09-18-2012, 02:19 AM
His brown eyes had glazed over, displaying a muddy brown. Palmer’s voice caught his attention, the glaze broken Korey offered the man a light smile. “I’ll be sure to grab some,” he said, offering it not as a programmed response but a promise. The President’s men were crawling through every nook and cranny, soon they’d be moving through the pipes and tubes of the city’s underground networks… the Resistance wouldn’t be safe down here forever. Though hunting for a supply of ground coffee beans stood on the opposite side of caution the Resistance needed such occasional pick-me-ups. It was far beneath what the men and women of the resistance deserved but maybe it would remind them for a moment of the life they fought for. That life that seemed so long ago before the government’s power had turned sour and corrupt.
At Felton’s request Korey blinked stirring out of whatever dredged stupor he had been induced to. His eyes drifted to Chris as he watched the man plunge straight into the order, Korey was left to follow suit without muttering a single rebuttal or comment of distaste.
Korey’s flesh was a canvas spread with thick slick layers of burned, pocketed, and brutalized flesh. Doctors would scrunch their noses and give sympathy and others would gawk and stare unconditionally as their active imaginations were endowed with violent inspiration. Penny sized craters marked where small arms fire had torn unforgivingly through his flesh half a dozen times. The spy’s flesh was profoundly misshapen by the remnants of shrapnel that had torn through his backside. Third degree burns had left his right leg nothing but pink and white sheaths of skin wrapped around bone. His toenails hadn’t even grown back. Friction, glass, knives, concrete, beatings, torture, and countless surgeries had their own markings and mementos. Korey had given his resilient body to the resistance’s fight again and again. Each time he recovered to fight again.
The man tried to smile but it was dim, lopsided, and awkward. It was a failed pathetic attempt to break the ice. Korey’s spine tingled as he looked about the sterile medical room, anticipation and anxiety eating away. The spy went about folding his things his tight wound muscles flexing with his muscles corresponding movements. He blinked, again, and again. Finally he set aside his things on a nearby gurney each article of clothing folded, his sidearm and spare magazines resting on top.
Korye’s mind pulled itself into a momentary hallucination. Barely three second had passed but a thousand images had taken a hold of his mind. This was really happening. They were about to change, forever.
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