弥赛亚 by Matthia
Genre: BL, future, tragedy, psychological
Novel Status in Country of Origin: 5 Chapters
~~~~Brought to you by ExR~~~~
Sent to prison for attacking his charges money-grubbing wife, the protagonist is given a second chance to get out of prison. He is to be the genocidal Dr. Watson’s nurse. Dr. Watson is a mass murderer from one hundred years ago. Although, he may not seem to be who everyone thinks he is.
Chapter 1: The Scientist
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
When I first met Dr. Watson, I didn’t have a good impression of him. I even thought he was a little nausea inducing.
We met across a huge piece of glass. He was lying on a treatment bed with patches of different colors on his forehead, his head in something like a helmet, and the wires and tubes all over his body were connected to a machine I’d never seen before.
It would not be weird if he was old; if he was just a thin old man, he would have looked normal. Judging from the only features of his body I could see, he did not become like this because of the years.
His blue eyes were very clear, and his hair, which had not been trimmed for a long time, was a little dry, but was still the dark black that young people had. As for the appearance of his body, I didn’t know how to describe it. In short, his skin was dark and his flesh had collapsed. He looked like a corpse that has been unearthed and well preserved or someone killed by a vampire in a horror movie.
I stood in front of the isolation window and watched the staff pass through the sealed moon door. It took about ten minutes for them to appear in the glass room because they had to change clothes and disinfect in the buffer zone. Fortunately, they didn’t have to come in contact with Watson every day.
Someone patted me on the shoulder from behind, “Mr. Jones, do you have a more intuitive understanding of the task now?”
I looked back and tried to smile at General Will. He always has a serious expression, a frown, his body is particularly tall, and he wears his laboratory coat over his military uniform. Seeing him always made me nervous.
He told me to go with him to the next lounge. After sitting down, he brought two cups of coffee and untied my handcuffs. A stack of documents was left on the desk in front of me, with my resume, photos, and criminal record on it.
“I’m glad to see you’re willing to cooperate.” The general’s tone belonged to an ordinary official. I couldn’t tell if he was really happy. “The prison has submitted a recent application for voluntary service from inmates, and I had my eyes on you,” he said. “no one is more suitable than you. If you don’t go back now, we’re ready to enter your physiological information, and the service will start today.”
Of course, I didn’t regret it, but I thought it was weird. “I’m ready. But, do you mind if I ask?” Seeing that he made a ‘please continue’ gesture, I continued, “Are you sure you can let me do this? After all, I went to prison because…”
General Will glanced at the stack of documents on the desk, “You used to be a senior nurse, and you were rewarded by the Light of the Soul foundation, interviewed, and appeared on television, but you were sent to prison for intentional injury. The victim was a woman about fifty years old. Your motive was that they were abusing your client.”
“Yes,” I said, “Mr. Smith was nearly ninety years old. He could hardly move or speak clearly, but I knew he was a kind and good man. And the Smiths, I mean, the victim’s wife, she deliberately abused him and wanted to kill him off earlier.”
The general nodded, “Yes. That scene happened to be caught by you, so you moved on impulse. It’s just that the abusive behavior you’re talking about is considered insufficient evidence to reduce your sentence. I’ve only seen nurses go slow and abuse patients before. It’s the first time I’ve heard of someone attacking their families because they sympathize with them.”
I shrugged. “So, do you really think I’m the right person?”
“That’s why you’re a fit,” he said. “The people we need, first of all, must have some nursing experience. We don’t need doctors and technicians, only someone who is considerate of the patient’s body and mind and is willing to accompany him to his deathbed. Secondly, because Dr. Watson is a secret project, while he’s alive, you have to stay here the whole time. Considering the above two points, we can not select nurses from ordinary citizens, because there will be illegal aspects involved. Mr. Jones, don’t take this job as a good chance to avoid prison, It’s boring. You’re no different from a prisoner who does intensive labor.”
As he spoke, the staff had come to record my fingerprints, measure, and enter a series of physical indicators. Finally, General Will added, “There’s the most important reason. We need caregivers to really protect the patient. You have no good income, no reputation to speak of, but you were really good to your patients. We need people like you.”
I could see what he meant. At the beginning, in court, others said that I had a morbid sense of psychology and that I would have a strong emotion for patients, which was beyond the scope of social recognition, regardless of whether the object was male, female, old or young. Now my so-called morbid, so-called non-rewarding way of doing things, is exactly what this classified plan needed.
After that, the staff took me to my room. It was next to the isolation area, and only a few steps from the moon-shaped door. When I changed into a uniform, I doubted myself for a while: Can I take care of Dr. Watson seriously? Can I treat him as well as my former clients?
He really needs care, not only medical care but also comfort and company. But he is different from those children, the elderly and the injured. He’s a criminal like me.
General Will showed me his information – the part I was allowed to see, of course. I read it all. Dr. Watson came from another era. He was born in 1991, about a hundred years ago. In the isolation room, he looked haggard, but it was not because of the natural changes of age – he was ‘sealed up’ around the age of 30, and was awakened not long ago.
