"Too
intelligent for your own good." That was the first and last piece of
advice I ever listened to. Professor Sage was right. What good is it now
though, at this very moment? Sure, I'm actually taking someone’s advice, but I
should have listened back then when it would have prevented my current
predicament. Now i'm stuck here in this... this room and I am being
questioned by these men in lab coats stained by the blood spats of a smartass.
I should have kept my mouth shut. I really should have this time. I can't see
their faces, but their voices are so monotonous they torture my nerves and test
my patience.
"Where
did you get this information? We won't ask you again!" I squinted
repeatedly to clear my vision but it failed to make a difference. They injected
me with some strong shit – some sort of truth serum. To their astonishment
though, it isn't working on me at all. As a matter of fact, nothing really
works on me. I hate chemicals and I hate medicine. Strange thing is I don't need medicine. Whenever I get sick, it lasts
for minutes before the virus completely disintegrates in my body. Doctors can't
explain it. Best they came up with was that I have superpowered white blood
cells. Superpowers. Heh. Everyone knows there’s no such thing. If I did have a
"power", then it would be my intelligence. I’m the smartest guy I
know. Oh yea, and I’ve also got superhuman modesty, but I don’t like to brag. Now,
if we want to talk weaknesses, everyone knows mine. I'm lazy and I use my
intelligence for one thing – absolutely nothing.
"Fine.
Fine. I'll tell you." They all stood up and gathered around me, eager to
hear my answer. The room got silent. Not even a breath could be heard. "I guessed."
Before I could finish laughing, one of the men grabbed me by the collar and
punched me with such force that I can confidently bet he broke my cheekbone.
"I'm not kidding!" It was frustrating to tell them the truth and get beat
for it anyway so I decided that I had to make something up. But what I had in
mind would get me into even deeper trouble. It was my last resort. The head
doctor, or whatever he was, pulled out a gun and shot me in the shoulder. I was
hoping for some dramatic pause before he pulled the trigger like they do in the
movies, but I guess this isn’t a movie. This is fucked. The pain was unbearable.
I cried and screamed for what seemed like eternity. Finally, he put the gun in
my mouth and spoke.
"As
you can tell, we aren't joking. Where
did you acquire this information?! What else do you know?" He cocked his
gun and I knew that whatever was inside my head would decorate the walls with an
artistic arrangement of blood and brain matter. This was it. My last resort was
now my only one. Of course, I could’ve chosen death. Yeah, right!
"Okay."
I paused before I let out a long sigh of surrender, blood spewing out from just
above the upper right side of my chest. “Okay.” I was going to lie and make things much
worse.
