damned_institute | Nightshift 40: M71-M80 Hallway

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Nightshift 40: M71-M80 Hallway

Peter scrambled to put on a calm facade. He had his moments as an actor, but sadly, this wasn't one of them. "I'm fine. I just forgot something." Brainy was just trying to be nice, but there was no point in dumping his problems on him. He didn't want the other boy to think he was a burden (which he wasn't), and there was nothing to be done about Harry except run as fast as he could to M98, and hope to god that Eddie hadn't been reading the bulletin board.

The intercom sounded, and he nearly vaulted straight from his chair to the door. His hand clasped around the handle, then suddenly faltered. Flashlight. Right. There was the radio and the map, too, he couldn't leave without those.

The tray was carefully set aside as he lifted the top of his desk. Well, there was the radio, just like that guy had said. And for some inexplicable reason, his map had been set next to it. Who put it there? He'd been keeping it tucked in his waistband...

He shook his head. No time for that. He quickly strode around his bed and lifted the pillow away. There was nothing there. Not even a flashlight shaped dent. Baffled, he began to tug the sheets off, then dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. Still nothing.

"Um, this may sound crazy, but have you seen a flashlight around here somewhere?"

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The fact that card was soaked in blood wasn't lost on him. He didn't know whose blood it was - Brainy's? Someone else's? - but it said a lot. These people were sick, carrying around trophies or something as if it was perfectly okay to revel in people's pain.

Grell came at him again then, but Clark was ready. He dropped his flashlight to free his hands. Instead of taking a step back into Luxord or raising his arms to defend himself, Clark instead went forward, trying to push his super speed: it came on in a spurt (at least it came on at all), sending him into a jerky blur toward Grell and hitting her, pushing her toward the other wall as he lunged at her in a flash. In that instant, he had one hand wrapped around the lady's slender neck, the other around her wrist. Up close like this, he towered over the woman.

"If Brainy insulted you, then all he has to do is apologize," Clark gritted. "You don't go around hurting people. It sounds to me like he defended himself from you two for attacking him in the first place. Just leave him and everyone else alone!"

It'd probably be ease to just push his strength a little more and punch Grell right through the wall. But the Kryptonian had no idea the limits of his powers and right now he was just concentrating on keeping what he hoped was a gentle (for him) grip on the lady's neck and not just snapping it like a twig on accident.

It was perfectly okay to revel in another's pain. X and the rest of the Organization had made a past time out of it (though, to be truthful, he did not keep the card as a trophy, he simply kept it to keep evidence from pointing to him. Flaunting the bloodied card in front of 5's boyfriend was just a plus).

...hm. He was much faster than X originally thought. Though it was obvious Grell could handle himself perfectly fine (he even still had one hand free. How convenient), X flipped the card once more before taking out four more cards to join it in his hand and promptly sent them soaring towards Clark's back. Hopefully they would make their mark, as distracted by Grell as the boy was. As much as he promised himself not to get involved... well, that was just rude and deplorable of Mr. Kent.

Oh my. Clark was a lot faster than Grell had expected and as soon as the boy's hand clamped around Grell's throat, he knew why. His little Clarky boy wasn't human. Slamming up against the wall, Grell felt stars explode in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut. Bastard! That was going to hurt in the morning.

But the sound of the flashlight hitting the ground was a welcome sound. One hand on his neck and the other on his wrist meant that one hand was free. As soon as the dizziness passed, Grell cracked his eyes open. Luckily, the flashlight beam was shining the other way. Looking up at Clark, he tried his best to swoon - not too hard considering there wasn't much air coming in. "You are a strong one, aren't you? A bit rough around the edges, but oh so strong. I like it a little rough, so don't worry about hurting me, love."

Of course, hurting Clark was another matter. Despite the pain, Grell was no delicate flower and the death god grinned wide at the boy, his eyes flashing in the low light. Ah, so his darling Luxord was helping him? He did so love that man and his cool attitude. Most people would be upset that Grell was in danger of having his neck snapped in two, but Luxord? Well, he couldn't be worried. It was lovely how cold he was. "He didn't apologize and then he lied to me about keeping his mouth shut. I merely did what I had to!" Swinging his free hand up, Grell buried the scalpel as far as it would go into Clark's arm with fierce smile.

