damned_institute | Nightshift 33: Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [M-U for Okita Souji]

The darkness was comforting while he was asleep. It meant a temporary haven, a safety net he could envelop himself in before harsh reality got a crack at him. He could pretend he was only dozing back at Mibu, head resting lightly on his arms against a table as Saizou snuffled about in his lap in an effort to get comfortable. In dreams, he always went home. It was too bad that dreams never lasted very long.

Sounds came to him first and he knew he wasn't alone. Then came an unpleasant sense of nausea as he realized he'd been moved without his knowledge and was lying down rather than standing up as he last remembered. So that was how they did it... needles and drugs and plain dirty tactics. He waited until his senses came back to him fully before he opened his eyes, training his gaze on the man who spoke to him. Shadowed and hazy, he could see a man standing to the right of him, calling his name - his real name - and daring to mock him.

Okita smiled pleasantly at his captor and casually tested his bonds. There was no way he was breaking out of these, so it was best to play along for now. "My apologies. I didn't realize I was asleep."

He couldn't be seen, of course. That would be far too easy for them, wouldn't it? The little mice who couldn't understand their blessings. But no, the light's placed purposely around the room kept his face hidden, barely betraying the black color of his hair.

So it was a smile, was it? Well, that was fine. The doctor liked the ones who tried to play along for a little while.

"Oh, that's quite all right, Soujirou! You couldn't help it, with how those nurses drugged you." He stepped away from Okita's side, just a short distance. There was a table there, arranged with a single scalpel, and a vial of green liquid. For the moment, he opted for the blade, picking it up with the love an artist showed his tools.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He held it up so Okita could see the way the light reflected off of it. "Such a lovely thing, the scalpel. A tool of efficiency and grace. I love using these little wonders, but sadly, Okita, this isn't for you tonight. I know you must regret it."

He let out a sigh, long and slow. He genuinely was sad that he couldn't find some way to make a meaningful cut or two. Such pretty skin practically begged to be sliced into!

But no, no. He had to restrain himself, for the greater purpose. Tucking the blade away, the man shook his head. "Tragic, but I still have something wonderful planned. Would you like to know what it is, dear Soujirou? You must be curious."

Soujirou. A name he hadn't been called in years unless it was someone under the age of puberty. This man, this so-called doctor, had no right to use that name. The smile never faltered, but it certainly changed in meaning and if this scientist knew so much about him, then he would know what this new one meant. "Okita Souji, if you please. And they do like to stick me with their needles. Are you the one I lodge a complaint with?"

Metal flashed in the dark and Okita focused on it as his hands worked subtly at his bonds. He wasn't going to make it out of here like this and that was infuriating. He was trapped, a hostage, a prisoner of war - and he couldn't even kill himself properly before they tried to pull any secrets from his brain. If things got bad, he could always bite off his tongue, but he hoped to avoid that. Blood had a strange aftertaste.

He listened to the doctor's rant and decided the man was absolutely insane. Whatever he had in store was not going to be pleasant, but in this place, things rarely were. "Oh, yes. I'm very curious. If it does not involve your blade, then does it involve that little bottle I see there?"

"Oh. That name is so formal, isn't it?" Okita Souji. It sounded perfect for the history books, but this was a much more intimate affair! Really, you think he'd relax just a little. Or, maybe he wouldn't. It would've been better if he had. There would be lots of time to stress, and much better reasons to be tense than a little bondage.

"If I have to, I guess. I can't do anything about the nurses though. They wave their needles about as they please, filled with their common, predictable drugs." The doctor hated that sort of thing. Why stick with the ordinary, the well known and overly documented medicines that even the unschooled could identify? He much preferred this sort of thing, a different cutting edge than his scalpel.

And Okita guessed it! "Oh, you're a clever one, aren't you?" The doctor beamed, the white teeth separate from the shadowed face, but still not clear enough to be distinguished. "It does, it does. You see, Okita Souji, this little bottle is the prize. The point of this little get together is for you to have a nice, refreshing drink. Now, I know it doesn't look appetizing, and it probably tastes horrible. But we can't all make fabulous tea, can we?"

So his doctor was one who liked the unusual drugs? Okita felt dread building up within him at the thought of what those drugs might be. He knew very little about medicine other than what he'd learned from watching Hijikata. Western drugs were completely foreign to him, meaning the doctor could poison him for all he knew and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

But killing - that wasn't the objective here, was it. It was play, the art and beauty of science as seen from that twisted mind across the way. Okita's smile faltered a little at the bright white teeth set against the black. It was eerie, unnatural - wraithlike in a way he'd never seen a human look before. He'd faced demons, but nothing like this. "I'm afraid I'm not thirsty though. Shall we reschedule for the morning? I do like a cup of tea when I first wake up."

"So sorry, Okita-not-Soujirou-Souji, but that is the last thing we can possibly do." He picked up the bottle, tapped it on the table twice, and let the light clink of glass sound through the room. "These chances are so rare, and by the end of it, I'm sure you'll be eager to gulp down my little concoction."

