damned_institute | Night 44: Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [M-U for Shikamaru]

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shikamaru

Night 44: Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [M-U for Shikamaru]

Great thinkers often had to suffer the burden of being alone. It was the price they paid for their minds, for understanding truths that would leave the masses drooling in their idiocy were they confronted with it. The doctor knew this all too well, and she had accepted the penalty in the name of science. But the boy strapped to the table now simply didn't appreciate the gift he'd been born with. No, he had enough talent to rival the greatest minds of several generations, but he couldn't devote himself to thought. He insisted on connecting with others, people who were below him, on using his talents to keep those people safe and happy in a world that relied on illusion to go on. Instead of trying to discover the truth, this lazy little bastard believed the lies like any simpleton would, just because he was told it was that way by his elders.

So now the doctor would do what any righteous human would have done in her situation. If Nara Shikamaru couldn't appreciate the gift of his mind, then she would simply take it away. Not completely, of course. The lesson wouldn't do any good if the boy wasn't able to learn it. But if he wanted to use that fantastic mind with an iq of over two-hundred, he was going to have to work for it.

After the doctor was finished, of course. First she had to wake up her patient, and she had just the perfect method of doing so. Shikamaru had been stripped down to his shorts, and left face down on the doctor's table. A special headrest let him breathe and see the floor, but prevented movement. He had no way of knowing what was coming until the ice-cold water hit his back, nearly a quart of it splashing over the boy's skin as the doctor's wake-up call.

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Shikamaru didn't remember losing consciousness, but he would sure as hell remember regaining it. At first, he tried to pull away from the freezing water, but when he found himself unable to he grimaced and gritted his teeth, mind elsewhere.

What led him here? The nurses, and then the hallway, then something that might have been a stairwell, but although he'd seen it on the map, the path was gone in memory. There was no recollection of being placed on this table, much less restrained or any--

Damn, that water was cold.

He closed his eyes, centered. Shikamaru could see nothing but the tiled floor, but that was enough. He knew where he was, and even restrained like this, he wouldn't be powerless until he lost control of himself. Not that the water had helped--at a temperature like this, it was impossible not to shiver. Why the hell was he practically naked, anyway?

"Yeah, I'm awake," he said in a voice unnaturally calm considering the force with which he'd recoiled from the icy liquid just a second earlier. Worrying about what was about to happen was a waste of effort, he reminded himself. As troublesome as it might prove to be, he had to stay focused, learn whatever he could about the room and whoever or whatever else shared it, and he had to commit it to memory for later review.

"Good." The woman's voice remained devoid of emotion, for the moment. She had her duty, and personal feelings didn't come into play. Even the anger she felt at how the subject squandered his gift wouldn't be a factor. This experiment, like all those she performed, had a purpose. Tonight she would gain valuable data on the human anatomy. And in the days to come, her patient would learn something all the more precious.

The doctor scribbled notes onto a clipboard, though she wasn't as uncaring to how the subject shivered in the cold as she might seem. Her concern simply lied in realms other than the empathetic; she wouldn't be even an acceptable researcher if every bit of human suffering made her break down into tears. That was also another lesson the subject had missed.

"Do you know why you're here?" The woman paced as she wrote, filling the otherwise quiet room with the steady click of her heels on the floor. "I can give you basic details, if you need them."

A woman. That figured. If he hadn't been spending most of his energy holding off anxiety and trying to conserve warmth, he might have been more bothered than he already was.

Shikamaru had an idea of why he was here. Didn't it happen to everyone, sooner or later? Many, he remembered, and it was one of the first things he'd decided upon arrival: to make sure it didn't happen to any of his other teammates. He realized now that he hadn't mentally included himself in that, but it was irrelevant.

He didn't need to give this woman any information, though. Let her explain it for herself. It was hardly a conversation when one party was strapped to a table more than half-naked and covered with freezing water. "Details would be nice," he said flatly.

