D.N.A: Does Not Assimilate

"Hello, Jane."

Niyota was stretched out atop the thin lumpy cot in the isolation room found within the bowels of Greenwood Hospital. No different than solitary in prison the inmates were known for she could imagine, blocked off from the rest of the world. Yes, this was just like prison. When Niyota hadn't reacted too well to their claims, she'd been shipped off to the new world for the time being. A form of punishment, she guessed.

It'd been nearly two days since Dr. Wenchell had her transported to the new ward. In that time her only source of company was the medical staff who came to check on her. Niyota spent the remainder of her time surrounded by four stone walls and silence. A deafening silence she wasn't particularly fond of. It gave her too much time to think, to remember.

Today was different. Niyota was alerted to the footsteps that came in her direction. A moment later the voice, stiff and professional as ever, offered the greeting. Dr. Wenchell had arrived on the scene, come to pay her a visit. She grunted in response.

"How are you doing?" the doctor asked.

NIyota didn't attempt to raise her head. "I would be doing a whole lot better if your oversized barbarian of an orderly hadn't tackled me down to the floor like some freaking linebacker."

Dr. Wenchell grimaced distastefully at the reminder. "I'm terribly sorry for John's treatment of you Jane, but we both know you really hadn't given the man much of a choice in the situation. The type of behavior you exhibited in the lab just cannot be allowed here at Greenwood, no matter your reasons. There are far more healthier ways to express one's emotions, than screaming and storming off."

His remarks did not pacify her, as she was sure had been the desired effect of the man. It did quite the opposite. Grinding teeth together and hands clenched into tight fists at her side, Niyota glared broodingly into the ceiling above. "I only reacted such a way, because you people refuse to accept what is right in front of your eyes. Because you deny the truth, even when you know I'm right."

That was the wrong thing to say apparently. The legs of a chair screeched loudly in the silence as Dr. Wenchell climbed to his feet, putting the chair off from wherever he'd gotten it. "If you are persistent in believing this fantasy of yours, then there is nothing more to be said."

Niyota twisted her head around on the bed, to look at him through the glass door. "And if that is the way you truly feel on the matter, then goodbye and good riddance. I will not agree that what I tell you is mere fantasy, simply because you tell me to."

He started to walk.

"Oh by the way doctor," Niyota called after the retreating doctor, having a few words for him before he had the chance to disappear on her completely. "Remember this moment will you? Because there will come a time when you too will profess your innocence and no one will believe you. I hope I'm there the day it happens. So that I can see the torture in your eyes, the agony in your heart, and know you endure the same hell that you've forced me into." He left at that.

She flipped him off.

If she thought she'd known boredom before, that had nothing on what life became for her, being locked away inside of the isolation cell. After Dr. Wenchell's abrupt departure from her cell, Niyota rolled back over in bed and closed her eyes, deciding to get a couple hours of sleep. Why not use the time to her own advantage? It wasn't like she had anything better to do. Almost instantly as her eyes closed, she fell fast asleep, slipping into dreams. Ana-tei-oie-i.

Refra-ki-ome.

The strange language came to her.

Niyota stared through glossy eyes, vision clouded and fuzzy, at the people talking in the strange language on either side of her bed. Head slowly rolling back and forth on the cold slap she laid upon, groaning in pain as she listened to their voices, she tried to focus. To make sense of what was happening to her. Where was she? Why was she lying on a cold slab, rather than her warm bed at home? And who were these strange clacking people?

The odd yet all too familiar-clucking speech came from the one that was standing to the right of her, seeming to have something important to say. The one to the left of her replied, nodded, then stepped away from the table. To the darkness beyond. Then it came back, holding an oblong cylinder in its hand. Niyota bit off one terrified scream at the large round, soulless black eyes staring at her from the face, before she felt the prick in the side of her neck. Feeling groggy and tired, Niyota tried to fight the effects of whatever drug these people had injected into her, but her struggles were of no use. Soon she slipped back into oblivion, those eyes haunting her into an abyss.

Hands pounded on the glass.

Shooting straight up in bed at the loud racket disturbed her sleep, then immediately regretted the choice when pain shot down her spine, coursing her midsection. Though not nearly as bad as it'd been before. Moaning in misery as the pain slowly began to recede, Niyota shifted around in bed, glaring at the woman standing on the other side of the door. "What the hell do you want?"