"But first!" And here he couldn't hold in a laugh, almost a childish giggle of delight. So much fun, he could hardly contain himself! It was almost time, too, after this bit of explanation, it would all begin. "First, I'll tell you what it does. I don't think I'll have to give you too many details though. You've heard of consumption, haven't you? Tricky little disease in your day, but only hobos get it now. This is a little like that, except worlds better. A nice little chemical a special person or two would like to buy."

"But first, they want results. A test run on something more significant than mice and rats." That grin again, somehow growing wider, as if it could somehow cover the whole of his face. "Can you put the rest together yourself, clever Souji?"

The man was truly insane. How had he ever been allowed to practice medicine when his mind was so obviously removed from reality? Perhaps he'd only gone off the deep end after arriving here. The way he spoke, though, indicated years of deep rooted insanity, so Okita could only conclude that this place just made him worse.

Okita had just begun to tune the doctor out, eyes roaming the room over for clues to escape, when that word came out. Consumption. He'd beaten that disease since coming here. There was nothing to fear from it anymore. Nothing. Nothing.

Then why was he starting to shake? Steeling his nerves, he turned a fierce gaze toward the doctor. A chemical consumption? A lab rat. That was what he was being reduced to. A human test subject to see how that foul looking liquid reacted. There was no way he would ever take it. He'd never lower himself to that - never.

"Quite the tricky disease," he said, keeping his voice deceptively even despite the fear running through him. Could the Institute really allow this mad scientist to infect him? "Quite easily spread. Deadly, too. And I believe I beat that once, so why play the same tune on a tired old instrument, hm?"

Another sigh, this one disappointed, and the smile actually vanished for a moment. "Give me some credit, would you?" For Heaven's sake, did these patients not understand the quality of the treatment the received! The finest, the absolute best, and this was the response he got. Maddening and saddening, but it wouldn't do to let a hurt feeling put a halt to his precious experiment.

Why, thinking of continuing perked him back up again, just as quickly as he'd been let down.

"This little wonder isn't contagious once it gets into the body. A miracle of modern medicine dealing with all sorts of terms that you just wouldn't understand. Except maybe as letters of the alphabet." He took the vial by its cap, walking across the room where more light shone. A single clear box stood on a table, made of thick plastic with a stand inside.

"Let's just say that it custom fits itself just to you. So you could cough on or kiss anyone you wanted, and they'd be perfectly safe." The bottle went inside, the clarity of the container almost making it seem like it was floating in that spot. "As for the death part...well, that's one of the things I'm testing for. But you give yourself too much credit. You had consumption when you were brought here, Okita. We cured you."

"So it's only appropriate, isn't it? For our lovely Institute to take back what we stole in the first place. Reparations, if you will."

The stage was set, and the doctor took a moment to savor it all. Silence just before the show began, the play so carefully crafted. It wasn't just the disease that could morph itself to the patient. No, it was all done with him in mind, and he would understand that soon enough.

"Are you ready, Okita Souji? It's time to begin the test."

"My apologies. Modern medicine is lost on me," he said, with a smile that was lacking anything remotely sincere. His attention was focused now on the box and the vial floating inside. That vial, the disgusting liquid inside, that was his disease, new and improved and waiting to kill him. Was the doctor going to force it down his throat? Or something far worse? If anything, Okita was putting his money on the second option.

He didn't want it back. He'd had over a week with no coughing or fear, without getting winded or faking smiles meant to stave off unnecessary questions. Okita had thought he had a second chance once he came here, but now, it seemed, it had only been a temporary reprieve.

To hell with that, he wasn't going to let this man bully him into killing himself. Especially not for science. What reason was that to destroy his life and the lives of the people around him? "Even if I'm not ready, you're going to begin anyway, aren't you?" Rhetorical question. He knew the answer. "You'll find I'm not easy to break, Doctor. We're all trained in resisting torture techniques."

"Oh, that's fine. Only one of us needs to be an expert in it." And that one was him of course, the doctor who had studied long and hard, who devoted himself mind, body, and soul to the finest of crafts. Well, mind and soul at least. There were plenty of others to fill in that third part.

"Such a clever boy." The doctor laughed openly, his cackle echoing in the room as he vanished into shadow. A moment later he started speaking again, though this time his voice sounded much like the Head Doctor's, filtered through an intercom. It wouldn't do at all for him to be in reach, after all. No no, he couldn't die just yet. Who else could continue his work?

"In a moment, you'll be freed, Okita Souji. And all you have to do to make everything end is drink what's in that pretty little vial. It's so simple to remember, isn't it? And you should hold on to the thought."

There was a loud buzz, then the restraints holding Okita down opened. He couldn't leave the room of course, or even adjust the light to see anything more than the table he lay on, and of course, the pedestal, the prize, the key to the end.

"Yes, don't ever forget it."

This was wrong. From everything he'd heard about this experiemental trials, they were supposed to be actual experiments. People being cut open, changed, somehow bloodied and beaten by the end. He was going to be freed and left to wander in a room with a vial that held his death? Psychological torture was as old as time, but this? Was the doctor going to bore him to death or something?

The restraints snapped off and Okita sat up, staying on the table for the time being. What lay in shadow between him and the so-called prize was lost to him in the darkness. The lights destroyed his night vision and try as he might, he couldn't see beyond the table and...the vial. Looking away, he searched for the source of the voice - walls. There had to be a door in and out of here. If only he knew which room he was in, he could remember the layout from the time he'd gotten into them when Hijikata had disappeared. "I'll be sure not to forget that."