In the academy, they'd learned basic techniques for escaping restraints. These were sharp metal and getting around them would be a pain in the ass...even an experimental and hopefully disguised tug seemed to dig into his skin, though it was impossible to know what she could see with the muscles of his back exposed. Hopefully, while she went over whatever lies she had for him, he'd be able to try one of the more likely ones.

"You have been selected to be the subject of an experiment this evening." He knew better. She knew he already knew everything she was about to say, but he wanted the words, obviously to get some idea of what was about to happen to him. Talented indeed, but so was she, and with more experience than he would ever get. That was one difference between the pair; her devotion to knowledge at all costs was the other. Those critical choices each had made, and that resulted in their current situation.

It was clear who was superior.

"As the subject of this test, you cannot be given any information regarding the parameters. It might impact the outcome." The sound of her footsteps drew closer, the woman approaching the table as she continued to write and pace. At this distance, the patient would be able to pick up the scent of her perfume as well. It was a particularly floral mix that she personally found offensive, but had a strong and distinctive scent.

"Additionally, I suggest you attempt no further efforts at escape. These restraints will not be removed until I deem it appropriate." The woman set down her clipboard, picking up a towel in it's place. The cold water had served its purpose. Now, as a doctor, she had a responsibility to the patient's health. Nothing more than what was necessary, and she gently began to dry the patient's skin. "And unnecessary movement only adds risk to an already difficult procedure. If you are still, then the pain and the damage will be minimal."

"Those aren't basic details," Shikamaru said, irritated, though he quickly forced down the frustration. Pay attention to details. He stopped to obey the suggestion regarding escape after putting only a few pounds of pressure against his thumb, which he remembered as the easiest way. It wasn't worth it, not with her so close. She was a woman and probably weaker, but he had no idea what drugs she had at her disposal, and if his escape attempt failed, he'd only make her angry. If she was capable of anger. There was something in her voice that Shikamaru didn't like.

The smell of antiseptic and chlorine used to clean the floor washed away under the scent of flowers, some kind of perfume, one of those stupid things that Ino and Sakura probably wore to get guys to like them. It didn't make sense for a doctor, especially not one so clinically cool, so it had to tie into the experiment somehow. Was she trying to mask something else?

The soft touch of the towel surprised him, considering how little she'd seemed to care about his comfort when throwing cold water all over his back. The next words felt dangerous, but again, he tried to distance himself from the emotions they brought up and considered the 'procedure' as if it were happening to someone else. "My unnecessary movement would ruin the outcome of your test, wouldn't it?" he asked. "So it's just as much your risk. I can handle pain, but don't you have someone to report to?" Ninja were trained to accept pain at a young age, after all, and he was sure he'd been through worse than whatever she had planned.

Still, he was unnerved, and although most of the water had been dried away, the chill of the room remained. "If you want this to go as smoothly as possible, you'd better explain what you're doing and what you think you're going to learn."

"Aren't they?" The first hints of amusement entered the woman's voice, just a touch in the lilt of her question. "Isn't it more accurate to say those aren't the details you're looking for?"

Once Shikamaru's skin was suitably dry, the woman set aside the towel. The initial information was gathered, and now the procedure could start. Wheels creaked as she pulled a small table closer, one covered with sterile instruments. Perhaps they'd catch the light as she moved them, reflecting at just the right angle for the patient to catch a glimmer on the floor. Or perhaps not. Either way, he'd feel the cool metal soon enough.

"If this experiment fails due to complications, I can simply repeat it with another subject." And here the doctor knew she was superior. The patient couldn't tear himself away from that sense of devotion, had never been able to. The promise of inflicting this agony on someone else, maybe someone he knew, that would be more than enough to keep the subject cooperative. All the more reason why he deserved what he was to be put through. "However, you should be aware--"

The woman began neatly cutting away the hair from the base of the patient's neck. His preferred hairstyle was convenient for that, holding the rest of his hair away while she cleared the area she would need to work in.

"--that I will be operating on your brain."

She was right. There were an unlimited number of patients. Despite multiple appearances and disappearances of Leaf-nin, Naruto had been the only victim of this procedure so far, and although the patient population was large, the numbers weren't looking good. Even if whatever experiment the woman hoped to perform could only be performed on him, Landel could simply summon or create another Shikamaru if this one were to die.