The problem with two enemies was he couldn't keep track of the both of them like he might've outside in Smallville.

Clark's attention was on the lady he was trying very hard not to snap in half, but he started when he felt something, or, rather, several somethings hit his back, slicing his shirt...but they weren't anywhere as painful as getting slashed in the chest. But it was enough to distract the teenager, especially between that and the way Grell's eyes were suddenly glowing in the dark, like a wolf. She wasn't human, Clark had time to think, before he abruptly found a scalpel in his arm. It didn't just sink in: there was a split second of resistance that he was aware was probably his invulnerability trying to kick in but the pain that bloomed in his arm proved he could still bleed here.

Clark's arm spasmed despite his attempts to control himself, accidentally shoving Grell toward the wall again before he left go. The farmboy clutched at his bleeding arm as he gasped, unable to keep the involuntary tears of pain from his eyes as he tried to deal with the fact he was actually getting hurt here. He knew it was possible, he'd been hurt here before. But every time it happened, there was always that split second of dumb surprise it took to register it at all. Sweat beaded his skin as Clark automatically reached for the scalpel sticking out from his forearm. The thing was stuck in there pretty good - Clark tried not to get sick just thinking about it being stuck - and even he had to struggle a little just to pull it out. He jerked it out, blood spurting out as he dropped the stained blade to the floor.

"Please," said Clark, his breathing a little more shallow. "I'll ask him to apologize. I don't want to hurt you!"

He could feel that burn in his eyes, becoming more insistent as his pain increased. No. No, he couldn't use his heat vision, couldn't release it. That nurse on the bus wasn't here, but he could still imagine he smelled the burning flesh even now in the hall. That couldn't happen again. Even psychos like this didn't deserve to be roasted alive. Clark had the feeling of being trapped, unsure which of the pair he should be keeping an eye on. Grell so far seemed the most dangerous, but he had to focus. It was hard, especially when dealing with pain he wasn't used to, and his injured arm was already slippery with his own blood.

...that normally did more damage. Luxord would have acted upset about it, but it mattered not--Grell had struck with the scalpel, which obviously did more damage than his cards had. Were those tears in the boy's eyes? How cruel.

"You won't," the Nobody said bluntly, moving closer to Clark and watching for any sudden movements. It paid to be careful, especially around someone who proved their ability to be a handful. "Not as much as we will hurt you, in any case." For a moment, his gaze flickered to Grell, checking to see if the god was alright.

Hm, that should have been easier to stab into the boy's arm. Perhaps that not human part came with tougher skin. No matter - Grell would just have to stab harder. Although, when he was roughly shoved up against the wall and then dropped, he realized he'd have a bit more trouble with that than before. Luxord's attacks hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped, but that didn't seem to faze the Nobody. Even better, it seemed like he'd suddenly decided to join in the fun.

"You should listen to Luxord, darling. He's so much smarter than you'll ever be." Taking a moment to catch his breath, Grell heard the scalpel hit the floor and felt something warm hit his hand. Oh, blood was it? How lovely. Grabbing the blade quickly, Grell scrambled out of the way and then turned abruptly, kicking a heeled shoe at Clark's ankle. A heel should hurt just as much as anything else, and if it didn't? Well...

"If you think a simple apology is going to right all the wrongs he's done, think again, lover boy. A death god takes his penance in blood and nothing else." Bringing his arm up, he drove one scalpel toward Clark's upper left thigh and then quickly scrambled to put some distance between him and his prey.

With his flashlight on the floor, he didn't see the kick coming out of nowhere.

