Forsaken: Chapter II
Lab Daze
CW: Lab whump, needles, fantasy whump, some minor/threatened eye whump, let me know if I missed anything
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Lab days were the worst days.
Which was saying a lot. Life as a warlock was filled with bad days, and scraps of good were few and far between. The scars that littered his body were proof of that. He was no stranger to pain, nor fear.
But that first aether harvest had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. So were all the subsequent ones. It was an excruciating pain he’d never wanted to feel again, and they left him aching and exhausted and freezing for weeks afterward.
Eldwin wrapped his arms around himself. The chill crept in just thinking about it.
But as horrible as they were, for all that he still wanted to curl up and hide in the closet like a child when he was told to head to the lab - and he would never actually be so pathetic, for the record - at least he knew what they were.
The same could not be said for what was happening today.
The steady rumbling of the elevator rang like the bells of death. Icy dread clung to his throat, and he steeled himself with a deep breath, taking a moment to close his eyes. Breathe. Hold. Release.
His stomach flipped with a familiar nausea as his footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor, stilted with a pain that shot through his legs every so often. That bastard had really done a number on him. He rolled his shoulders with a grimace, trying to loosen them. They didn’t feel quite right after after being left tied up for so long. Exactly why Clyde was fond of such damaging punishments while still expecting him to work perfectly, he had no idea. He clenched and relaxed his stiff hand repeatedly, twisting the wrist in an idle motion focusing only on the pounding heartbeat in his ears.
He pressed the bricks in the order that would open it. If he decided to sneak away, how long would it be before his absence was reported? Long enough to escape the grounds, surely.
But where would he go? He practically had free reign of the city. Yet he always came crawling back.
Control yourself. You’re better than this. Eldwin threw one last longing glance at the elevator, before knocking on the door. He didn’t wait for an answer before opening it, knowing he was expected.
“Good morning, Thirteen,” Jowan greeted far too enthusiastically. The scientist and so-called doctor appointed by the Black Syndicate. Eldwin was quite certain he didn't actually have a license.
This is it. No going back. He steeled himself, freeing his mind from thoughts that were better suited to somebody else.
Test subject Thirteen stared straight ahead as he marched past the doctor to his usual room. Room 1A was a more private suite, which he was grateful for. He had once shared a room with some other subjects he’d brought here; that was an uncomfortable experience for everyone involved. He stepped inside letting the white curtains close behind him. He was quick to shed his clothes and pull on the provided gown - this would be an overnight stay, and it was far easier to change a loose gown than his usual layers. It exposed the dark bruises that trailed up one arm, the other splattered with only a few deep marks amongst old scars. He settled onto the reclining chair in the centre, leather straps hanging loose at the sides. The gentle ticking of a clock was the only sound to distract him from the sterile white room, the overpowering scent of disinfectant that sent panic signals to his brain. He breathed in slowly. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Exhale, slowly, one, two, three, four, five. Pull yourself together.
Shit, it hurt to breathe.
Jowan entered a few moments later. He stopped short when he saw Thirteen, though he quickly regained his composure. “What did you do this time?” He asked nonchalantly as he prepared an injection site.
“I fucked up.”
“I can see that,” Jowan said in an oddly clipped tone. Thirteen got the unwelcome sense that he was annoyed. “Are there any other injuries I should know about?”
He resisted the urge to shy away. Don't be a baby. “No. It wasn’t that bad.” He’d limped all the way there and picking up anything with weight felt like his arms would drop off, but that wasn’t really anything new. He had already checked himself for injuries; no bones were broken so he considered that a win.
Jowan, apparently, did not. “He’s going to go too far one of these days.”
“What does that matter? It wouldn’t be permanent anyway.”
“It will be if it carries on.”
It chips away at your soul. Mordwen’s words lingered in the back of Thirteen's mind, a constant reminder of what’s at stake. Every time he woke up gasping for breath, dazed and weak in a body that didn’t feel like his own, her haunting voice echoed her warning, and he wondered at what point would the damage become too great.
His father had always told him not to worry about things that couldn't be changed.
He watched in mild curiosity as the needle pierced his skin, sucking up blood for the thousandth time. He supposed he was fortunate that he'd never been afraid of needles, at least. Although if he was, it probably would have been forced out of him by now anyway.