He was still memorizing details, shadows that indicated counters and, if the light cooperated, occasionally the objects atop them. Cold usually didn't bother him--it was a pain, sure, but seasons were seasons and that was just the way of things. This was something else, clearly designed to make him feel powerless, and despite his best attempts, it was working. He closed his eyes but the scent of perfume and ammonia made mental distance impossible.

Shikamaru understood what was happening as soon as her scissors snipped through the underside of his hair. He didn't need it explained to him but this time she offered the information, and though it might have been his imagination, he could almost make out a note of pride in her tone.

They'd blinded Sasuke, and although the results of Naruto's experimentation seemed less extreme, Shikamaru understood the devastation the eye implants could potentially cause. Regardless of whether an experiment added something or took it away, he knew he knew that it always ended poorly.

"What do you want with my brain?" he asked, stalling despite the fact that anxiety had finally made it into his voice. It was a legitimate question, though he didn't expect a legitimate answer. Aside from his rare jutsu, Shikamaru knew hat his intelligence was the only thing that made him a useful member of a team--a useful ninja at all, actually. It was the reason he'd been promoted to chuunin before his peers, despite his overall physical weakness, and though he was trying to become stronger, it was still all he could offer the others. If, somehow, Landel could take that away, Shikamaru would be little more than dead weight.

He pulled harder on one restraint, this time not bothering with subtlety. However, the action was still calculated, and the movements half-remembered from class, half-deduced from a basic understanding of mechanics and the limits of his body. If he could free one hand before she could stop him, he'd be able to perform the necessary seal, and even a few seconds of linking their shadows would be enough to make the experiment impossible: all he had to do was make her unable to use her hands, most likely through simple injury. It was a crude fix, but he was running out of options, and if this progressed any further, Shikamaru had a sense that coming up with options might soon be beyond his ability.

"You'll see." See, and hear, and smell, and sense everything so much more strongly than the patient could have ever possibly wanted to. But she left her explanation at those two words, a truth that wasn't complete, just so the subject would work all the harder at trying to figure out the puzzle. It'd be a futile effort, of course, but she needed him to try. That was all part of how the experiment worked.

The patient was attempting escape again, but luckily the doctor was prepared. Her method might have been crude and merciless, one that would garner disdain from her peers, yet she understood that it all had a greater purpose. Besides, she'd cut away what she needed to already. So when the patient tried to free his hand, the woman took her scissors and stabbed the point deep into the flesh. Her knowledge of anatomy was perfect, and the doctor didn't hit a single bone as the blades sunk in. She pushed them in as far as they'd go, uncaring of her subject's suffering. The part of the instrument that stuck out from the skin would make it all the more impossible for him to escape. More importantly, that pain would play into her tests later on.

"I did suggest you make no further efforts at escape." And so he wouldn't, the doctor repeated the steps on his other hand as well. It was a scalpel this time, the blade sharp and easily driven home. Now she could begin her procedure in earnest, and the doctor sterilized the area to be operated on before picking up another scalpel. "I'll now begin cutting away the skin over your skull, in order to expose the bone." The subject would be offered nothing to relieve the pain, of course. In an experiment focused on sensation, such drugs would only blur the results.

He would simply have to suffer for his sins, and for science. There were much worse things to be put in agony over.

Shikamaru should have expected that, or at least something along those lines, but he hadn't and when sudden unseen pain raced from his hands to his mind he yanked his arms back once more, this time involuntarily, giving a sharp hiss of pain without pausing to consider how lucky he was that the jerking movement didn't increase the pain. Though only the floor was visible, it didn't take much mental effort to understand what had just happened. He'd have plenty of time to see if there was any actual damage later, but that was the least of his concerns.

She didn't seem to be preparing any sort of anesthetic, so he assumed he'd be feeling every bit of whatever she planned to do. In a minor thought that bothered him far more than it should have, he realized he couldn't ball his hands into fists to help control his reaction to whatever physical agony was about to happen. He'd have to settle for clenching his teeth and trying not to struggle.