Clark staggered just from the force of it alone, almost coming down onto his knees as he lost his solid footing. Grell and Luxord's voices came at him from the darkness, one on either side of him as they taunted him. The Kryptonian tried to track them, but it was pitch dark except for where his flashlight lay on the floor, angled to hit a patch of wall. Something broke the beam. Grell's voice came at him. Clark tried to throw himself to the left. Too slow.

He cried out as the scalpel went deep into the muscle of his thigh, tearing a long gash before it lodged in his flesh. The farmboy tried to struggle back to his feet. His leg refused to cooperate, crumpling on him and sending Clark down to his knees. He hit the floor hard with his hands. The shock of it traveled up his injured arm, and that almost gave out on him, too. Panting, he pushed himself back onto his knees, getting his good leg under him in another attempt to stand up as he turned blindly toward the voices, trying to follow them and, at the same time, keep his growing sense of panic under control. Clark's blue eyes flickered amber for a second, the burning heat threatening to get loose even as he forced himself to blink it away. The next moment the gold glow was gone.

Alone in the dark, surrounded by two insane people out to get him, Clark found it hard to focus and think about how to handle this. Everything he knew, everything he was used to at home didn't work. Clark listened hard for any sign one of them would be coming for him, but the beat of his heart and the thundering of his blood felt deafening.

That glow in Clark's eyes was certainly interesting, but X did away with the thought that it may be important. The boy was already on the losing side of things--whatever else was up his sleeve would hardly save him from his fate. Fortuna had obviously sided against him this night.

The Gambler stepped closer, stopping once to pick up that fallen flashlight before kneeling in front of the downed Mr. Kent, offering him a kind smile and fanning out five more cards, their backs to Clark. "Let us play a game," he began, his voice filled with false reassurance as he shone the flashlight enough for Clark to actually see what was in front of him. "Choose one card out of these five wisely, and we shall leave your dear Brainiac 5 alone, never to lay a single finger on him again. Choose incorrectly, and you shall lose him forever. Be quick, though. We are not ones to wait."

Augh, his head hurt. Now that he was far enough away from Clark without having to worry about getting snapped at the neck again, Grell took some time to catch his breath. Hands on killing was certainly more fun, but Lord was it more exhausting. He didn't like all this running around now that he had a heartbeat and breathing to worry about. It was cumbersome. Hm, perhaps that was why there were so few murderers about anymore.

Flipping his hair over his shoulder, he turned to face Clark and for a moment he thought he saw the boy's eyes change color. Could it have been his imagination? He could sense that Clark had some sort of power, but he had no idea what and those eyes... Alluring, yes, but hardly of consequence right now. Clark was on his knees and soon he'd be dying on M71's doorstep.

Luxord moved forward and Grell took the opportunity to rearrange himself, pulling his shirt cuffs down and checking his hair. Once he was certain he looked presentable again, he stepped closer, smirking as he heard the Gambler's threat. As he drew close to the flashlight, the light in his eyes died out, focusing on the flashlight beam and on Clark's face. Tapping the remaining scalpel against the side of his glasses, the death laughed quietly. "Oh, yes, do choose. This should prove to be interesting."

Clark looked up at Luxord, his face wan in the flashlight. He didn't believe whatever games they were trying to pull, as if he had a choice in Brainy's safety and it was all on his shoulders. It was just dodging around the responsibility, the truth that these were sick, twisted games, and nothing else. Clark found it a little hard to even focus on the cards in front of him in the first place: between the pain, the bad lighting, and the darkness, they swam a little sickeningly before his eyes. Clark sucked in a breath, a bad move that just made the bleeding cut on his chest hitch, and tried to get a second wind, trying to get used to the pain in his arm and leg and orient himself in the dark. If he could just get into M71, maybe he could wield the door shut for now or - or something, he knew he wasn't thinking as clear as he should be, although he didn't know if it was the fear or the pain talking.

Clark's voice was a little ragged. "No. I'm not playing these games of yours. You can make a choice not to go around hurting people. You can still do the right thing."

