Mister Carson

His hands met the smooth metal of the door just as it closed with awful finality.

He could imagine Doctor Ruben Harrison scurrying down the dark hallway to the infirmary or to alert his superiors. His fists pounded uselessly. "Let me out," he sobbed.

Carson dropped to the floor, leaning his back against the door. His knees touched his chin as he huddled. Please.

* * *

He doubted his very existence. His origins were unknown, his identity a mystery. Maybe he was a character in someone's twisted dreams. They were tormenting him, true, but maybe, just maybe he was not real. However, his pain felt real when he pinched himself, a hair fell out when he pulled it. In a way the confusion was comforting. Carson had bottled himself deep inside his mind, huddling in the mangle of unexplained threads. The confusion was the void that kept him warm where his shell was shivering on the outside.

Something flickered outside the boundaries. Something familiar. He remained where he was, refusing to leave his sanctuary. Dull thuds buffeted harmlessly off his protection. Then something louder - a rumble. Deep down he knew what it was. He struggled. He shut his mind's eye and focused on the void, empty but for his consciousness. Nothing could penetrate it unless he let it. He would not.

The rumbling grew louder and he fought for control. Something tugged at him and he snapped. The shell's eyes opened and the contact ceased. Carson returned to his body. The man was backing all the way to the door. It opened for him. Harrison looked at him as if he were a feral animal that would kill to escape captivity. Carson knew it was not far from the truth. He glared and his mouth changed to a sneer. "Don't look at me like that."

The Doctor's face went rigid, replacing the mix of pity and concern. "I came here to tell you something. I suggest you stay where you are and listen."

Ruben Harrison's jaw was bandaged, but he tried hard not to speak too stiffly. His jowls showed signs of bruising that had had a few days to fade.

Carson made himself comfortable in the back corner near his bed. He attempted to look unconcerned. "Say what you would say and be gone," he said sternly.

Harrison nodded. "I have come to reveal the reason why you are in this facility."

It took time to register. Even then he found it hard to fathom. "After all this time, you . . . you're just going to tell me? And so calmly."

"I have my orders," Harrison supplied.

He took a drawn out breath, thinking as fast as his troubled mind would allow. Harrison gave him no choice.

"You should thank us, Mister Carson. You were in a terrible state when they sent you to us. Almost beyond help. But, it was what we were set up to do and finally we had the chance we had been preparing for. All the years of hard work about to come down to one procedure. I'm not making much sense, am I?" He paused for a breath before continuing. "We found you in a hospital. You were left brain-dead from a bullet through the frontal lobe. Your head was in good condition after the skull was patched up. We transplanted you a new brain, the first operation of its kind. We were only able to give the fresh brain basic information, enough for full motor and thought capabilities, and some general data about the world. The rest you are learning gradually in our implemented program. Too much too soon could have dire ramifications."

"I . . . I . . .." Carson was stunned.