Part of him couldn't get past the childish complaint that this wasn't fair, and a slightly more mature part continued to search for avenues of escape, though he now understood that they were futile. The pain in his hands had begun to dull to a throbbing, and that was the first indication of how quickly his heart was beating.

He wouldn't be powerless until he lost control of himself, Shikamaru remembered. And for that, he needed to stay alert. Even if whatever she was about to do did render him useless, he might be able to remember something about the room or the procedure and pass that information along. That was something. At this point, he'd cling to anything, and the idea helped him keep his mind on the safer side of the thin border of panic.

Edited 2009-10-18 07:40 (UTC)

Despite the slight hints at her unquestionable pride that had slipped through, the doctor remained professional in all her actions. She maintained a calm detachment from her work, whether it had been impaling her subject's hands, or taking the first slices into his skin, as she did now. A scientist of her caliber didn't consider steady hands something to be proud of, but a necessity to the work. Though the patient would be in considerable pain, though blood seeped from the wounds, though she had to cut through the layers from flesh to fat to bone, the doctor's fingers didn't tremble, nor make any marks unnecessary to her procedure.

Something which the subject should be thankful for, but which they never were. They never understood the reason for their suffering, and never appreciated all the effort that went into making such advancements possible. For this patient, that was why he was being subjected to the experiment at all, instead of becoming able to perform them.

Each cut was deliberate, and with methodical precision the doctor cut away the flap of skin she needed in order to expose the white bone beneath. The flesh was set aside and preserved for afterward, just as the skull fragment would be once it was out. Without pause, the doctor traded her used scalpel for a small circular saw that filled the room with a steady whirr once she turned it on. Unafraid of the patient's reaction thanks to the carefully placed restraints, the woman continued her work without questioning the subject's status. What point was there in asking how much pain he felt, how desperately he'd want this all to stop? There would be no relief even at the end, and questioning his suffering was something only a sadist would do. Her pleasure didn't come from that avenue. Only from here work.

He closed his eyes as he felt the tip of a fresh scalpel press into the back of his scalp, then continue to press until it was stopped by something solid. Part of him wished he'd paid more attention in anatomy class, and part of him was glad that he hadn't. Then, all of him was focused on the sensation of what he assumed was the blade pulling down toward his neck. It was hard to distinguish the direction since everything was shrouded in opaque pain, but the smell of blood was clear and would have been nauseating even without the previous night's experience. Shikamaru felt the hot wetness trail down his neck, a strange thing to notice considering the intensity of everything else, but that sensation made things feel more real: the cold metal table beneath him, pools of icy water beneath his body that the doctor hadn't been able to wipe away. And now this, the ferric smell that was familiar to any ninja.

He could feel her instruments against his skin more than he felt the actual skin being removed, and from a distant place he wondered why it didn't feel more cold, air against what must have been exposed bone. If anything the now-open wound felt hot while his body raced to repair it, as if any amount of natural healing could change what was taking place. Shikamaru could feel the blood under his shoulders, hotter than skin, and when he heard a few uneven drops against the ground he understood why the doctor had left him nearly naked. He opened his eyes, restrained, watching the small spatters as if expecting them to set themselves into some sort of pattern if he considered them for long enough.

No amount of pleading would make her stop. If it would, it would have worked on the other doctors, on everyone else who'd subjected the institute's prisoners to this sort of thing. Instead, Shikamaru remained as silent as possible, repressing almost every audible indication of pain aside from an unstoppable exhale, something between a moan and a whimper and definitely not a sound he was proud to hear. There was a good chance the doctor wanted to cause as much pain as possible...any indiction that she was succeeding would only encourage her.

When he heard the whirring sound though, some kind of electric saw, every muscle in his body tightened and his skin went cold, now beyond trembling. Even the awareness of blood faded as he closed his eyes again once more. Just tell me why, he wanted to ask, but he didn't trust his voice and he couldn't move, teeth digging into his lip after clenching them proved to be too little of a distraction.