What was in them might be another matter.
The next needle injected a clear liquid with the faintest trace of blue only perceptible in a certain light. Next, an unappetising greyish liquid like murky water. Jowan never told him what any of them did, and Subject Thirteen didn't ask. Subject Thirteen was good like that.
Then it was a needle attached to a tube slowly pumping a deep blue substance that gave him a rush, not in a good way. It sent his aether into overdrive like a caged animal pacing its prison, waiting for a chance to break free. The nullification cuffs around his wrists were the only thing keeping him from losing control. It took effect within seconds, a tingling sensation flooded his senses much like sitting on a limb for too long, only ten times worse when it was all over his body. He had to be strapped down for it; the involuntary twitching risked tearing the needle from his skin.
“Is it getting any easier?” Jowan had the nerve to ask. Thirteen shot him a glare only to wince as a pulsing pain shot through his skull. The lights seemed to have grown so much brighter all of a sudden. And everything was so loud. He closed his eyes, stifling a pathetic whine. Saints, he hated lab days.
*+*+*
Thudding footsteps drowned out the sound of his own thumping heart. He ran as fast as he could through a dark tunnel that never ended. His lungs cried out for air and he could hear the rage of the beast behind him, destroying everything in its pursuit. The walls were closing in, threatening to crush him before the beast could.
“Run,” A soft voice whispered, almost making him falter. “Run, and don’t look back.”
Stone bricks shattered to dust, debris flying through the air and he picked up his pace, sprinting towards an exit that never grew closer, all he could think was don’t look back, don’t look back, never look back-
He hit something solid. He fumbled around, slamming his hands into the firm wall, kicking it with steel lined boots as he grew evermore frantic, the only noise being the sound of him banging against the impenetrable stone while the beast crept up behind him. He froze. There was no escape. Slowly, he turned around to meet his fate.
The void expanded, and swallowed him whole.
*+*
He clung onto the clone that carried him to a hospital bed for ‘observation’. He didn’t look at the pills that were pressed into his hands, just downed them immediately with the water that was held to his lips, too weak to hold the cup himself.
Hours later he curled up tightly as his stomach cramped with nausea, his body furiously trying to reject what it was given and a constant burning with lava flowing through his veins. Sweat soaked his skin from a fever not yet dangerous, but had the potential to become so. Hence why he was staying overnight in a glorified basement with one of those creepy clones watching him like a hawk. How’s a man supposed to sleep with a hulking six feet of artificial flesh staring at your every breath?
The answer was, apparently, either draining his aether or, as in this case, injecting him with a bunch of weird substances that made him feel just as shit. Where he’d spent the past few hours with his magic clawing at his insides, now came the comedown. Some part of him wished he would fall into unconsciousness sooner; at least then he wouldn’t have to deal with the persistent agony while he battled to keep from throwing up. If he did, he’d only have to do it over again. It wasn’t worth it.
His breathing was quick and laboured, lungs desperate to draw in enough oxygen. His skin was flushed and clammy, he couldn’t stop shaking. Blood rushed through his ears, the constant high pitched ringing was becoming unbearable. He tried to bury his face in the cold pillow but it grew too warm, and it limited his air intake. So he rolled over onto his back, his arm resting over his eyes. He had to sleep it off. That’s all. If he could just fall asleep, it’d soon be over.
*+*+*
“Weak,” a whisper in the void supplied. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a shiver creeping down his spine. “Just like the others.”
He whipped around to see, but there was nothing there. Only darkness. He opened his mouth, and no sound came out. Clawed hands dug into his shoulders, rotten breath on his neck. A gentle song echoed from the distance, too faint to make out the words.
He stiffened as sharp nails climbed up his cheek. They scraped at the corner of his eye, not damaging but threatening, teasing.
“You’re turning soft,” the voice crooned, a playful lilt in its tone. Then it hardened. “Weakness cannot thrive.”
He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see, could only feel the breath on his skin, the hands caressing his flesh, claws creeping up-
“Do better.”
*+*
He shot awake, a sharp pain flooding the right side of his face. Blood trickled into his eye, seeping through his fingers, his vision filled with red. Distantly he heard a door slam and racing footsteps. Jowan burst into the room with the pet clone hovering anxiously behind him like it had gone to fetch its mother. Another time, Thirteen might have found it amusing.