Watson’s life began in 2016. That year, he entered a research institute, dealing with wormholes, time, string theory, membrane theory, and so on. I didn’t look too deep in the materials, even if I did, I wouldn’t understand it. One day, two years later, he disappeared from his apartment. Twenty-four hours later, he appeared again, like a different person. In the old days, they would have deemed him crazy.
He thought that he was in contact with the unknown, and the third and fourth types of contact happened after that. Moreover, he always thought he had been away for a long time, more than twenty-four hours.
After that, Watson brought more incredible things to people. His mind was full of crazy ideas and frightening knowledge. He put forward all kinds of terrible theories, which others thought were just nonsense, but they were proved wrong every time. At a young age, he contributed to a lot of shocking scientific research results. He had installed a mysterious valve in his mind. He opened it and poured out its contents to all mankind.
Some people thought that his brain experienced some kind of pathological changes, which on the one hand caused madness, and on the other hand, it developed more areas of the brain. Others believed his self-reports, believing that he did have deep contact with unknown life, thus becoming the leader of human beings.
In 2021, he suddenly became a butcher.
In short, he made a plan that killed tens of thousands of people. There was no mention of what Watson had done, even the name of the plan was blacked out, there were only strings of long black bars in the print. There were also survivors of the incident, they were forced to receive unified treatment, and then all died within a year for unknown reasons.
Watson was sentenced for numerous charges, including terrorism against humanity before he was ‘stopped.’
‘Stopped’ doesn’t mean execution. He was frozen, drained of body fluid and replaced with another fluid substance to maintain his life, but they took away his life.
He was not simply frozen, but was maintained in a controlled sleep state, a bit like the method used in Star Trek; people can connect his brain when necessary, and extract the knowledge and answers needed through a series of analysis and calculation. They need the valve in his head, so they want him to live long.
A few years ago, he was completely awakened. This was the last resort, since some research projects encountered bottlenecks. The staff could extract data from his brain, but they couldn’t analyze and apply them. They needed to wake him up and have him direct the research himself. They not only needed Watson’s memory, but also to interact with him, so naturally, they’ll talk to him about humanity. For example, find a nurse to accompany him.
I don’t have to be able to deal well with Watson. The guys in prison are much scarier than he is, but I’m still more afraid of him, it’s a physical discomfort.
I feel like I’m dealing with a god or a demon. The demons were originally divided from gods.
That afternoon, I was ready to walk in and face my demon for the first time.
Watson could hardly speak. He could only use a weak voice to indicate his need, or his eyes to indicate his discomfort. It’s similar to those old people who have cerebrovascular problems.
After entering the isolation buffer, the doctor injected me with some kind of medicine and gave me a head ring. They said that by pressing a button on the head ring, I could hear the answer directly with the head ring and earplugs. Even if I want to interrupt the head ring, I can’t. However, consciousness calls are one-way only, I can’t answer him with my consciousness, I will still have to open my mouth and make sounds.
When I got close to Watson, I used the headband and said hello to him. I thought I would hear mechanical and electronic responses, such as the instrument for translating the thinking of aphasia patients. As I thought about it, I ‘heard’ a sentence: “Hello, I heard you were coming. Thank you.”
This sentence wasn’t made of sound or words. I just felt it.
Maybe that’s what head rings do. Sometimes the ear plugs of the aphasia’s thoughts are mistranslated, just as handwritten words can be misinterpreted, so the head ring seems to be able to directly convey consciousness accurately.
I’m not quite used to this way of communication. I feel like my brain has been invaded, and I’ve got ideas that don’t belong to me. I sat on the side of the treatment bed and didn’t dare to say anything for a long time. Walson’s consciousness came back, “You must have heard of me. If you want to ask anything, I can tell you everything.”
“No, I don’t want to ask anything,” I said. “I don’t want to know what I shouldn’t know. I never ask about the patient’s past. Besides, even if you tell me about technology, I wouldn’t be able to understand them at all.”
He seemed to smile. I’m not familiar with him. I didn’t know if that slight tremor of his mouth just now was a smile. He asked me, “How much did Will tell you about this job? Do you know you have to stay here all the time?”
I said, “I know. I’ve accepted it.”
“If you think it’s better to be here than in prison, and you’d rather finish your sentence here, you may be disappointed.”
I wondered for a moment. How did he know I was a prisoner? Then it occurred to me that if I could wear a headband and talk to him, so could other people, who told him who I was?
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Watson’s blue eyes looked at me, “I may die. Their examination results are another matter. I know my own situation. I may die. I’ll age fast for a few months, then it’ll slow down for a year or two. When I’m dead, they may transfer you to another prison to continue serving your sentence. They may also use drugs to erase your memory of this period of time, or there are other measures to deal with you. I hope you are prepared.”
He stopped for a moment and added, “Don’t tell them.”
“What?” I didn’t understand for a moment.
“Don’t tell them I told you that. They always pretend everything is normal, but I know I may die.”
Feeling these emotions, my heart burst with resentment. I think of the patients I took care of before, some of them are old people, some are survivors of disasters, and some are patients with progressive frostbite. I don’t know how many of them thought this way.
I gently held his hand and suddenly felt that he was not so terrible. His status as a scientist or a criminal has nothing to do with me. He’s just my patient.