Free Predominance by H. I. Defaz Page B

trait?”
    Barbara smirked at him; Dr. Walker gestured for him to proceed. 
    “My name is Damian, and I too was diagnosed with an intracranial pressure due to a severe TBI I suffered three years ago. The details of my condition I'd rather to keep to myself, if you don't mind.” He stopped and leaned back in his chair, arm-crossed.
    “Very well…” Dr. Walker sighed, then turned to the last woman in the group—possibly the closest one to my own age. “What about you, my dear?”   
    When I turned to pay attention to what she had to say, I realized she'd been staring at me. My heart skipped a beat when my eyes met her gaze; not because the extraordinary hue of her eyes resembled the clearest, brightest blue skies I've ever seen in my life, but because they reminded me of something—a feeling, something buried deep inside my heart. I couldn't put my finger on it. She looked away swiftly the second she realized I'd caught her observing me, and let her impossibly straight, long jet-black hair fall like a curtain over her angelic face, avoiding me completely.
    “Hi,” she began in an innocent, velvet voice, “My name is Yvette, and, uh… my story is no different than any of yours, except my major side effects are uncontrollable tremors. Um… It's, uh… been two years since it happened, and not a day goes by that I don't wish that I could find a way to put an end to it. And that's the reason I'm here.” She stopped, finally tossing her hair back, allowing me to see that angelic face again.
    “Victor?” Dr. Walker called, revealing my name before I did, and gestured me to proceed.
    I cleared my throat before I began. “Well, that's my name. I'm Victor Bellator—headaches and light sensitivity. All I can say is that I can relate to every single one of you. It's been three years for me. Three years of pain and misery, and sometimes even wishing I was the kind of person who could end it myself… But I'm not. I am, however, the kind of person who doesn't give up. I'm here because someone once told me that one day, the answer to all of my problems would come knocking on my door.” I chuckled bitterly. “And I'm really hoping this is it.”  
    Everyone turned to Dr. Walker now.
    “You are all here because you share something in common,” Dr. Walker began. “The consequences of the injuries you've sustained should have killed you years ago—and yet they haven't. The circumstances that caused each of your particular brain injuries vary from case to case; however, all of you share the same final diagnosis.”
    He pulled down a projection screen and walked to the back of the room. Internal images of the human brain, along with text information, began to display at the command of his remote control. “You all suffer from an inexplicable intracranial pressure, or ICP—which according to most studies should produce a massive stroke in any patient in question. It is impossible under this diagnosis, however, to determine an exact timeline for this final outcome. Meanwhile, patients with ICP are prone to developing other conditions such as seizures, tremors, mood swings, sensitivity to light—and of course, excruciating headaches.” A new slide flashed on the screen with every statement he made.
    “How about telling us something we don't know, Doc?” Barbara said curtly.
    Dr. Walker pulled a condescending smile, ignoring Barbara's comment, and continued. “After years of intense research, however, my team and I have finally discovered the source of the once-inexplicable ICPs—and that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you've been brought here to R.C. Labs.” The silence in the room was now profound—dumbfounded looks were exchanged around the table. “An incredible breakthrough was made a few years ago,” Dr. Walker continued, “in which we discovered that certain types of brain injuries lead to the awakening of dormant brain cells in certain patients. These brain cells, however, lack the ability to generate