Jowan grabbed Thirteen’s wrist, prying his hand away. “What did you do?” He sounded more confused than anything else. Well, that made two of them.
“I don’t know,” was all Thirteen could think to say. “It… must have been a nightmare.”
*+*+*
“Well, how do you feel?” Jowan asked in their regular post-whatever-the-fuck-that-was examination. Despite trying to get more sleep after cleaning his wounds, Thirteen still lacked the energy to do anything more than follow simple orders and occasionally murmur a “yes” or “no.” Another blood sample was taken. He was quite sure Jowan could paint a room with all the blood he’d taken from him alone over the years. Throw in the samples of other subjects… well that would be quite the spectacle. Call it an art display.
“How is your aether?”
Thirteen stared at him blankly. “Fine. I haven’t used any.”
“No strange feelings? Nothing out of the ordinary? Not even slightly?”
Well it was still a little antsy, but that could be put that down to not exerting enough on the last job. “No. Can I go now?”
A flash of disappointment crossed his face, but Jowan conceded. “Eat first, remember? Then you can leave.” He grabbed a foil bar from the counter, and gave it to Thirteen. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. CM-20, do not let him go until he finishes it.”
“I don't need someone monitoring me. I’m not a child.”
“Then don't act like one, ” Jowan said cheerfully. He closed the door to his office before Thirteen could respond.
Thirteen glowered at the clone blocking the exit. CM-20, who hadn’t even been dignified with a proper name, stared back with an empty expression.
He had killed it once. Slit the throat and watched the life drain from its eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know he would do this to you.”
CM-20 remained expressionless. It looked eerily like someone who had given up.
*+*
The elevator pulled up painfully slowly. Thirteen clenched his fist at his side.
Breathe in. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Release. Repeat.
When it finally came to a stop Eldwin stepped out, and he raced from the old outbuilding as though it would reach out and drag him back inside. He took a moment to enjoy the sun on his face, taking in the fresh air. He’d never been in the lab for more than a few weeks, when he was dangerously ill. He rarely spent more than a day down there. Yet every time he couldn’t help but fear he might not come back.
He was often told he was paranoid.
On such a nice day, he decided to take the longer route back to the main house. The expansive gardens offered a variety of colourful plants. Statues and water features of stone and marble added to the scenery. There were fish in the ponds where bright dragonflies would hover in the summer.
As he walked down the smooth pathway, brushing his fingers against the hedges, he felt a twinge of sadness. He lived for these brief moments of peace, but how much longer would he have them? He wasn’t completely stupid. He knew what people said, how they looked down on Clyde for not keeping him on a tighter leash. How much longer until his luck ran out, and Clyde decided to make good on his threats?
He would say that these moments kept him sane, but he wasn’t so sure about that. His face still stung from that… it wasn’t a dream. When has anyone woken from a dream with blood dripping from their head? There was no way Jowan bought his excuses, but he mercifully hadn’t pressed him. Although now Eldwin expected he’d find a nice set of handcuffs waiting to restrain him the next time he spent the night there. Yay.
When he made it back to the house, Clyde was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s seeing guests,” a maid informed him upon his inquiry. “You may return to your room for today. He will send for you if you are needed.”
Eldwin thanked her. He usually dreaded having nothing to do, but a dull pounding in his head was beginning to form once more, and his steps were beginning to slow. These sessions came in stages; though the worst was over the next few days would be erratic. It took him about ten minutes to make it to his room, largely due to his refusal to use the lift. When he made it, the first thing he did was uncover the mirror.
Three long scratches ran down the side of his face, trailing across his eye narrowly avoiding damaging the eye itself. Two were shallow, but one was far more prominent. They weren’t so bad, and Jowan had fixed them up nicely, but it would be another scar to his collection. And difficult to hide. What would people say? What would Clyde say, when he found out how he got it? He already thought Eldwin was losing his mind. Perhaps he was right.
Weakness cannot thrive. The words echoed in his mind over and over. Soft. Weak.
Just like the others.
Eldwin threw the sheet back over the mirror, pushing the dream from his mind. It was probably nothing. Some weird side effect of whatever they’d given him. If it kept happening, maybe it would warrant more concern. Until then, he wouldn’t waste time pondering what he could not change.
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