The sounds her subject made only assured the doctor that he was still aware. They made her move no faster, gave her no enhanced sense of satisfaction in regards to her work. That would come in the end, once she saw the success of her endeavors, and no sooner. Until that moment, when the experiment was concluded, she would focus on nothing but her task. The pain her patient felt was a minor consequence, a variable that had long ago been accounted for.

She was as efficient with the saw as she had been with the scalpel, cutting a neat fragment away from the patient's skull which was set beside the previously removed skin. That finished, the saw put away, and the doctor turned to two tools she'd specifically designed for this procedure. Both appeared to be syringes filled with unknown fluids, one red, and one blue. The color was for little more than distinguishing between the two, for the purpose of defense of her methods and research. There would be no one who said she injected the liquids into the brain in the wrong order, and thus carelessly ruined her own experiment.

"Now that I've exposed your brain, I'll give you a few more of those details you were seeking." The red-filled syringe was picked up first, featuring a long needle that would allow the doctor to reach the area she needed within the tissue. Here the patient might find some form of relief, as the brain itself didn't feel pain. But as she didn't care about his suffering, the doctor was equally unconcerned with any comfort he might gain from that fact.

"First, I'm injecting a fluid containing a certain technology into your brain. It's not unlike a manipulated bug, to put it in terms that you might best understand. But much smaller, and in much greater numbers." Despite her steady hand, the woman held her breath as she pressed the plunger in, watching the level of fluid slowly decrease. In that moment, the realization of how close she was to achieving her goal nearly overwhelmed her--but she quickly regained her composure, little more than a second or two going by before she continued. "The bugs within the fluid are programmed to seek out certain impulses and chemicals within your mind. Specifically, the ones that control how you perceive sensation."

Once the syringe was emptied of the carrying fluid, she removed the needle from the patient's brain. She'd told him what the devices did, but only in part. The rest he would discover and experience for himself, if he dared to try. But there was one final step: injecting the second fluid, which contained the chemicals that would turn on her little machines.

"Now I'll inject the second fluid. You'll understand the effects of this experiment once I have, and shortly after that, you'll be released." Shortly, as the doctor understood it, or as objective time would dictate. But how would the patient perceive that passage of time once the machines were on and functioning?

She would have the pleasure of seeing it firsthand. The second needle slid in as smoothly as the first, and the woman began injecting the trigger.

There was no one present but him and he doctor, but maintaining consciousness was a rare matter of pride for Shikamaru--after all, he was the one who'd always told the others to calm down, and doing something like passing out would go against his sense of who he was, and that was he last thing he needed right now. Mental escape was one thing, and he was sure he'd have time for that later, but he wasn't going to lose consciousness and wake up later with no idea what had happened.

Still, even the smell of the saw cutting through bone was enough to nearly make him gag: a charred smell, though he knew there was no heat involved. Just fine lines of bone ground to dust and still he fought not to cry out, but it was becoming almost impossible to keep his breathing steady rather than a series of badly-repressed gasps. Though his eyes were closed his thoughts were swirling, spiraling out beyond the room, searching for someplace safer, but he knew that he couldn't afford that now. He forced his eyes open and the spots of blood on the floor were spinning slowly, darkness around the edges pressing in. Shikamaru had assumed his training had prepared him for physical pain. That apparently wasn't the case.

"-containing a certain technology," the woman's voice said, and he wasn't sure if the silent gap was his own failure or a matter of his other senses being overwhelmed by pain. He half-listened to the words, trying to manage more than half, but it seemed like missing a portion of his skull wasn't conducive to concentration. Something about sensation, and if he hadn't been so distracted by the pain he might have been more relieved. He could handle that. It would take practice but he could handle that...things would simply hurt more? The needle itself was painless but he could feel pressure building, a headache buried somewhere unreachable.

She continued talking, but he didn't understand most of the words. Most weren't beyond his vocabulary, but he was having trouble putting the syllables in order. She reached for something else, another needle, and said something about understanding and then releasing...that was all he wanted now, he realized, to be somewhere far away. Shikamaru felt the same pressure deep within his head and considered how to return to his own room, to anywhere safe, reviewed the map, thought with a flash of anxiety that he didn't have any flashlight, and then--

Then everything went white.

