Atilla, October 10, 2007 05:23 am wrote:Remove the tube, if you think it is possible to do so without making Danielle bleed all over the place or something (you might want to ask Medea's opinion). If you can't remove the tube, try flipping the switch to the position with only a circle.
I reach towards the tube. I glance over my shoulder towards the door, as though I were being watched, the fear of my own action's consequence drumming repeatedly in my mind. The grayish-pink liquid shortly feeds through the clear tube one more time, leaving a shimmering pearlescence within the tube itself for a brief moment.
"Medea," I look to her. She doesn't look back; she watches the numbers on the machine's display without emotion, documenting with the pace of a stenographer. I continue anyway, "I'm going to remove this tube, Medea."
"Cameron, what if that kills her?"
"Well, Medea. I think it will."
Medea unfixes her gaze from the device and looks to me. The inconsistent breathing of Danielle staggers between us.
"She's been like this so long," my eyes tip to the ground, "But there's still no rhythm to her breaths. There's no stability to her life signs. She's in pain, Medea. I know the machine says otherwise, but I can't believe that. It's the kind of pain that changes each moment. The kind of pain you can never learn to deal with. There's nowhere to find comfort, even for a moment, in her prison there. She was promised death. I want to make good on the promise of her captor. I think... we'd be helping her."
Medea rests a hand on my shoulder. She doesn't speak, but her eyes tear into me unblinkingly. I see neither confirmation nor disapproval in her eyes. In fact, I see nothing at all. She says nothing. She indicates nothing. She waits. I pull the tube. The machine dies, each of its numbers immediately assuming a maximum or minimum value in every field. The woman breathes again, then no more. She makes no sound. She doesn't shift or turn. Her face remains still. Her death is as silent and unnoticeable as her life. Medea lifts her hand from my shoulder, for what seems to take a full minute; she approaches the door in the same sleepy motion.
"I don't want to be here anymore," Medea whispers, just audibly. Her tone is arcane to me. Her face is turned away.
"I suppose we should go," I respond with some energy, trying to get her to match my tempo, "Rachel is likely still in trouble out there. Something killed Danielle here long before we could. I don't want my fate to be the same as hers.
Medea moves through the door and waits for me on the opposite side. I may have upset her somehow. I wonder if I've violated any principle upon which she is grounded.
What do I do?