Entry Five

This is Rewel. They call me thief, but I have yet to steal anything. I wonder if I will ever steal or if it’s a truth that lies. To steal would require that I keep what I take.

Every tenth day, after a trip to the infirmary, I take myself to the basement of the tower. I stand outside patiently, as I am a guest so to speak. The large white door is only signified by seams in the wall, as though to pretend the basement does not exist, I assume. I only wait a moment before it opens soundlessly; the door is heavy enough that it creates a formidable gust of wind as it opens. It is an assistant that stands at the door waving me in. His mouth is sewn shut, hair shaved off; his bald head bulges with scars and wires of augmentation. He looks at me through dead eyes, possibly not even seeing me. I will never know his transgression to be sentenced as an assistant and lab rat.

The room is large, open. There are five men and women at various work stations throughout the room, each with several assistants that help them. Mechanical arms attached to computers hover nearby the stations, ready for use; some look terrifying, with tiny drills and welding attachments, but others are just arms with fingers for a better grip on whatever the Researchers happen to be working on. The assistant ushers me past the Researchers and beyond a door at the end of the room.

Through the door waits a Scientist. He stands behind an operating table, where an assortment of materials for the operation lay, clean and ready. Other than the moveable light, operating table and extra mechanical arm, there are only two chairs in the room. There are other doors behind the Scientist, but I know not where they lead.

“Thief Rewel, please sit.” The Scientist has smooth words and a pleasant voice from speaking often with his Researchers. I sit immediately in the chair opposite of him at the operating table. I place my hands on the table, palms up. “Ah, your gloves, Rewel.”

I gingerly slip the gloves off. The wires set under my skin catch the light and gleam. They run from my thumb, forefinger and middle finger on both hands, disappearing into me at the write. At the tips of those six appendages are small metal pads. I touch my thumb and forefinger together and hear the soft tap of metal, watching the wires move under the skin. Again, I place my hands on the table, palms up.

The Scientist begins work immediately, injecting a local anesthetic at my wrists. Soon, my arms are numb from the elbow down. The Scientist starts on my left hand first, cutting it open along each of the wires. Underneath the skin, muscle and bone stand out in contrast to the silver metal that runs along the top. He begins to cut out pieces of the metal and I stiffen. This is not what he is supposed to be doing.

“I was told to replace your wires with thinner ones today. This is only an aesthetic change.” The Scientist continues working, reattaching the pad in my fingertips to the chip at my wrist with a much thinner wire. I watch his hands work for a moment. He is not augmented.

“By whom?” Words may always feel foreign in my mouth, but I ask him nonetheless.

He says nothing and continues to work. He finishes quickly and is soon cauterizing the skin over the wires. He moves to the other hand and works as quickly as before.

I stare at my hands when he finishes. Once bulging with wires, now they are barely visible, hardly pushing at the skin wanting to escape, or worse, split open.

The Scientist slips my hands back into the fingerless gloves. “You must still wear these. No one should know. I will see you in ten days.” He pauses, helping me to stand. My hands and arms feel heavier. “Thief Varien was here looking for you earlier. I don’t advise you seek him out.” He opened the door and nodded at me.

I left the basement with eyes on the floor and no feeling in my hands.