He could feel pens rolled up within his clothing and he left them where they were for now. There had to be a reason for all of this, something he was missing. Cautiously, he slid off the table, staying within the circle of light for now. He didn't want to ask about what was about to happen, so he moved around the table, eyes peering out into the dark. "But why did you leave? I thought we were supposed to play tonight."

"Oh, yes, there will be playing, Oki-Okita." Though he was no longer in the room, or no longer seemed to be, the doctor remained well aware of the man's movements. What good would it be if he couldn't even watch his mouse scurrying about the maze? And what a wonderful maze at that, the kind that had no walls, and was still a worse prison.

But Okita would learn that soon enough. Yes, he would see how lab rats act, how they ran and danced and died for their masters. Maybe he'd even come to understand what a glorious thing it was, to be given the honor. But the doctor doubted it.

"And since you're so eager, let's begin our game's first round." There was no sound of sliding doors or opening cages. No, the doctor's voice merely fell silent, then a breath before skittering feet could be heard scraping on the floor. They came for Okita, vermin and bugs, the traditional carriers of disease. Too many to count in the dark, but they had their goal in mind. Rats and roaches, all able to bite and claw and tear flesh away. They would crawl over floor and table to reach their prey, without fear of death and pain. These had even been made better than their normal kin, their weakness against the light stripped away, along with a few other minor modifications.

Those he would save for later though.

The nicknames were starting to get to him. He didn't consider his name to be all that difficult to say! Okita or Souji. And since this man didn't know him well enough and would likely be getting a sword through his eye later, Okita was preferrable. Nice and professional. Stepping back so he was against the table, Okita waited as the doctor's voice fell silent.

The room went quiet, and then he heard them.

Rats. Roaches. Digusting vermin all running toward him. The smell of their filth hit him before he could see them and he swung up onto the table, reaching into his clothes for the pens the doctor had been so kind to leave him with. Now he saw. Now he understood. He was going to be made to fight for his life, made to wish for the vial to end the torture. He'd show them all how he could overcome this. He'd fought any number of monsters here and he wasn't about to let them get the better of him now.

The first of the rats reached him and he kicked hard at the thing's head, pushing it back off the table. Others soon filled its place though, so many that they were flooding the floor, trying to reach him. Bites to his legs were treated with stabs and kicks. Too many though, he was being overrun and their nasty mouths and filthy claws were touching him. The disgusting, dirty, horrid little beasts were touching him. Losing his temper, Okita grabbed one rat by the tail and swung it around, slamming it into a roach that had gotten up on the table. This wasn't torture - this was just gross.

Wonderful, wonderful! So early on and Okita was behaving splendidly, struggling so desperately to remain untouched and healthy and clean. But this wasn't to be the underdog's victory. Mice didn't go where they wanted, but where they were led. The hero was the good doctor who guided them down the twisted path.

His laughter echoed, as did his applause, the delight evident in his voice. "Fantastic, and so resourceful! But we can't let you have too much of an advantage, now can we?"

He might have given Okita time to think that over, but why wait? Presents on Christmas morning and all that. With no further warning the rat in Okita's hand exploded, a minor one, but enough to send its guts splattering out in a rancid mess. Blood and who knew what else spewed from it's gut, getting over everything nearby.

Oh, that included Okita, didn't it? Oops.

Advantage? What did that--

The rat exploded. It didn't just explode, it splattered and Okita jumped as the animal's screams were cut off by the fact that it no longer possessed a throat. He was barely able to turn his head away as the blood and decayed carcass sprayed him and the room. The other vermin were still scrambling forward, but Okita didn't quite see them right now. He was covered - covered - in half rotten innards and blood and--

God, the smell was stomach churning. Throwing what was left of the rat to the side, he couldn't stop himself from trying to get the rancid gunk off him. Wiping and pushing the goop off him, he choked back the urge to vomit as he stepped back on the table.

Right onto another rat. The creature screamed and Okita turned, sweeping his leg across the table to momentarily clear it. His mind wasn't working on anything but auto-pilot as he went back to frantically trying to clean the disgusting slop off him. What had the doctor done?! Rats didn't explode like that! Nothing was supposed to explode like that!

"Did you like that, Okita Souji?" That sing song voice had returned, full of melodic lift and lilt, and of course the doctor's undying cheer. This was such fun, after all, watching the man scramble, spreading the unspeakable horror rather than washing it away.

Why not add to it?

Randomly, the creatures began to explode. Not all of course, because where would the fun be in that? But some, many, more than enough to spread the contents of their little bodies, well, all over the place. All over the person too, of course. Couldn't forget that detail.

"Aren't fireworks lovely? Of course the vial is nice and clean. Oh don't you worry about that." Patronizing tones, almost baby talk when it came down to it, but the good doctor knew this was in fact his child, or something just as precious. And oh, what a beautiful and wonderous thing, his creation!

