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HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
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AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
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INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
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CONTACT US
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DISCLAIMER
infinity stars entertainment
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
More
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
chapter seven
Kenneth Durand found himself staring at a soft white light. It took a long while
to focus well enough to discern the frame around it.
A ceiling light fixture.
He then slowly resolved the ceiling tiles around that. Eventually he cast his
gaze downward and saw that he was in a modern intensive care unit—medical
machines beeping and pumps hissing.
What the hell?
His entire body was racked by dull pain, as though he’d pulled every muscle.
He noticed that he was wearing a hospital gown. An IV ran into his arm and a
catheter into his groin. No blanket covered him—so he could plainly see the skin
of his arms and legs bruised black, blue, and yellow.
Confusion clouded his mind, and he looked up to see sensors and medical
equipment looming around his bed. He felt something lodged in his throat and
tried to swallow around it awkwardly. Panic rose as his gag reflex kicked in—
until he saw the breathing tube leading from his mouth to a nearby ventilator. It
hissed rhythmically, soothingly, and he felt air flow into his lungs. He could feel
medical tape around his mouth securing it in place.
Durand closed his eyes again and tried to center himself. To remain calm. He
had no idea how he’d gotten here.
He heard beep-beeping as his heart rate settled once more. He opened his
eyes and looked around the ICU. His bed was partitioned on the left and right by
sliding curtains. He didn’t hear any movement or talking beyond them, just the
hisses of machines.
But then he discerned the whine of an approaching electric motor. A boxy
wheeled robot soon came into view, emblazoned with a red cross. It rolled to a
stop at the foot of his hospital bed, then turned to face him. A soft voice
emanated from it as a soothing blue light pulsed: “Please be calm. I have
summoned assistance. Sila bertenang. Saya telah memanggil bantuan . . .”
Durand focused on the pulsing pastel blue light and found it reassuring. He
wondered what psychological research had led to its deployment. He decided the
wondered what psychological research had led to its deployment. He decided the
research was solid because he did feel soothed by its glowing, then fading—like
waves lapping a beach. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but this
machine apparently did, and that was some consolation.
Moments later an Indian woman doctor assisted by a Hoklo male nurse
arrived to check Durand’s vitals. The doctor tested Durand’s pupils with a
penlight. Satisfied, she looked closely at him and spoke in British-accented
English. “Can you hear me?”
Durand nodded.
“I am Dr. Chaudhri.” She placed a reassuring hand on Durand’s shoulder.
“You’ve been in a coma. Do you understand?”
The news hit Durand hard. After a moment or two of panic, he nodded
slowly, despite the tubes leading from his throat.
The doctor squeezed Durand’s shoulder again. “You’ve suffered a massive
allergic reaction to something—we don’t yet know what. However, we believe
you’re out of danger. Still, we’re going to keep you in the ICU for a little while
longer.”
Durand studied his bruised and bandaged arms and hands. They looked
almost alien.
The doctor followed his gaze. “The swelling receded only yesterday.”
On Durand’s effort to speak the doctor said, “I’m going to remove your
breathing tube. Please just relax. This will not hurt, though it will be briefly
uncomfortable.”
The nurse moved in to assist, and after they removed the medical tape,
Durand felt an alarmingly long tube snake out of his throat. He gagged a bit as
the last of it came out, and felt again a dreadful soreness in his stomach muscles,
ribs, and chest as he coughed. The agonizing coughing fit continued for several
seconds.
The doctor’s soothing hand was on his shoulder again. “You’re safe now,
but your heart stopped for a bit last week.” She smiled. “You’re quite the
fighter.”
With the tubes out Durand croaked, “How long have I been here?” His voice
sounded as awful as his throat felt.
“Almost five weeks.”
Five weeks? That was impossible. He’d just been talking with colleagues at
the GCI. What happened? He looked back up at her. “What hospital?”
“Mount Elizabeth.”
Durand stared blankly.
Durand stared blankly.
“Mount Elizabeth Hospital, Singapore. You were found without
identification. Can you tell me your name?”
Durand struggled to process all this news. Without identification?
The doctor repeated, “You were found without identification. Do you
remember your name?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m Kenneth Andrew Durand. Lead geospatial
analyst with Interpol GCI. I’m a US citizen.”
The doctor took notes on a totem device—an inert physical object commonly
used as a handy surface on which to interact with virtual screens. “You’re with
Interpol?”
He nodded. “I don’t know how I got here. Where are my wife and daughter?
Are they okay?”
The doctor took additional notes. “You were found alone and unconscious in
a stolen car parked in Boon Lay.”
“Boon Lay?”
“Were you with your wife and daughter?”
Durand shook his head absently, recalling that he hadn’t been. “No. No, they
weren’t with me.” He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that. But he did. He looked
up. “I’ve been here five weeks?”
She nodded.
He struggled to understand. “No one came looking for me?”
“The police came.”
“Police? Why didn’t they contact my family? Or contact Interpol?”
“No one could ID you.”
Durand looked up at her incredulously. “That makes no sense.”
“You’re not in our national DNA registry. Now we know why: you’re
American.”
“The American embassy should have been searching for me. Interpol. My
family.”