The nurse smiled. "Lunch time."

Peering around the rosy-cheeked nurse that had come downstairs, not even her retort able to diminish her smile, she frowned. Niyota looked at her. "Either you've forgotten something or you just came downstairs to torture me with the thought of food."

A frown creased her brow. "Sorry?"

"You have no tray," she pointed out.

"Oh no," nurse-she had no name for her-smiley seemed to sum her up in words-blushed crimson at this and shook her head, waving aside the statement. "I'm sorry. I should've explained it to you. Food isn't allowed downstairs in isolation. You take your meals and yard time with the rest of the patients."

She cocked a brow. This was new. "Really?" No one had mentioned that in the days since she'd been deposited in the isolation ward. In fact, it'd been almost two days since she'd been let out of the cell. And yesterday she'd taken her meals there.

Nurse Smiley nodded eagerly. "Yes. You may have been placed in isolation for your transgressions, but Dr. Wenchell doesn't like isolating the patients off from everyone indefinitely. It could be problematic to one's recovery and he'd never wish that."

"I'm sure," she muttered, uncaring if the woman heard her or not. After their argument earlier that morning, Niyota highly doubted whether the good doctor cared one wit about causing problems to her recovery or not. She took a deep breath. "If I'm to eat with the others, shouldn't you like open the door or something."

"I want no troubles," she warned.

She rolled her eyes heavenward at that. "Look here, Smiley. Causing anyone problems is the last thing that I want to do. As if I could. If you haven't noticed, I'm one giant bruise and it's taking all my strength just to sit up." "Don't move," she warned anyway.

Staying absolutely still on the edge of the bed, more to keep pain from slicing through her than showing the nurse she meant no ill will, she waited. Seeing that the patient had no plans to attempt some hoped-for escape, she stepped back from the glass door and motioned to someone down the hall. A moment later a loud buzz noise came over the intercom, then the glass door came open. Aware that this was her cue, Niyota slowly inched her legs over the edge of the bed and climbed to her feet, gingerly straightening to her feet. Grateful when she didn't immediately collapse to the floor where she stood, feeling a lot better than she had that morning, she slowly walked out of her cell.

As the glass door automatically slammed closed once she came out to stand in the corridor, the nurse directed her down the stone hall of isolation. Looking her up and down, concern marring her brow, Nurse Smiley walked beside her. "I see what you mean. A trip to Dr. Ross's office wouldn't be unwarranted."

Dr. Ross, a woman in her middle twenties with bright red hair and flashing green eyes, was sitting behind the desk when she was escorted through the door. Immediately coming out of her seat as she noticed the staggering steps of the teenager, she rounded the corner of her desk and motioned to the table. "Take a seat and let me check you out."

Bobbing her head in response to the woman's recommendation, Niyota wandered across the floor and sitting down on the vinyl cushion of the table, she waited for Dr. Ross to finish her examination.

She grimaced at the bruising. "John's handiwork I presume."

"Then you would presume correctly," Niyota promptly assured her, seeing no reason to dance around the truth, when she seemed to be fully aware of what had landed her in such a state. "It would seem that he and Dr. Wenchell weren't too thrilled by some of the things I said and tackled me when I thought to leave the lab."

Dr. Ross snorted under her breath. "I could care less the man's reasons for what he did. The fact remained he shouldn't have. I've told that man time and again the people here are not his own personal punching bags, but it would be apparent that I need to have another talk with him."

"Yeah," she hissed. "I think he broke a rib."

"No," Dr. Ross denied after a moment of feeling around her rib cage and stomach, to determine the damage. "Though he did bruise two of your lower ribs on the left side and you have some pretty severe bruising around the midsection. I'll wrap you up and give you some pain medication and you'll be right as rain."

She smiled, briefly. "Thank you, doctor."

"My pleasure," she returned.

Ten minutes later, binding wrapped tightly around her from ribs all the way to her midsection and a pill that Dr. Ross promised would kick in in a couple of minutes, Niyota was escorted out of the doctor's office. Pleased that at least one person on Greenwood staff cared a damn about what happened to the patients, rather than their own desires, she vowed one day she'd make it up to her. One day when she had found a way out of this hell hole, hopefully that would be soon, Niyota would find a way to repay Dr. Ross for her kindness and understanding.