Mission Glitch Pt3
Threats to the mission objective have been taken care of. Supplies have been secured. Such tasks have taken too long however. My handlers almost succeeded in making me sway from the current mission. They kept me away too long.
“I mus be losing it. Look at that.”
The words are muttered, bitter in tone.
“You – You can’t be here. You’s left me to die remember? I’m hallucinating…”
I stepped closer, setting the supplies on the floor for later use. Prepared to assess the damage of what my foolish handlers caused by keeping me absent from my mission.
Hawkeye glared at my approach, but his gaze was unfocused and his heartbeat had been in an accelerated state since before I entered the room. His struggles to free himself only caused fresh bleeding around his restraints. In moments his energy was depleted, head tilting back to lick at chapped lips and stare at the ceiling.
“Better not be talking,” he murmured. “My aids died ages ago.”
Of course...
I foresaw this complication, but I expected the aids to have a longer battery life. I am glad I found the correct charger. Perhaps this offering will dissuade him from his previous assumptions.
There was no resistance to my hands as I turned his head. His gaze remained unfocused, glazed with pain and exhaustion, as I presented the peace offering. He only moved to stare back up at the ceiling which was… unexpected.
Time seemed to further slow from that point on. He didn’t react to my hands removing his aids nor my removal of his soiled clothes. Hawkeye was quite like the dolls I had witnessed while scouting for supplies, sitting or laying down as I placed him, quiet and complacent during a sponge bath and redressing. Even my efforts to dress his wounds didn’t get a response. I might have mistaken him as unconscious if not for his open eyes, every now and then tracking my movements.
Water, strangely enough, proved a powerful trigger. He snatched the bottle from my hand after a mere sip. The display of energy was a welcome sight.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he snapped, volume close to a shout.
Good. Only a hint of slurring to his words. Improvement.
“You tryin to play hero? Leave me to die then come clean me up so I’ll be grateful? Is that it?”
I am a solid presence then, no longer perceived as a hallucination. Another improvement.
The explanation I hand over is briefly read. The notebook is thrown behind his shoulder with a sneer.
He does not believe me. Would rather remain furious with me. That is acceptable for now. His anger is giving him much needed energy.
The little light on the charger flashes green at last. Hawkeye does not take his aids from my hands when I offer them back. For some reason, despite his earlier desperation, pulls away from them.
“You did something to them.”
Yes, I charged them. I cannot say that though, so instead I nod.
“I don’t want em!” he shouted, leaning further back. “I don’t want whatever programming you added to them playing in my ears.”
More assumptions. Assumption leads to mistakes. Have I not proven that my intentions are not violent? What have I done to warrant such mistrust? If he will not take them because of misguided assumptions, then I will have to fit them back over his ears myself.
“Hey... Hey, no! Stay away from me, damn it!”
The texture of his hair catches my attention for a moment. There’s no time to contemplate it when he attempts to wrench away from my hold. I have no choice but to inflict pain, a bruising grip to his shoulder wound until his stills, to ensure compliance. From there, it is easy to place the aids.
When I have put distance between us, he immediately touches them, adjusting them and tilting his head this way and that way. Relief is quickly hidden away back behind anger.
Still… he is satisfied. That is good.