No, he didn't like it, but he wasn't going to dignify the doctor's taunting with a response. He had to pull it together, let the man know that something as simple as setting off his rather deep-rooted obsession with cleanliness was not going to make him take a vial of liquid death. Even if he was going to be scrubbing himself down for weeks just to get the feeling off him. It was clinging, he could feel it, sinking into his skin, staining him, ruining him forev-

Another explosion actually shocked Okita out of his stupor and he whipped his head away from it. Keeping his head down and his eyes closed, Okita put a hand over his nose and mouth as he fought against the rats and roaches that were not becoming some twisted sort of party favor. He was getting covered in the rotting remnants of other creatures, but he had to focus.

Focus. One point. Kill the things around him.

Killing was a good focus.

Gripping his pen firmly in his right hand, Okita kicked a roached over and off the table just as it exploded, sending its guts spraying up into the air. He slid off after it in its wake and began carving a path through the vermin. He was bleeding and the rancid meat from the monsters stung against his open wounds. The pain drove him forward though as he began to search for the intercom. Somewhere, the voice was coming from somewhere and if he could stop it, the man would have to come out again. A rat bit him hard on the left ankle and he hissed in pain, spinning around to launch the offending disease-infested creature into a wall. "Is this it?!" he snapped, glaring at the darkness. "A bunch of--" Another one exploded, covering him in filth and he gagged, nearly losing what little he'd eaten that night. "Vermin?"

"Aw, is the mouse getting bored already?" From everywhere at once the voice called out. Not a single speaker that could be so easily smashed, oh no. That would be too easy, too much of a relief for Mr. Okita. The doctor would much rather have him flit and scurry. It was much more fun.

"I guess we can move on then. Brace yourself." Again, no other warning but the doctor's words, and what good would that do? From above this time, a torrent of liquid came down on Okita, freezing cold and reeking worse than the creatures had. A special soup left to marinate, best served chilled. And it was thick too, just solid enough to clump in the hair, and the fabric of clothes.

Maybe that would be more to Okita's tastes. Not that the rats or the roaches would stop. No, that would be a temporary reprieve, the creatures possessing far too good instinct to be so easily turned away. The flood only lasted a few seconds, and then the swarms would resume.

Another random element to add to the dance.

Brace himself? Okita didn't have time to think before water - no, not water; sludge - fell from the ceiling. It was freezing, but worse, it stank. It reeked and turned his stomach and Okita finally lost it. The thick, icy mess clung to him, to his skin and his hair. It got in his eyes, filled his nose and he doubled over, coughing as his gag reflex forced him to his knees. He was heaving, trying to keep his meal down and failing miserably.

God, the smell. It was worse than anything he could have imagined. Bodies burning or rotting in the streets was nothing compared to this. The cold sank into his bones and stayed.

You do not break under torture.

He let out a wet, choking sound as he finally threw up, falling forward onto the ground. His eyes burned along with his esophagus and he wished he could wipe his mouth, but his hands were covered in that disgusting mixture. And rats. Shit. A rat bit into his arm and he jumped up, ripping it off him and throwing it across the room.

Show some pride. You're a Shinsengumi captain.

Kicking through the swarm and the sludge, Okita found his pen and drove it through the back of a roach as it came up to bite him. He wasn't going to take that damned diseased bottle and he wasn't going to let this crazy doctor break him. But he'd learned his lesson - never ask what could be worse.

"Ew." Anything but disgust came through the intercom, the doctor knowing well just what he'd done, and what that odiforous mix was made of. Maybe he'd tell Okita the contents if the man continued to flail. But then again, maybe he wouldn't. The imagination could be a terrible thing.

"So what do you think is in there? Besides your spaghetti dinner, I mean. Did the cake taste as good the second time?" Crass, childish insults, but he wouldn't want Okita's thoughts to stray too far. Rats and roaches came again, resuming their explosions (random of course), and Okita had to experience it all. The vomit was likely better than what else could be on his tongue at any rate.

"You know, that liquid has a nice sweetness to it. Your breath will be minty fresh!" The doctor giggled again, then sighed, so impressed with himself. It wouldn't be too much longer, and even if it was, there were plenty more things to play with.

He wasn't getting a break. This was like battle and if he thought of it like that, perhaps he could focus. A rat exploded as it came at him, spraying him with rancid meat and Okita's weakened stomach lurched again. This was worse than battle. It was, as they said, torture.

Backing away, Okita pulled his shirt off and used the back to wipe his face and mouth. It wasn't exactly clean, but it was better than the rest of him. It was probably stupid to use it so early in the game, but he had no choice. He needed to be able to see and the sludge was in his eyes, matting his hair to his body and his face. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes fell upon the vial, still clean within its clear box. It was the only thing untouched in the room. He quickly threw his shirt over it and turned in time to catch a rat as it came at his face. Hands snapped around the creature's body and he wrenched it, snapping its back as he threw it away.

He wasn't going to respond to the doctor anymore. He couldn't if he wanted to. His mind was focused on one thing - killing the mass around him. His mind detached from the smell that was invading every pore of his body. It had to or he'd go insane. Twirling the pen around in his hand, he launched himself forward at another roach, kicking it over to pierce its soft underbelly.

He waited, and waited, and waited. But it seemed his little mouse wasn't listening anymore, and that was a shame. It wasn't any fun if he couldn't play with the pet, ruffle its fur with a few well-chosen words. So the doctor sighed, and watched as Okita had his way. Snapping this spine, stabbing this gut. Such a typical warrior.

