Night 57: Disciplinary Therapy Room 4 [M-U for Michelangelo]

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

Preparation had taken longer than usual with this one, but he was confident that the results would be worth it. He could already feel the tingle of excitement, a build up toward achieving great things, as he entered the room. The stainless steel of the table gleamed in the light, making the sill form strapped to it seem smaller, almost insignificant despite the wealth of data that could be mined from his body.

The doctor crossed to the table slowly, taking a moment to check the steel bands and cuffs that bound the man in place before turning his attention to the tools laid out nearby. Some were simply for show, reminders of other, similar situations the creature had been in before. Times when he was younger and more naive. But the harshness of his reality had changed that, just as this time together would change him again, turn him into something new.

He hoped it would also be something better, but that was the nature of true science. It wasn't only about success; even failure could produce interesting and significant results. Success would be nice to achieve, especially with a subject of such limited availability as this one was, but it wasn't entirely necessary.

Perhaps he was starting to turn sentimental, the doctor mused as he waited for the subject to awaken. He was starting to hope more of them survived these procedures instead of the strict 'any data is good data' belief he'd maintained before. Perhaps a vacation was in order? He'd need to think on it further.

But not now. Now, there was the shining steel table and the harsh lighting shining down on the subject, the table of tools waiting just within eye sight from the table, and his subject beginning to wake.

"Time to begin."

Comments

[hiddenbadass]

"I ain't sweet; I won't melt," Mike gritted through his teeth, closing his eyes and ignoring everything else the man said.

The heat was growing worse and so was the pain, and this was just the first injection. Mike knew he was in too deep. He had to get out of there, before all of the medication was in him.

Mike pulled against his restraints again, trying the one around his wrist before the two holding his ankles. No budging. But they had to budge. He had to get out of here--

Stop it.

Mike grew still again. Rubbing his skin raw wouldn't help him get free. Blood wouldn't provide enough slickness to get free. If only he had his tools....

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

"Melting isn't really the sort of reaction you'll be expecting," the doctor commented idly as he checked the next syringe carefully, a few drops of the brightly coloured liquid escaping the tip of the needle. He set it down again briefly in order to select a spot just above where Michelangelo's arm ended so abruptly and swabbed it neatly with alcohol again.

"Ready for the next round?" he asked, though there was little point in waiting for an answer, even if he'd actually cared what it was. The experiment would continue regardless of the patient's involvement.

With that in mind, the doctor pressed the tip of the syringe against the flesh before slowly driving the needle deep into the muscle to deliver another dose of the strange chemical.

[hiddenbadass]

No, he wasn't ready, but Mike knew he had no choice. The second needle went in, and the pain worsened. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. No talk--he had to focus on keeping it together. With the liquid in him, he wasn't sure he could talk without groaning in pain.

It was starting to feel like his body was really getting warmer....

Mike hoped it wouldn't get as bad as That Day, the one he would never forget.

A sound escaped the back of his throat, but he said nothing more.

Shell.

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

"Halfway there," the doctor commented, setting down the syringe and selecting another. He prepared it quickly, then set it back on the tray again before turning to his subject.

"The others are going into some more difficult to reach places, so I'm just going to have to move you a little, Michelangelo," he said. But if the mutant was hoping for a break, something he could use to get away, then he was going to be disappointed. Instead, the doctor made some adjustments to the table and picked up an attached remote, slowly elevating and tilting the table to give him better access to a wide gap below Michelangelo's back.

"You have some extensive scarring here, don't you?" he said, moving back around to select the prepared syringe and another swab. "Plenty of places to choose from."

[hiddenbadass]

Mike growled at him as he was moved. It was no where near as impressive as Raph's, but Mike couldn't risk opening his mouth. The pain was getting worse, and there was no way he was going to give the doctor the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Why the hell was the doctor injecting it into his scars, anyways? The skin was thicker, harder to penetrate. Mike didn't have the medical knowledge that Donny had, so he had absolutely no clue why--

--the doctor was going to inject it into the scar tissue in his back. Mike's breath hitched. He didn't have a shell anymore. His back was unprotected. He had absolutely no way to defend himself.

All he could do was shoot the man a glare, hoping in vain that looks really could kill. He wasn't going to give into him, even if there was no hope of escape. Turtles never gave up.

[damned-doctors.livejournal.com]

Unsurprisingly, the doctor ignored the glare, concentrating instead on the mass of scar tissue on the right side of Michelangelo's back. There was more than enough here for him to work with; it was almost a pity that he only had a little more work to do with the creature.

"Not much further to go now," he murmured largely to himself. "Then we will be able to see if you have what it takes to survive. ...or if you end up broken again."

Leaving it at that, the doctor swabbed neatly at a patch of the darker scar tissue and pressed the tip of the syringe into it. It was much thicker here, and he had to work it in particularly hard. But it was worth it as he felt the syringe hit the target level and he slowly injected the substance into Mike again.

"One left." The syringe was withdrawn neatly and the doctor set it down, preparing the final one with slower movements as he enjoyed the motions and the strain on his subject's face. "This one is going deeper than the others, I'm afraid," he said, not looking apologetic in the least. "But you've been doing very well!"