He looked up unsteadily from the cards to Luxord's face, the flashlight sending the older man's features into sharp contrast. Clark was also aware of Grell standing near Luxord, and he wanted nothing more than to scoot backward. But there was also this growing anger in his chest, the kind he knew he couldn't afford to indulge, because he'd been taught better than to abuse his powers. Clark had a feeling using them to whatever extent he could right now might be a special exception, but he balked still. Clark was still a kid, after all.

Hmph. Just like Sora.

The cards were slid back into his sleeve, the Gambler giving an exasperated sigh as he stood back up and took a step away from Clark. Regardless of whether or not Mr. Kent wished to play Luxord's games, he would be playing them. It wasn't that easy.

"Time." Normally that statement would have ended with him snapping his fingers and whoever was in front of him finding themselves turned into some sort of game-piece, but he'd not his powers here. Instead, he took a page from Grell's book and swung his foot hard at Clark's chest. Failing to play the game always had a consequence, after all, now being no exception.

The kick caught him square in the chest, sending Clark sprawling heavily onto his side. Try as he might, he couldn't understand them, their logic, how they could rationalize doing these things in the first place. Why they were doing this to people. Even being on the receiving end of it, he couldn't understand it at all. The kick had been hard, especially with Luxord's boot, and Clark struggled to lift himself off the floor with his good arm, gasping for breath as he tried to scoot himself back, away from Luxord and Grell. In the back of his mind, he knew unless he could get his legs under him, there was no way he'd get very far. Trying to move accidentally jostled the scalpel still lodged in his injured leg. The Kryptonian bit back a choked sound of pain, reaching down to pull it out. It was lodged in deep, deeper than when he'd got hit in the arm.

Just trying to grab it with his bad arm caused him to start panting again as he found that he didn't have enough strength to pull it out this time.

As Clark tried to weakly move away from the two adults, he left a red trail of fresh blood behind him. Trying to reach M71, even if he had to crawl, was the only thing he could think about now.

Clark's response was not going to go over well with the Nobody. Grell sighed and shook his head, looking up just in time to see Luxord kick the boy square in the chest. That had to hurt with all the cuts he'd already received. "Haaa, it would have been easier just to pick a card, silly boy," he said, stepping alongside Clark as he struggled to get away.

Just what was it with these hero types? Even Ciel hadn't been this bad with his whole 'catch the Reapers' thing. They could do the right thing? Ha - they were doing the right thing. Grell was a man and a woman of his word and he wasn't going to let Brainy get away with telling people about him when he'd warned him not to do so. If he didn't follow through with his discipline, then what sort of madness would this place fall to? It was a matter of maintaining order - Clark would certainly understand that.

The boy was moving slow, so catching up to him was easy. Grell smiled down at him as he stopped as his side and then leaned over him, hands on his hips. "This is discipline, pure and simple, darling. I told him if he wronged me this would happen, and what did he do? He wronged me twice. So, it's nothing against you. I'm merely disciplining a naughty child, which is entirely the right thing to do." Pulling out a scalpel, Grell twirled it in his hands once before he plunged it into Clark's shoulder. "Spare the rod and spoil the child."

Standing, Grell stomped hard onto Clark's left wrist and ground his heel into the boy's flesh. Leaning down, he knelt with one knee on the boy's chest and then moved, grabbing his left hand. "I'm sorry to say, you're the one to suffer the price of his hubris. A god must always pull down any Tower that defies the sovereignty of Heaven. No offense."

...did he just kick a boy or a wall? Because it felt like the latter. Thank Fortuna for thick boots...

As Grell had taken to delaying Clark's progress to M71, Luxord silently moved to block the door once again. Ah, the damage the angered god inflicted, all red and wrathful as she spoke of her justifications. Grell would make a horrible, horrible, horrible perfect mother, had he the capability to become one.

"On that note, my love, would there be a point of snuffing this boy's light without Mr. 5 being awake to hear?" X asked.