"Ding ding ding!" The doctor could only stand to be bored so long, and besides, Okita was already adjusting to this stage. Obviously that meant it was time to move on. And what better way to go out with a bang?

A rather big bang, as every creature that hadn't already burst, alive or dead, all exploded in the same instant.

"And that ends our first round. Why don't you take a bit of a breather, Oki-kun? I'll be back in...well. Why tell you and spoil the surprise?"

And with that, the doctor fell silent.

All at once, his prey was gone. They all exploded, covering everything in sight with their rotting innards. Okita threw his arms up to cover his face and curled down and away from the explosion, hoping to save himself. It didn't help. He was still covered from head to toe in their carcasses, the stench of it all nearly unbearable. He started heaving again, but his stomach had nothing to expel. Arms wrapped around his middle, he tried to stop, but couldn't. If only he could spit up that smell, the rot settling into his bones and staining his skin. If only.

"--reather, Oki-kun?" Words filtered through the blood haze in his mind and he looked up, breathing hard. The doctor fell silent and his attention snapped back to the room around him. The last time the doctor went quiet, torrents of water came, before that bugs. What would happen this time? What was coming for him?

...nothing. The room was silent save for the occasional twitching of some dead creature as their nerves fired off at random and him. It was eerie how quiet it was now compared to the screeching, skittering mess earlier. Okita stepped back, breathing hard and coughing to rid himself of that awful odor. What was next?

He had to endure this. If he could last the night, they couldn't keep him into dayshift, right? If he could last the night, he would be free. He couldn't break. He wouldn't. Even if the vial behind him was the key to ending this all. He could survive it. He had to.

How long to make Okita wait? One minute, five? No matter how long it was, it would seem like an eternity to the little mouse, certainly. He couldn't escape from all that rot that clung to him now, making his outsides as dirty as his insides would be. But he was resisting the way out, even going so far as trying to hide it, and the doctor wouldn't have that at all.

In the end, Okita would drink. Oh, he'd do it so willingly, yes.

The man had suggested a breather, and that was exactly what he would give Okita. Something to take in, a reason to breathe deep in that room. He hummed, though the mouse wouldn't hear it, and began pumping a steady fragrance into the chamber. Certainly not overpowering at all, one might not even notice it except by chance. The light scent of opium, and of paper. The odor of freshly fallen fall leaves in Japan.

The scent of home.

Scraping bits of exploded vermin off him wasn't exactly his idea of a break. The doctor's suggestion of 'taking a breather' was made impossible by the stench around him - on him. Okita stalked the room, trying to find walls, but not being able to reach them before he ran into another vile creature still twitching in its death throes. Disgusting.

Okita wanted to kick them out of the way, but the mere sight of them made his stomach turn again. Pacing like a caged animal - that was, after all, what he'd been reduced to - his eyes scanned the darkness for some hint of what was to come. He found nothing. No movement save for the dying bugs and rodents. No new sights. No new sounds. Nothing.

Emptiness.

Okita paused and straightened, his guard tightening at the unexpected lack of some torture. It took him awhile, a long while, before he noticed the change - not in scenery or sounds or movements, but smells. Smoke. Paper. Leaves. Freshly woven tatami. Wet hardwood floors. Moss on rocks.

Was he imagining those last ones? He was certain about the smoke and leaves. He could never forget those scents. He'd often experienced them together when he was out during the autumn days and nights, patrolling or wandering through Kyoto and Edo with...

"....Hijikata-san." The name was barely whispered, but the effect was large. If this was a new torture - if they had him - they'd pay. Whirling around, Okita's expression switched from nostalgia to fury to desperation and then to some strange mix of the three. "Nothing in the world can save you if you've harmed him," he snarled, the pen creaking dangerously in his hand. "What is this? Some mind game? What are you playing at, Doctor?"

"Ohhoho." The doctor laughed, mocking and high, letting Okita hear the noise this time. A new twist in the game, one the mouse would see through if he bothered to think hard enough. But the poor thing was so distracted and disgusted, what chance was there of that?

Beside, scent was a powerful thing. Evoking sweet memories and all.

"You can't even find me, Okita Souji." His proper name, spoken with a cheerful lilt. "How will you punish me for whatever I might do to your dear sweet vice-commander? Why, I could have him strapped to my table and take him just like he does all those lonely samurai's wives. And there's not a thing either of you could do about it."

The doctor spun in his chair, giving Okita a moment to consider it, but just a moment. "Or maybe I don't have him at all. Maybe I've just let something leak into the air, some little perfume that might lead you down another path of the maze. Kind of cheese for mice. Squeek."

Okay, it didn't sound anything like a mouse squeek. But the idea was clear enough, and besides, it would piss the hell out of the lab rat easily enough. Did he have Hijikata, or was he just making a fool out of Okita? Oh, the choices, the choices.

"Be careful there. It looks like you're about to break your pen."