The doctor leaned close and spoke slowly. “Understand, Mr. Durand, we
were initially concerned you’d been infected by a contagious pathogen—a
hemorrhagic fever or new synbio organism. You were black with bruising—your
entire body and face badly swollen. Your skin scabrous. Not even your ethnicity
was apparent. Even your hair fell out. Yours has been a curious case.”
“But . . . fingerprints.”
She lifted his left hand and opened the palm toward him. He could see
bandages wrapping his fingertips.
“The swelling split your skin at the extremities. It’s still healing. Some
“The swelling split your skin at the extremities. It’s still healing. Some
required stitches.”
Durand studied his bandaged fingers and now discerned the soreness
underneath. He looked up at her.
“Your eyes hemorrhaged as well—so we couldn’t scan your retinas. They’re
still alarming to behold. We’ve ruled out contagious disease, but we don’t yet
know what caused your body’s violent reaction.”
He searched for words. “My name is Kenneth Andrew Durand. I live in
Woodlands with my wife, Miyuki Uchida, and our daughter, Mia.” Durand got
emotional. “I need to see them. They must be frantic.” He paused. “It was my
daughter’s birthday.”
“A birthday is the least of your concerns at the moment.” The doctor touched
his shoulder again. “I’ll contact your wife immediately, Mr. Durand. Do you
have a number I can call?”
“You don’t have my phone? I . . .” He realized this, of course, must be the
case. “I had no identification on me? Nothing?”
Forgiving of his disorientation, she shook her head.
He saw that even his wedding band was missing. “They took my wedding
ring.”
“Someone robbed you?”
He clutched his bandaged hand, but could clearly see the ring was gone. “I
remember a young man with an umbrella . . . He was terrifying. And
paramedics. I remember paramedics.”
She stared back.
“My wife’s number is 9-3-9-3-9-4-7-8-7.”
She jotted it down. “You’re safe now, Mr. Durand. We think you’ll make a
full recovery. Though we’ll want to continue tests to pinpoint the source of your
allergic response.”
As she turned to go, Durand clutched at the hem of her coat with his
bandaged hand. “Interpol. Please contact Interpol here in Singapore. Ask for
Detective Inspector Claire Belanger. They need to know where I am. It’s
critically important.”
“The number?”
He paused. Security protocols started to come back to him. “Call the main
Interpol line here in Singapore. Tell them who I am, and they’ll direct you.”
“Inspector Claire Belanger.” The doctor wrote the name down.
Durand felt suddenly exhausted.
The doctor moved his arm back onto the bed. “Get some rest, Mr. Durand.
The doctor moved his arm back onto the bed. “Get some rest, Mr. Durand.
We’ll contact the authorities and your family. Your job now is simply to get
well.”
He nodded weakly. “Thank you, Doctor.”
She and the nurse departed.
Exhausted, Durand dozed off.
• • •
Durand awoke to the sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked up to see
Inspector Claire Belanger and Sergeant Michael Yi Ji-chang standing at the foot
of his hospital bed. Neither of their expressions looked particularly friendly.
Durand straightened in the bed. “Claire. Mike. Thank god.” His voice
sounded gravelly and hoarse.
They exchanged concerned looks and resumed staring.
Durand then noticed that he was no longer in the intensive care unit but in a
private room. It was evening outside. He wondered how and when they’d moved
his hospital bed, but then decided it didn’t matter.
“I was poisoned.” Even his tongue felt odd, making it difficult to sound out
words. “A jab-stick in the middle of a crowd near the Tekka wet market. I think
the Huli jing did it.”
They said nothing.
“My comcar malfunctioned and dumped me near downtown. Somebody
must have been following me. Which means we’ve had a security breach.”
They still did not react.
“We should get techs down here to pull a blood sample. There might still be
traces of the biotoxin they used in my system.” He winced as he sat up slightly.
“Also, Anna and Gus should do a pattern analysis on all telephone calls radiating
out from my location immediately following the assassination attempt.
Geolocation data on all comm devices in the area, too—and communities of
interest going out two generations at least, one minute before and after, looking
for echoes.”
Belanger and Yi continued staring at him.
Durand pressed on. “And a protective detail. They tried to kill me once,
they’ll try again. I think the only reason I’m alive is because I was brought in
here as a John Doe. And for god’s sake, put a protective detail on Miyuki and
Mia. Better yet, put them on a plane to the States. Her parents will be glad to see
them.”
them.”
Durand regarded the unfriendly eyes of his colleagues. “This is typically
where you guys say how great it is to see me alive.”
Neither of them did.
As he tried to lift his arm, Durand’s wrist tugged back to the rattling of
metal. He looked down to see that he was handcuffed to the bed rail. “What the
hell . . . ?”
Yi moved toward the bed, pulling a document out of his jacket pocket as he
approached. He unfolded the paper and dropped it into Durand’s lap.
It was a familiar Interpol Red Notice—with text and DNA profile
information and also the photo of a familiar, thuggish Eurasian man—labeled
with the name Marcus Demang Wyckes.
“We know who you are, Mr. Wyckes. Matched your DNA. And we’d like to
have a word with you regarding the whereabouts of Kenneth Durand.”
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