He hear Grell coming, which was almost the worst part because he could hear the clicks of her high heels on the floor, measured even as they stepped over the fresh blood slicks and loud to his ears, like something out of a nightmare. The scalpel plunged deep into his shoulder, scrapping against bone. Clark choked out a scream, instinctively trying to move his shoulder away from the woman and rolling over, flat on his back now...which only presented Grell with the perfect opportunity to drop down on his chest with her knee. Clark didn't even have time to really panic that he couldn't breathe before she pulled on his pinned hand, the heel feeling like it was grinding through his wrist and to the floor. After a too-long second, whatever remained of his invulnerability failed, and this time the heel did punch through his skin, blood welling around it. Clark managed a strangled grunt, body twisting a little under Grell but unable to get away.

Clark couldn't do anything more than pant in the darkness, his breathing loud and ragged, the blood thundering in his head. Why wasn't he passing out like that time with the monster? All he could do was feel like he was getting pressed into the floor with Grell on top of him.

Everything hurt. His pinned hand spasmed as the heel tore further into it. The burn of the pain began to mix with burning of the heat vision, the edges of his control starting to bleed away again. This time he couldn't simply blink away the urge to let loose. The Kryptonian scrunched his eyes shut, managed to tilt his head away from Grell and his eyes were suddenly open, flicking a weak amber again.

Nothing came out, thanks to Landel's influence on his powers. There was only the sharp tang of burning suddenly in the air, but he didn't feel a wave of heat and knew he hadn't burned the place down around them on accident.

Through it all, he could still see Grell's inhuman eyes glowing in the darkness even if he couldn't see her face. It took a dazed second to realize that they had both been talking...and that Luxord had been talking about Brainy. Through the haze, Clark knew what they planned to do: find his friend, drag him out and make him watch. The farmboy writhed weakly under Grell, unable to get out from under her knee despite the fact he was bigger and should've been stronger with his powers. He could feel the blood pooling out from his pinned wrist, seeping through the various scalpel wounds into his pants and shirt.

Who did you call for help if you were supposed to be the help?

"N-no," he said, and was surprised at how he could barely hear himself. "Leave..." he had to start over. "Leave him alone!"

The skin had too much resistance to be human. And the boy had a lot of strength, despite the fact that it wasn't enough to withstand the torture he was under. Grell almost wished he had enough time to stop and ask Clark just what he was for posterity's sake. Then, should he go back to Headquarters and get bitched at for killing off the List again, he could at least have the excuse that Clark hadn't been human. Smiling down at Clark, the death god sighed happily when he felt his heel puncture the boy's skin. "You're such an interesting thing, Clark. I wish--"

What was that? Was something burning? Once again, it seemed like Clark's eyes were changing color - not a chilling red like Sebastian, but a burning amber like fire. Was it Clark's eyes that were burning? "...Oh, but curioser and curioser. I do wish I had the chance to study you a bit more, darling. I'm sure the higher-ups would just love to get their hands on you. No demon, but not one of us either and yet you have that strange otherness about you." Standing and moving off Clark's wrist and chest, Grell flipped his hair over his shoulder and shrugged. "Ah well, no time - don't really care enough to spare you that long. So sorry."

Clark's weak attempts at protesting Luxord's brilliant suggestion was met with soft laughter as Grell crossed his arms again. "I do love how you think, Luxord. Yes, I do believe we need an audience. Would you be so kind as to bring the guest of honor to the table, love? And as for you, Clarky-boy, you could have saved him this horrible sight by picking a card. Do remember that, hm?"

It was likely a lie - he had no idea what Luxord would have done if Clark had actually pulled a card, but Grell didn't want to miss an opportunity to twist the knife. Moving over by Clark's injured wrist, Grell carefully lifted it and dragged his thumb gently over the wound. Reaching out, he took Clark's pointer finger and smiled at him again. "Oh, and just a little payback. I do apologize." With that, he wrenched the boy's finger backward, using all the strength he could to try and break the bone.

...burning. It reminded him of Axel, though not as powerful. It seemed Clark was holding back whatever powers he held, even in the face of his own imminent death.

Imbecile.