Dear, sweet? Okita would have laughed if his anger would have allowed it. Those were not words used to describe Hijikata - not if the speaker wanted to live beyond the last syllable. The thought of the doctor touching him though, getting anywhere near him, was enough to send Okita's control teetering on the brink. He'd rip the man's throat out, slice his skull clean through-- No, too quick. He'd string him up by his fingers and ears and torture him to death. Worse than anything he was experiencing now. The doctor would plead for death and go hoarse before Okita ever let him have hope that his death was coming.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to calm down. Riling up the enemy, threatening loved ones - basic torture techniques. Okita let out a slow breath and stood up, relaxing his hands until the pen almost hung from his fingertips. He would not break. He was a samurai. He had his honor and pride.

Looking up and in no particular direction, Okita smiled. "It would be a shame if I broke the present you so generously gave me." Taking the pen, he wiped it off on his pants, not caring if it was no cleaner than before and clipped it to his waistband. "The other, I'm afraid, is buried somewhere in this mess you made. I suppose you'll have to find it somewhere."

That was it, just what the doctor wanted. Okita's attempt to regain himself, to retreat further back into that well gained control. To think that he maybe could resist, for a moment, for longer, until the doctor was left with no tricks up his sleeves.

But the doctor was too prepared for that.

"Hmm. Normally I'd say it was just a cheap disposable thing that wasn't worth saving," He made sure to sound like he was considering it very carefully, which wasn't too hard. It'd be a terrible effort to clean up all that mess. "But then again, I'm sure some Shinsengumi fangirl would pay a pretty penny for a pen used by the real Okita Souji. I could retire! I'll bet that sounds like good news to you, doesn't it? So let's start digging, shall we?!"

His voice was nearly a screech by the end, and before the last words were out, the next part of the trap was sprung. From above, random body parts, human remains fell, explosions just under the skin setting them aflame. Heads, hands, feet, all recognizable, chopped away from whatever victim had originally owned them. And not enough to make a whole, no, but the two heads made it clear that there was more than one person in the mix. How many, in the end? One for each part, maybe? Maybe Okita should consider his delimbed fellows more carefully next time he saw them.

It had to come from somewhere.

Insanity. Okita had seen it far too often in his line of work. People pushed too far, left alone too long, uncomforted, twisted, broken - the aristocrat, the double, so many people. It didn't ease the apprehension that came anytime he met another though. The insane were difficult to gauge. They were loose canons whose next moves were difficult to predict, meaning he had to think in every possible direction and prepare for anything.

With this doctor and his foreign technology, Okita wasn't sure he could keep up. From above, body parts began to rain down - and burst into flame. It wasn't the body parts that bothered him. He was more than jaded to seeing bits of humans ripped apart, but the fire, that set him on edge.

Stepping back and away from the flames, Okita covered his nose and mouth with the back of his hand, wincing at the stink of the dead vermin and the ungodly sludge poured on him earlier. Which was worse? The smell of burning human flesh combined with the sight of melting skin and hair and eyes and nails? Or the smell of the rancid meat and mystery sewage?

Coughing from the smoke already filling the room and the smells of human and vermin flesh burning, he stepped back until he hit the table. Another piece fell right behind him and burst into flames, singing his skin. He jumped away and grit his teeth, biting back a hiss of pain. The room was filling with random body parts, heads and faces he didn't know, but did that matter? People had been killed or bodies harvested and desecrated for this maniacal torture. How far would the doctor go to poison him?

"You're going to burn the pen at this rate!" he shouted above the sound of the flames and the popping of skin and fat. And him. The flames were spreading to the exploded masses of rats and roaches, burning whatever flesh they could reach. At this rate, he was going to burn alive or suffocate on the smoke. Getting down to his knees and grimacing as his pants squished into some unrecognizable mess, he squinted against the smoke and kept a look out for anymore body parts that might fall.

You're going to burn the pen. How cute that Okita tried to keep up the roll, the facade of the one in control, the one who wouldn't be broken. But they both knew what a bad spot he was in, with the fire catching, the smoke building, and oh yes, the vial still there. The shirt Okita had thrown over it lit up in the blaze, burning down to cinders and exposing the box. The doctor, of course, had used a heat resistent material, taking every necessary step to be sure his package was delivered safely.

Ah, how far should he press? Until his little mouse began to cook around the edges, maybe? Or until he just couldn't hold himself up anymore, and fell face first into a pile of guts? Oh, it was so hard to decide!

Just a few minutes more. Just a few.

It was getting harder to breathe, and harder to find a safe place to stay. Coughing hard, Okita pushed himself to his feet and kept low, dodging around the fires everywhere. The doctor wouldn't kill him - not like this. The vile remained protected, clean and safe within its little transparent box. That was why he was here. Until he drank that, the torture wouldn't end. Weaving through the flames, Okita hissed in pain as the fire shot up around him. It was unbearably hot and he could barely stand the painful heat on his skin. How far? How far would he go?

Finding a relatively clear spot, Okita dropped to his knees again, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut against the smoke. His lungs felt like they were burning along with the room. He was sweating and in pain. Where he'd gotten too close to flames, his skin was blistered and raw. This was undignified, but he had to withstand it. Just a little longer - a little longer and the doctor would fold and give him some other horrid torture.

The flames hit a new patch of flesh next to him and the fire exploded, curling up toward the ceiling with its new fuel source. Crying out in surprise, Okita fell to the side, scrambling back as he tried to get away. Damn it all! If the doctor didn't hurry, he was going to burn to death!

