happening, but having nothing that could be done to stop the unfolding events. The paddles thrown through the air by a bolt of blue electricity that sparked off the chest of the girl, crashing into one of the overhead lights. The medical team ducked for cover, the shattered lightbulb sent glass shards and sparks of fire all over the room. Electricity continued to course through the girl, sending her into convulsions on the table, bolts shooting off of her through the chords attached to her. Straight into the various pieces of machinery attached to her, machines flung back and exploding into pieces at the jolt of electricity. "What is going on?" his nurse, Pam, cried.

Dr. Wenchell honestly didn't have any clues to what could be going on, just as horrified and confused by the day's events as the rest of his team. "Sound the alarm."

She never got that far.

Suddenly Jane Doe-the persona of Niyota Y-Fell-jolted forward on the table with a blood-curdling scream, eyes just as wide and full of terror as theirs. The current of electricity traveled along the length of her body, sizzling off her face and into her mouth, electrifying her in a way none had ever been witness to before. Then just as suddenly as it all began, she collapsed back down onto the metal surface of the examining table, her head falling over to the side. Her chest stopped moving.

Once he was certain that the energy that had run through her was gone, having dissipated at the same time she'd collapsed, he approached the table. Motioning for the rest of the medical team to stay put, not wanting to place them in any undo danger, he touched her, but only static electricity remained. Confident that it was safe, Dr. Wenchell checked her pulse. "She's gone." "But..."

He shook his head. "No, Pam."

He understood the woman's uncertainty at the moment, but also knew that there was no hope left for saving the young woman's life. There was no chance of surviving what he had just witnessed. A death that rivaled even the electric chair. No one could've survived that.

"Time of death?" Pam asked.

"Twelve fourteen," he read the clock.

Jotting down the time of death in the file she had of the girl, knowing that it would be needed when the death certificate was filed, she looked up at him. "What are we to do with the body?"

"Unstrap her and have her taken down," Dr. Wenchell informed her, hating that he hadn't been able to save the life of the young girl, having not done well when he lost a patient. Although this loss was a little more brutal than he was used to, never having a death through therapy, It was no different than the rest. "I'll call Detective Gerald. He'll want to be appraised of the situation."

Bobbing her head in acknowledgment of what the man had said, she waited until Dr. Wenchell walked out of the room before she stepped near the table. Ignoring the people working at cleaning up the mess that had been made, Pam stared down at the white face, brushing dark hair to the side. "I'm so sorry."