Of course, dragging Brainiac outside to see was not exactly what Luxord had in mind, no. He knew 5's current state, and Luxord wanted him to drag his way to the door by himself. X wanted that walk to the door, towards the sound of his beloved on the losing side of this game, to be the most torturous experience the robot has had yet.

The Nobody's grin turned particularly nasty as he turned his back to the violence and knocked on M71's door loudly. He said nothing, only hummed and knocked in rhythm to the same old lullaby from the night before.

It was only when the knock sounded at his door that Brainiac 5 realised he'd dozed off waiting for Clark without even trying to put anything into place to keep anyone out. But it sounded as if Clark was there now, so perhaps he'd been overly concerned after all.

That was, until he realised the knocking was part of a rhythm that an all too familiar voice was humming on the other side of the door. Luxord. And where he was, Grell was sure to be as well.

The only question was, why hadn't they just entered the room while he'd been asleep? They'd had the opportunity, so what did they have to gain from this?

"I know," he began, but his voice was weak and he fumbled for his glass of water and took a sip before trying again. "I know you're out there, Luxord," he said. "Haven't you done enough? I'm hardly... entertaining now."

Clark had about a few seconds of relief to catch his breath. He fell quiet, eyes closed as he sucked in a trembling breath. Things didn't look good, he knew they didn't. Knowing that Grell knew he wasn't human made that old fear clench in his chest, but somehow it was dull, as if looking at it from a distance somehow. What could these mysterious "higher-ups" do to him? Put him on a dissection table like his parents feared, keep him imprisoned? Lying there on his back, bleeding from numerous injuries, Clark had the sudden realization that he really wouldn't make it out of this, that maybe he really would die. Weird. Back in Smallville, he'd almost died just from being locked in the same room with kryptonite, but he'd never really assumed there wouldn't be a way out even as the glowing rocks pretty much boiled his blood, literally.

Now he didn't think he'd see home again. Or Mom and Dad.

Clark bit his lip, moaning as Grell came back, her voice a purr. Grit his teeth when the woman picked up his limp, bleeding wrist and stroked it, aggravitating the wound. But it was when she casually snapped his finger that Clark couldn't hold it back again. He cried out, trying to twist away from the lady, banging his head on the floor. But that wasn't even the worst part - it was when Luxord knocked on M71 that he felt something wrong inside him. A warning? It was pain he'd felt before, in that time between day and night when he'd had that weird dream about Jor-El.

Burning, throbbing. Clark's eyes flew open, moist with fresh tears of pain and he instinctively looked down...and was horrified to see that there was a slight glow underneath the blood covering his shirt, in the shape of the scar under his chest.

Luxord went to retrieve their honored guest and Grell kept his attention on his newest toy. Clark cried out and twisted away, and Grell let him go. Why bother holding onto a thrashing boy when he had nowhere to go? Besides, that scream of pain would likely rouse their sluggish robot's curiosity and bring him crawling out to his punishment. The finger had broken surprisingly easy for all the resistance the skin had put up. Perhaps the boy's strength was only skin deep. Grell giggled at that thought.

Kneeling down next to his head, the death god casually rubbed his own finger in sympathetic pain. "Your friend did that to me last night - or very nearly tried. I got away with a bit of a sprain, but it seems you're not so lucky." But he was rather glowy at the moment. Raising an eyebrow, Grell reached over and pushed Clark down onto his back. "What is this?"

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a new scalpel and waved it at Clark, smiling pleasantly. "Don't mind me - just taking a little peek." Grabbing the front of Clark's shirt, he set the blade to the fabric and slashed it out, cutting a somewhat ragged line through it before pulling the shirt apart. What he saw was a most curious design, and even more curious - it was the source of the glow. "Now I know you're not human. What are you? Another of God's little pet projects that He chose not to pass the memo on?"

