The woman has backed away a pace; her make-up is not so immaculate as she wipes it with her handkerchief. She holds the handkerchief to her mouth as she says, ‘You are Nathan Byrn. You have a mother who was a White Witch and a father who is a Black Witch. You are a Half Code and as such you are to be codified.’
This time my spit lands on the hem of her skirt. She staggers back as if I’ve hit her. The guards still keep hold of me.
‘Take him to Room 2C.’
The guards shuffle through the cell door, dragging me out and in the narrow corridor they have to go sideways, which is better for me as I can climb the walls with my legs, even though one guard has me by the neck. They get me in front of a green metal door with 2C painted on it. It slides open and I stop struggling for a second.
Room 2C contains what looks like an operating table with lots of black plastic straps. Again I start struggling and shouting.
In the end they have to knock me out with a punch to the side of my head.
I wake and begin to gag and choke. There’s something in my mouth. I can’t spit it out. It’s rubber and metal.
The woman is standing beside me, looking down at me. She smiles and says, ‘Ah, awake at last.’
I squirm and squeal but it’s pathetic so I stop. Room 2C has painted white walls and the ceiling is bare except for a light and what looks like a camera nestled in the far corner. That’s all I know about Room 2C because I can’t move to see anything else. I’m lying down, my body strapped to a table. My hands are no longer handcuffed but they are secured and I can feel with my fingertips that the table has a thin layer of padding under a sheet. My head is strapped by my forehead and rests in a sort of hollow in the table. It feels like there are straps over my body, arms, legs and ankles.
I’m trying not to think of Retribution. I don’t want to think of the powder Kieran put on my back. But I have a clamp in my mouth. Is codified another word for Retribution?
The door rattles and then I hear it slide open and there is the sound of something metal being dragged over the floor. A light is shone so bright that even with my eyes closed I see a red glare. There is the sound of more dragging and the clink of delicate metal objects.
‘Nathan. Look at me.’
It’s Mr Wallend. He has very dark blue eyes with white flecks in them. He’s wearing a lab coat.
‘You’re here for codification. I’m going to carry out the procedure. It may be a little uncomfortable but I’d like you to be as still as possible. Try to relax.’
I start to squirm again.
‘It’s a bit like a tattoo, only a much quicker and easier process. We’ll do the ones on your finger first. Give you the feel of it. You’re left-handed, aren’t you?’
He can’t possibly make sense of my squirming and squealing.
He pushes a metal ring over the little finger of my right hand and tightens it.
‘OK. So this is simple. Just relax. It’ll be over –’
I scream into the gag as a needle pierces into the bone of my finger.
It is drawn out.
Mr Wallend loosens the ring and moves it up my finger. ‘Next one.’
I scream and curse him and move my finger as much as I can but the ring tightens and the needle goes into me again.
As it comes out I’m sweating.
He moves on to the top of my finger, over the fingernail. The needle goes through again.
I bite on the gag and stare at him, tears streaming out of my eyes.
It stops.
My heart is thudding.
That was not a tattoo.
Mr Wallend is undoing the ring and taking it off. He and the woman peer at my finger.
‘Excellent. Excellent. There’s hardly any swelling. Your body is exceptional, Nathan. Exceptional.’
Mr Wallend walks round the table to my left hand.
‘Now for the bigger tattoos. These might feel a bit more intense.’
I feel cold metal on the top of my left hand, along the line of my middle finger. I stare at him and curse into the gag.
Mr Wallend ignores all that and gets on with his job so that all I can see of him is the top of his head. Dark brown wavy hair.
‘Try to relax.’
Yes, of course, easy. Something is scraping against the inside of my hand, on my bone.
Mr Wallend’s hair is wavy and still. I’m still too.
When the scraping stops I feel sick, dizzy.
Mr Wallend looks up. ‘Not too bad, hey? Now, the thing to remember is that it won’t come off. Ever. It’s inside you now. If you try to remove it with scarring of the skin, say, it will reappear. So there really is no point in trying.’
He looks at my hand again, smooths it over with his finger. It feels bruised and tender. ‘The code looks very good. Very good indeed.’
He’s moving down the bed.
‘Now the ankle. Try to relax. It’ll just be a few seconds.’
I can’t help but try to pull away, however feebly. It seems for more than a few seconds it’s scraping into my bone and through into my marrow. The gag’s in my mouth and I know I mustn’t be sick.
‘It takes longer on the bigger bones,’ he says. ‘Just the last one now.’
He moves the machine round the table, disappearing from sight and reappearing on my right side.
He puts the machine on my neck.
Oh no … no … no …