"Scurry, scurry!" The doctor was of course watching the way Okita moved, how desperately he tried to flee. But there wasn't a single safe corner to be had in that room. Just one way to be sure it would all stop.

Just one, so lonely and distant.

"Do you think I couldn't replace you?" That's what Okita was doing, wasn't it. Biding his time, thinking somehow that he was a special little rodent, a special star in this test. But the doctor was the headliner in the show, and the mouse fodder to be crushed, cut, disected and discarded, just like that.

"There's plenty where you came from. Plenty who would've gulped down that vial already without making nearly as much mess."

The doctor activated a new control from wherever he was, sending more of the sludge down from before. All of it was just as cold, covering every inch of the room in thick, seeping ooze. It reeked as much as the rest, but put out the flames as it plopped down over the floor in gooey piles.

And while this happened, the doctor rambled on, not pausing in his speech, not skipping a single beat.

"Though you've been a fun one up until now. But I'm starting to get bored. So Okita-Stubborn-Souji, let's move on to the final hand. Are you ready, my darling?"

The doctor was taunting him and Okita snapped his head around - just in time to catch the sludge falling again. Throwing his arms up over his head, he tried to block the vile mixture from getting into his face, ducking his head down. It was useless really and this time the thick ooze burned as it came in contact with the bites and the burns. He was bleeding, skin singed and nerves frazzled. The smell...

Dirty on the outside, soon you'll be stained on the inside.

He coughed, gagging as he frantically tried to get the ooze off him. He had nothing left to throw up, but that didn't stop him from doubling over as the smell got to him. Dry heaving was painful, even more so when there was no relief.

The rank odor was everywhere. Seeping into you. He scratched a little too hard at his right forearm and winced as his nails cut into his skin. Body parts, burning, rodents, roaches - nothing bothered him as much as this...sludge. It clung to him, everywhere, in everything. Nothing to help him now. He wanted it off. He wanted a shower. He wanted clean water and soap. He wanted to rip his skin off and start over, no trace of the putrid stain he knew would be left behind even if no one else could see it.

Whipping his head around as he finally got control of his gag reflex, he stared down at his hands - covered in unknown sewage. They would not break him. Death was better than failing against the enemy. Keep your pride, you filthy creature. His fingers twitched, the knuckles cracking unnaturally. If he focused on fury, perhaps he wouldn't go insane. "...I'm going to destroy you," he whispered. Raising his head, he glared daggers into the nameless dark and felt something in his head begin to stretch too thin. The smell was getting to him. Was he losing? "I'm going to rip out your throat and make you drink your own damn blood until you choke on it."

"Hmm? What was that?" The doctor knew Okita had whispered, though he couldn't quite here it. Still, it wasn't too hard to guess, especially when the mouse decided to get good and specific with it. That was an imaginative one, he had to admit! It seemed something was starting to give inside Okita's head.

But that wouldn't do. He wanted to him to break, certainly, but not like this. Madness was a beautiful thing, but it was so much nicer to watch him struggle with it, to sway back and forth with his actions and his obligations. No no, Okita was too close to giving in to it, and that made the doctor's timing all the more perfect.

Which it always was.

"You're getting creative." Still, approval of the threat rang in the doctor's voice, utterly lacking in fear. There would never be a chance for Okita to make good on it, so why give the mouse the satisfaction. "But you still haven't realized, my little mouse, just how powerless you are. You see, you've only had the choice this whole time of how my little drug enters your body. Never a choice about being diseased."

Suddenly vents opened in the dark walls, blasting in air. It only circulated the smell of course, but maybe the cool breeze would calm Okita's hot head. "Either you can drink the vial, or I'll send my little germs to your lungs through a more direct route. Do you understand what that means?"

He hated being a pawn. He hated running against walls he had no chance of climbing. Certainly, he was just another dog for the shogunate to throw into a war, but he had his autonomy within the group. He followed orders, but only so far as they were reasonable. There was no way he was going to listen to this sad excuse for a medical doctor. He wasn't going to give in.

Although it seemed he had no choice. He could, of course, always take his own life. He could always have an honorable death should he be incapable of exacting justice upon his enemy, but that was rather final and he was struggling against death at the moment. Vents opened and Okita gagged on the smell as it rose on the simulated wind. Shaking his hand to get as much of the sludge off as possible, he pressed his nose closed and tried to breathe through his mouth. It didn't help much at all, really.

A more direct route? Would he poison him using the air? In the beginning, Okita thought the vial could only harm him. It was his burden to carry or refuse as he wished. However, as the doctor had kept talking, he had begun to realize something. It wasn't him. It was the carrier. The disease attached itself to the carrier and stayed there.

"...you'll poison everyone." Dread settled on him like a thousand weights as he realized what that meant. If he didn't offer himself as a test subject, others would be forced into this horror show. Hijikata might be forced into this. Homura, Heiji, Kaito, Guy - his friends, his family here; he'd kill them if he didn't kill himself. "If I don't take your drug, you'll poison everyone with the air."

"Bing-O!" The doctor laughed loud and hard as Okita came to his cruel realization, that the choice was to sacrifice himself, or let his stubborn pride mean the doom of everyone around him. "Of course, there's a chance they could be spared. So small it's not worth mentioning, but it's there. If none of your precious friends have come to rescue you, maybe it'll die out before it reaches them."