He ceased his humming and ran his fingers silently down the door before grasping onto the handle, that smirk still playing on his lips as he held the door firmly shut. "You're not the one entertaining us, I'm sorry to say." Luxord managed to say this right before Clark let out a tortured scream, his timing obviously still in tact when it came to the dramatics. "Or have you forgotten about your little date? Mr. Kent hasn't, unfortunately for him. I do wonder, Brainiac 5," the Nobody paused and glanced behind him, taking note of that incredibly strange glow emanating from Clark's chest, "could you not have used your senses both last night and the day before? Your actions were both childish and repulsive and, sadly, your boyfriend has not chosen to spare you anymore pain. Had you the hindsight you do now, would you have folded? Knowing the torture we could inflict, the punishment he would have to withstand for your actions, would you have kept speaking? It was to end last night--now you've nothing more to bet with."

He laughed, loud and cruelly. "In a moment, neither will your savior."

For a moment he wondered what Luxord was talking about, and then he heard Clark's voice. The tortured scream seemed to somehow pass beyond being just normal sound and plunge a dagger into his heart. He didn't, couldn't, think beyond the sudden need to see what was going on out there. But he was in no condition to dive for the door like he dearly wanted to, and the effort of just trying to stand up sent a stab of pain through his injured foot, causing him to fall more than stand out of the wheelchair and collapse in a heap on the floor with a choked cry.

Even with the medication he'd been given, his whole body screamed in pain and it was tempting to just lie there for a moment or two. But Clark was outside the door. At Grell and Luxord's mercy. He couldn't allow that to happen because of him.

It was difficult, and by the end of it he was panting and shaking from the effort, but Brainiac 5 managed to get to his feet and, clinging to the walls and furniture for support, made it over to the door. He fell heavily against it, breathing hard as he fumbled for the doorknob with his right hand and twisted it-

It wouldn't turn. "...what?" He tried again, but it wouldn't move much, almost like someone was holding it closed... "No! Clark!"

Clark had just as much an idea as Grell did. What little he knew, that the symbol was Kryptonian, that it was some kind of warning? He wasn't going to satisfy her twisted curiosity. All that mattered right now was making sure Brainy didn't open that door.

The light from the scar had gotten slightly stronger from the dull glow it'd been earlier the closer Brainy's voice had gotten. Clark felt that sense of wrong burn even deeper then, this sick feeling he couldn't place but knew had nothing to do with being in the presence of two psychos. Clark tore his eyes away from the door of M71, where Luxord with the flashlight was holding closed, and back toward Grell. There wasn't a whole lot of light from the half-healed scar tissue on his chest, but he could still a vague outline of Grell's face. She really was very pretty, Clark knew, but all he saw was the evil within her. Clark wasn't sure how much he could do with arms and legs he couldn't seem to use, but he had to try.

The farmboy suddenly tried to surge up again, using the last ounces of strength he'd somehow saved to push up off the floor.

Instead of an answer, Grell was treated to an abrupt dump on his hindquarters as Clark surged up to push off the floor. Landing hard on his backside, the death god cried out more in surprise than pain and then quickly backpedaled to get to his feet and out of Clark's way. With the amount of damage he'd taken, he wouldn't get very far anyway, but when someone in that much pain could still managed to get himself off the floor? He had some sort of spectacular power. Or a really good physical trainer.

Spinning the scalpel around in his hands, Grell stood and smirked when he heard Brainy's pathetic cries from behind the door. Luxord must have been blocking it, just to prolong the torture. "Why not let him out, darling? He should stand witness to the fruits of his evils."

Stepping toward Clark, he brought the blade up to his lips and kissed it. "You're a strong one; I like that. But I wonder how much longer you can last with all that lovely blood loss?"

"Hmmmm." Luxord tilted his head in the slightest, listening to Grell's suggestion but otherwise ignoring it. His hand stayed firm on the handle as he watched Clark's attempt at escaping. "Should I really? Dear 5, what is it to you? Does he truly mean this much to you? I would most enjoy hearing your opinion on the matter."

This was cruel of him, yes, but it wasn't as if he could feel pity. Really, it was almost as if all the good in him (what little there was) had vanished along with Naminé. Now there was no one to keep such heinous acts from happening.

"I suppose I could let you out. But first... beg."

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