Lincoln Six Echo was staring vacantly at the white popcorn of his ceiling. His thoughts muddled after them being chopped up, dropped into a blender then mixed into what had been his nightmare. It had been the same one. Every night he dreamt of things he never quite understood. Like the soft hum of an elaborately designed and built boat, or his own panicked lungs convulsing as he breathed in a stream of icy water. The boat bringing him to the Island was the nice part; the drowning was the part that left him feeling detached and ruffled. It also was the thing that caused the computer monitoring his REM cycle to report his troubled sleep thus earning him another 'meeting' with Dr. Merrick. Lincoln sighed, not bothering to look at the digital message displayed over his wall. Instead he turned over, cuddling into the white of his blanket and sheets. He was tired, so tired that breakfast would have to wait until he felt a bit better and not so sickened from his dream.

As the minutes passed on and he still felt uneasy Lincoln knew there was something wrong. He shifted, moaning into his pillow. His skin was on fire, sweat drenching his white sleep clothes and bed sheets. Lincoln shuddered, screwing his blue eyes shut and keening in distress, his heart pounding. He gasped and started grabbing at his clothes. The need to rip them off causing his movements to be erratic and uncontrolled. As Lincoln writhed on the damp bed, struggling to remove the thin layers of fabric between him and nakedness, he missed the tell-tale sound of an alarm going off. The computers voice sounded, calm and precise.

Though what he managed to grasp out of the air was jumbled and confused. Emergency. Lincoln Six Echo. Emerg- six echo, code4. Override. And with a loud screech the door to his private room was pried open. People rushed in. Elite doctors reaching him first, grabbing at his burning skin, making the fire worse. Lincoln screamed, hands that should've felt soft were daggers and fingers that should've been firm yet gentle felt like sharp needles piercing his boiling flesh. His agony didn't seem to bother any of them though. What he glimpsed of their faces was passive, uncaring even as he wailed and started sobbing, the pain becoming too much.

Lincoln heard various words, words that worried him and words that made him calm some despite the constant pain. Help him. Poison. Unknown, lack of evidence. Paddles. Going, no, clear! The world around him jumped back into focus before he could even realized it had left. Fear coursed through him, making him tremble beneath the hands that held and touched him. Proximity faintly blinked across his badgered mind but he paid it no heed. They were trying to help him. Stop the pain. Stop the burning... right? Through half lidded eyes he saw a man, doctor no doubt, pull out a long needle. An unknown, to Lincoln that is, substance sat within its vile. Even despite the fact that he knew it was coming he couldn't stop his tortured scream as the needle broke into the skin of his arm. And with a pain that he swore would brand his sensitive nerves for the rest of his life he succumbed to darkness.

disclaimer: don't own 'the island'