In the morning, the technicians come for the routine checkup only to find her gown ripped, her wrists and ankles bloody against the restraints, and other signs of disorder that make them go immediately silent. None of them say a word as they dose her again and simply go about the process of cleaning her up, fetching a new gown while the drug is strong enough to keep her unconscious.
Hoskins shows up toward the end -- to supervise. As usual. The head technician makes eye contact with him, but neither one of them says a word, and the sharp edge in Hoskins' gaze turns the technician's attention swiftly back to Blue.
They give her an IV for her daily nutrients, and while the tropical storm rolls over the island, Blue is left alone. It isn't until the following morning, after the technicians have done their routine and taken a fresh blood sample to track the fertilization process, that the door to the white dungeon clangs open again, and Hoskins strolls in alone.
He stops outside Blue's cage, eyeing her within. "Seems like we finally took the fight out of you, huh."
+++++
The seas are choppy and rough in the aftermath of yesterday's storm, with another one billowing up on the horizon, but the speedboat cuts its way through the waves at 50 knots heading straight for the island rising jaggedly from the ocean. It's small, but it doesn't need to be big. It just needs to be fast. It's taken him a week to catch up to his mate and she's there, on that island, captured by the same bastards who imprisoned him and his brothers for most of their lives.
Omega steers the motor against a particularly deep swell, ducking back against the assault of salt water but staying fixed on course. The boat is stolen, from a private dock on the mainland. That was after six days of tracking the magnetic thread connecting his heart to Blue, on foot and on the backs of trucks and ferries and at one point a train; at one point, he'd even entertained the insane thought of stowing away on a commercial airline, but that plan didn't have a chance in hell of working. Not when every second counted. He barely ate, slept only in exhausted patches when whatever was beneath him was moving on its own, and made it to Costa Rica far sooner than any human could have managed it without flight.
If this had happened a year ago, out of sheer madness he might have tried to swim the distance and drowned. But Blue taught him how to sail, how to operate the boats that ran with motors. Now Omega is mere minutes away from Isla Sorna and closing it at 90 miles an hour.
The beaches will be guarded. He knows that. And the idea of just cruising right up to the ferry is an absolute joke. No safe way of sneaking onto the island from a boat, and even if he had his own helicopter, he'd never make it overhead without gaining a lot of attention. So, he'll try a different approach -- because it is his mate on that island, with InGen, with Vic Hoskins, and Omega would sooner drown himself on purpose than not to every last thing in his power to get her out.
As the roar of the waves crashing on rocks grows louder, Omega turns the boat diagonally on its path, aiming it sideways at the cliffs, and then he climbs up onto the side and dives. The boat speeds on its course and crashes into the rocks jutting up from the sea around the island, its momentum carrying it up and over, the bottom scraped to shreds; Omega swims underwater toward the island in the other direction, and pops up in time to be swept by a wave hard into the rocks. But he catches at it fiercely, clinging until the water recedes and leaves him coughing and soaked to the bone, and then pulls himself up from one rock to the next until he's standing above the waves, at the bottom of the sheer, jagged cliffs.
He looks over his shoulder, toward the dark clouds gathering in the far distance; the wind is strong already, and it'll only get worse. The aching pull of his mate is unbearable; Omega looks back up the vast height of the cliff, eyes stinging with seawater. One hand finds a rocky outcropping that holds his weight when he digs his claws in; the other hand finds a second one, higher.
no subject
Hoskins shows up toward the end -- to supervise. As usual. The head technician makes eye contact with him, but neither one of them says a word, and the sharp edge in Hoskins' gaze turns the technician's attention swiftly back to Blue.
They give her an IV for her daily nutrients, and while the tropical storm rolls over the island, Blue is left alone. It isn't until the following morning, after the technicians have done their routine and taken a fresh blood sample to track the fertilization process, that the door to the white dungeon clangs open again, and Hoskins strolls in alone.
He stops outside Blue's cage, eyeing her within. "Seems like we finally took the fight out of you, huh."
+++++
The seas are choppy and rough in the aftermath of yesterday's storm, with another one billowing up on the horizon, but the speedboat cuts its way through the waves at 50 knots heading straight for the island rising jaggedly from the ocean. It's small, but it doesn't need to be big. It just needs to be fast. It's taken him a week to catch up to his mate and she's there, on that island, captured by the same bastards who imprisoned him and his brothers for most of their lives.
Omega steers the motor against a particularly deep swell, ducking back against the assault of salt water but staying fixed on course. The boat is stolen, from a private dock on the mainland. That was after six days of tracking the magnetic thread connecting his heart to Blue, on foot and on the backs of trucks and ferries and at one point a train; at one point, he'd even entertained the insane thought of stowing away on a commercial airline, but that plan didn't have a chance in hell of working. Not when every second counted. He barely ate, slept only in exhausted patches when whatever was beneath him was moving on its own, and made it to Costa Rica far sooner than any human could have managed it without flight.
If this had happened a year ago, out of sheer madness he might have tried to swim the distance and drowned. But Blue taught him how to sail, how to operate the boats that ran with motors. Now Omega is mere minutes away from Isla Sorna and closing it at 90 miles an hour.
The beaches will be guarded. He knows that. And the idea of just cruising right up to the ferry is an absolute joke. No safe way of sneaking onto the island from a boat, and even if he had his own helicopter, he'd never make it overhead without gaining a lot of attention. So, he'll try a different approach -- because it is his mate on that island, with InGen, with Vic Hoskins, and Omega would sooner drown himself on purpose than not to every last thing in his power to get her out.
As the roar of the waves crashing on rocks grows louder, Omega turns the boat diagonally on its path, aiming it sideways at the cliffs, and then he climbs up onto the side and dives. The boat speeds on its course and crashes into the rocks jutting up from the sea around the island, its momentum carrying it up and over, the bottom scraped to shreds; Omega swims underwater toward the island in the other direction, and pops up in time to be swept by a wave hard into the rocks. But he catches at it fiercely, clinging until the water recedes and leaves him coughing and soaked to the bone, and then pulls himself up from one rock to the next until he's standing above the waves, at the bottom of the sheer, jagged cliffs.
He looks over his shoulder, toward the dark clouds gathering in the far distance; the wind is strong already, and it'll only get worse. The aching pull of his mate is unbearable; Omega looks back up the vast height of the cliff, eyes stinging with seawater. One hand finds a rocky outcropping that holds his weight when he digs his claws in; the other hand finds a second one, higher.
He starts climbing.