This time, there was no doubt about it. White and then black and then unconscious timelessness, but before the world could come into focus everything was searing and he didn't understand why he couldn't press his hands to his head, why even that attempt at movement burned his palms, why the smell of blood and flowers was so sickeningly dense. He blinked but immediately clenched his eyes shut again when the light burned something in his mind that wasn't meant to be burned. For long seconds, red lingered behind his eyelids. Movement was impossible. The memory only began to return when he heard the woman's breathing, heard her pulse, heard everything about her. "What did-" he whispered, but even the soft sound seemed to rip through his thoughts. Consciousness was a battle he wasn't sure he could win, but he couldn't give up like this. Not after already losing once.

Shikamaru could barely breathe; the sound was so loud he thought he might go deaf, and it wasn't just the ragged gasping. What had happened? What had she done? What was cycling through his brain right now, burning everything it touched? "Let me go," he whispered, again barely audible, this time close to a plea. He needed to be away from this, somewhere quiet and dark. He didn't know if he could stand the volume of an answer, but he was sure he couldn't stand this desperate captivity.

The doctor didn't miss that critical moment when the effects began, and her mouth widdened into a toothy grin despite the self-control she'd shown so far. This was her experiment, the once lifeless idea that she'd given everything, sacrificed everything for. She pulled the second needle out from the patient's head, watching him twitch helplessly under the overload of sensation exploding in his brain. All those little touches, from her perfume to the clicking of her heels (which clicked again as she took two steps away, then back), had been just so he would notice the difference when the time came.

The needle was set aside. All that remained was putting her subject back together, a puzzle taken apart and revised for the sake of science.

"You should know, this manually-triggered episode was only to begin the test. From now on, you will cause the effect yourself." Every time he used that mind to try and save someone, to think through a strategy so the team could move forward, never mind what it cost the individual. If he wanted to use his brilliance in such a wasteful way, then fine. She'd see just how far he was willing to go for those meaningless values.

The patient wouldn't be awake much longer. Retrieving the piece of skull she'd taken out earlier, the doctor went about her repairs. Pins would hold the bone in place, and stitches would suffice for the skin.

There was still too much to concentrate on. Mostly sensation, a pain thicker than anything he'd felt before, and any half-formed thought was immediately pulled into fog, irretrievable. Keeping his eyes closed shut out some of it, though even the dim redness felt too bright, but there was no way to cover his ears and trying to move his hands seemed unthinkable in this state. There was so much noise and it seemed to grow louder as he tried to understand the purpose: he cringed as every small drop of blood spattered against the floor. So, when she spoke everything within him recoiled, tried to pull into whatever safe space was left in his body. So loud, so loud that he could only assemble the words after a second's delay. "Shut up," he said, quietly at first, but then once more in a voice that couldn't have been louder than normal speech though it made the darkness once again spin into vertigo. He felt nauseous, dizzy in the restraints, and he knew that his voice was unsteady.

Her words were processed once more, slightly easier without the volume but his thoughts were still suffocating under pain. "What do...how..." he asked, back to whispering. She wouldn't tell him, though. He knew she wouldn't tell him--it wasn't conducive to any kind of experiment, if she wanted to observe his reaction. The knowledge shoved a wave of sensation through his mind, and the unstoppable whimper, his own, only amplified its force.

There was nothing here to use as an anchor, to keep his thoughts focused and centered and prevent him from losing himself in everything he felt and heard. It was no longer a question of whether he'd pass out, but when and how long he'd be lost, if he'd be out until dawn like he desperately wanted to be. When something indistinguishable touched the back of his head he gasped again and heard a sharp cry, maybe his own, and then, with the curious and unfittingly gentle sensation that often accompanied an approach to sleep, the world faded until the pain felt distant, belonging to someone else, and an instant later, in unconsciousness, it belonged to no one at all.