The doctor paused, tapping his chin. "Of course, the one who's here on our invitation wouldn't stand a chance. How sad for the poor man. Going through one of these tests only to have himself infected on top of it. You'd think he was despised by the Heavens or something."

"Oh well." It was simple enough for the doctor to shrug off, of course. Truthfully, though, it was all he could do to contain his glee at the moment. The mouse was there, on the edge of the trap, just about to press the button that would send a hundred thousand jolts through its little body.

"If you can't decide, I'll choose for you, Okita-kun. We wouldn't want to make this too difficult for you."

If no one had come. He could only hope he'd be that lucky. Guy had gone to M13 to tell them of his abduction though, and unless something more pressing came up, he'd have the bad fortune of walking out in this state to meet...who? Someone. People. He didn't want to see anyone when he was like this - ragged, bleeding, reeking, and soon to be diseased. If he were lucky, there was no one there and--

The doctor chose his words carefully. He didn't throw out anything unless it was a clue, and he had purposefully chosen those specific words to tell Okita just who else was suffering tonight. One of his own had been taken, someone else was in pain. He had an inkling of who it was, too.

That someone else needed to be saved.

Pushing himself to his feet, Okita stared at the ground, his face obscured by his hair. Would he really be able to save anyone like this? Or would he just be causing them more harm later on? Hijikata...the worry would be back on his face. The constant weight of knowing what was coming. History, it seemed, couldn't be displaced, not even in the future. How long would he have this time? A year? Months? He doubted asking would do any good. He'd lived with the terror before though, the heavy certainty of what was to come. He could bear it again...he hoped.

"...I've made my choice," he said finally, his voice hollow. It seemed to take an eternity for him to reach the box, still pristine as ever. Placing both hands on it, he pushed down against the cover until the thing creaked from the pressure.

The doctor watched with baited breath, eyes wide as Okita resolved himself. Oh, humans were the best toys in this respect. Their awareness made them priceless, that unalterable ways they went to the slaughter with eyes wide open. And Okita Souji was at that point, wasn't he? Oh, the poor dear, so broken.

He knew exactly what came next. Oh yes.

"Careful now." The doctor soothed, so gentle now that Okita walked the corridor he wanted. "If you break it, bad things will happen. Open it gently, and drink every drop down. It's mint flavored, so I'm sure you'll find it refreshing."

Say what they would, but Okita's breath would be perfect when all was said and done. It was the least he could do in his gratitude.

His fingers slid along the sharp edges of the box, leaving grimy traces behind. He was dirty on the outside, so why not within as well? People said they had ways to cure this now, but...Okita had a feeling what he was about to do could not be cured as easily as that. Why go through all this trouble otherwise?

His thumbs pressed against the latch and the sound of it popping filled the silence in the room. He heard the doctor speaking, but didn't care to register the words. His death meant saving his comrades here. That was what mattered. His slow descent into a maddening uselessness - it would save people. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, it would lessen the blow of what was to come.

The lid came open and he stared down at the glass vial inside. The concoction looked disgusting, but he forced himself to pick it up. His hands weren't shaking at least. A little bit of strength at the end - a little bit of dignity. A million questions raced through his head as he contemplated what he was about to do, but no answers.

Nothing until he uncorked the glass and brought it to his lips. Don't let them know. None of them could ever find out. No one could ever know. Answers, questions, nothing mattered. Just say they tortured him and then they let him go. No need to go into details. Nothing needed to be said.

Nothing could be.

Tipping the vial up, he swallowed the contents without tasting it - every drop as the doctor said. It was mint flavored after all, but that didn't exactly help any. Once it was gone, Okita looked at the empty glass, his mind drawing blanks as to what to do. It wasn't until he heard the vial shatter and felt the shards cutting into his skin that he realized he'd been crushing it.

"Bravo," the smug satisfaction in the doctor's voice was not for Okita, of course, but his own astounding performance. A marvelous job, a show beyond compare! And now the task was done, all that remained the boring notetaking that some assistant could undoubtedly do.

Oh, but what fun it had been.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Okita Souji. You are free to leave. The room, I mean. Wander to your heart's content."

Behind Okita, there was a loud click. The door which hadn't before been visible now was, as simply as that.

Shards of glass clinked as they hit the floor and Okita turned, hearing the door unlock. Freedom. For what purpose? To give the doctor a bigger maze to put him through? It took him a few minutes to get moving, every step hurt now that the adrenaline was passing - dozens of bites and scratches covered his limbs and the burns only added to the trauma his body had gone through. And still he was faced with the night and whoever might be waiting outside. He had to leave. He had to get away. He couldn't let people find him in here.

There was still one pen attached to his waistband and as he moved through the sludge, burnt body parts and exploded vermin, his hand went instinctively for it. As his fingers closed around it, bits of glass cut deeper into his palms, but he didn't care.

He had to leave.

He needed air.

Before he knew it, he was practically running for the door, throwing his weight against it to get out.

[going to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/409812.html)]

Edited 2008-07-15 13:37 (UTC)

Nightshift 33: Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [M-U for Okita Souji]

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