If he had managed to stay awake longer, the patient might have heard the sound of the doctor's soft humming as she worked. As it was, she'd only stopped speaking because she had no more to say. She'd never intended to offer anything to the subject about what the programmed signal would be that would start another of these episodes. That would be a surprise for the patient to discern, and try to work around, if those people were truly worth it.

Her repairs were just as efficient as the procedure itself had been, though had the patient been awake, he might have noticed a certain lighteness to the doctor's step as she moved. Yet in the stillness of the room there was no one to see as she sewed the bone and flesh back into place, then pulled her instruments from the patient's hands before bandaging those wounds. It would all go with her, of course; no point in leaving any treats for people who might follow. And that also included her syringes. She knew that some doctors left them behind for patients to find, but she wasn't the careless type.

The final step when she had finished was to unlock the subject. She left him where he lay, face down on the table, for whoever might find him first. Then she took her leave, effecient as always, vanishing out the door with her tools.

The first thing Shikamaru noticed was the unnatural darkness of the room: the type of darkness that always set him on edge, that housed a vulnerability and helplessness that he sensed only he could understand. The pain came next, fierce despite his stillness, but he was used to pain. Not as much as this, but he could deal. Memory, oddly enough, came last and he cringed and sucked in his breath, not focusing on any order but the experience as a whole, cold water and the strange, burnt smell of sawed bone. After that, things were blurred. The doctor's words surfaced occasionally: some test, something he would cause himself. Mostly just pain though, and loudness and burning light.

Most of that was gone now. He sat up on the metal table and, without pausing, pushed off to land on his feet and instead ended up in a rather un-ninja-like display of clumsiness, knees and hands against the floor and stab of pain in each of the latter. That much was tolerable but the second wave wasn't, the feel of something thick and sharp and blinding forcing itself into his head until the building pressure strained against his entire skull. In the inertia of dizziness he half-leaned, half fell until his forehead was against the ground, and his hands pressed hard against the sides of his head. Even in this state he knew better than to touch the back, some place where the woman's instruments or fingertips had forced him into unconsciousness.

This was not how a ninja should act.

Even with multiple fractures, Naruto had been capable of the stoicism a ninja ought to possess when reporting to the Hokage after they'd finished with Hidan and Kakuzu. But Shikamaru was on the ground, practically curled up, being pathetic. Sure it hurt, having a chunk of your head carved out, but he was sure that whatever had she'd taken had been carefully replaced. He wasn't even in any kind of danger.

With effort he sat back, knees bent as he rested on on the heels of his feet, then he touched the rough gauze covering his palms. Those injuries weren't bad, all things considered. but they'd make things troublesome when it came to navigating in the dark. Some of his fingers tingled and two didn't feel at all, but that should be gone in the morning when the overnight nurses attended to him. It took skill to shove something through someone's hands without missing bone, and he was lucky that she'd only sliced a few nerves and muscles. Why had she done that, when she could have easily caused more pain?

Despite the risk, he reached up to grab the edge of the table and pull himself to his feet. The headache remained, dizzying and almost enough to convince him to return to the floor, almost enough to force him there without his consent. He had things to do, like get the hell out of this place. It was a much more difficult task than he'd guessed it would be when he wrote the note to the others, but he could still do it himself. Probably. If not, as bothersome as the thought was, he could stay here until night ended. He'd never heard of monster attacks in these rooms.

Shikamaru took a few careful steps, fingers against the table for balance, only stumbling once but hissing when he did. He turned, repeated, until he was confident that he could walk without faltering...at least, without faltering enough to end up on the ground. When he stepped away from the table he quickly found the wall, then, with one hand against it, moved until he could find a door. Other things might have been worth his attention as well: closets or lab coats limp over hangers, anything to keep him warm. Nothing. A few stray hairs fell across his face and he paused, leaning against the wall, to retie the cord around his hair now that a sizable portion was missing. Bothersome, especially with only partial use of his hands, and since he couldn't form the curve of a knot he pulled tightly and relied on tension. He probably looked like shit, considering the blood he'd seen dripping onto the floor, and the cold air maintained a continuous shivering. He needed to get out of this place, though, and after a few more steps, his fingertips found the doorway, touching only the slightest crack. It opened easily to reveal more darkness and silence, only half of which was reassuring.

[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/741342.html?thread=60592350#t60592350)]

Edited 2009-10-20 00:46 (UTC)

[[from here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/741342.html?thread=60738014#t60738014)]]

Once in the room, Sakura could at least pretend to ignore the ninjas back in the hallway. Would they really be ok? Two lazy, often-annoying Jounin... well...

She started looking over the counters and the operating table. Just the layout gave her a small idea of what her friend had been through and was enough to quell some of her anger. Or at least redirect it toward the people who'd actually done them harm.

Momo quietly followed Sakura in, taking the time to check to make sure something wasn't laying in wait (one could never be too sure in this place) before she carefully walked the perimeter of the room.

"My apologies, Sakura-san, but I am not of the Fourth, so my medical knowledge is limited," she told the girl in a hushed voice. "Should I locate anything of interest, I will bring it to your attention."

Sakura checked thoroughly, but it looked like the place was clean as could be, with the exception of blood spatters near the table. She knelt near it, feeling ill at the thought that it was a friend and not just some nameless someone that'd been strapped here and experimented on. That the others would be next. That there was nothing she could do to stop it if it happened to any of them again or if it happened to her too.

"Fifth," she corrected absently. "Tsunade-sama was the Fifth Hokage, my medical training was under her." It didn't occur to her that Hinamori might be talking about something completely different. It all added up in her mind.

Did she have the chakra left to examine the blood? Even if she did, it would probably only contain traces of whatever sedative they'd used during the operation. That was unlikely to tell her much about the actual problem though. If the changes were chemical in nature, there was no need for surgery, right? She hated the thought of overlooking something though, trivial or not. She stood, keeping it as a note to analyze it if there was nothing else to find tonight.

"I can't find anything," she sighed.

Fifth? What was Sakura talkin-- Oh.

"Thank you for that information, but I was referring to my Division within the Gotei 13. The Forth Division specializes in healing. I am of the Fifth Division," Momo clarified.

Stopping by the table, the shinigami stared at it for a very long moment. "Neither can I. I am starting to believe the doctors have no souls. I cannot see them."

Like she'd know that. Wait. Maybe she did. Dammit. Hanatarou said something about his "division" when they'd spoken earlier. How he was a medic and something about other divisions. Still, it wasn't like Hinamori knew they'd even met. Why make the assumption? It was like the other girl was either super useful or knew completely useless information.

That or she was just assuming that everyone knew all about her own world already. Seeing people's souls? What the hell? Not even ninja could do something like that. At least, none she knew of. They could see chakra, sure, but souls? Maybe Hinamori just liked being asked about all the weird things she said.

"...you see souls," she replied flatly. While there was no disbelief in her voice (Hinamori had known about the people in the rooms after all), it seemed to suggest that the girl's explanation was lacking. "How?"

Once it was obvious the room was empty, Sakura put one hand on the table to brace herself if she got dizzy again. "I'm going to see if there's anything in the blood worth making note of." A faint glow around her hand grew into a warm colored blob that meshed with the blood on the table, breaking it down to a cellular level and returning the information straight back to Sakura.

Nothing. Just basic sedatives. Not even a hint of something suspicious. Her dizziness got the better of her and she slipped to her knees, not in pain, just completely exhausted. Tired. "Dammit," she grumbled quietly.

"Yes," Momo replied. "I am shinigami, Sakura-san. A death god. Spirits and souls are my realm. Shinigami work to maintain the balance between the living world and the spirit world by making sure souls pass on when the body dies, protecting humanity from corrupt souls and such."

She fell silent as Sakura focused on the blood, not wanting to disturb her efforts. When the girl dropped to her knees, Momo quickly moved over and placed a comforting hand on Sakura's shoulder. She didn't say anything; nothing she could say would help in this situation.

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Night 44: Disciplinary Therapy Room 3 [M-U for Shikamaru]

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