damned_institute | Night 49: Disciplinary Therapy Room 1 [M-U for Claude C. Kenni]

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claude,
m-u

Night 49: Disciplinary Therapy Room 1 [M-U for Claude C. Kenni]

And how would the so-called Hero of Light fare now? Claude hadn't exactly lived up to that title, had he? Now here he was, strapped to a table with a blindingly bright light suspended over his whole body. The wavelengths had been altered, so this was no ordinary light. It had taken some time for them to get all the details of the complex experiment worked out, which was why Claude had been spared this for so long. But now it was his time, and the doctor in charge of him was intent on making it an event he wouldn't easily forget.

The more complicated components -- that is, the technology and machinery necessary for DNA manipulation -- were off to the side for now, and the doctor would deal with that later. First, he needed to inscribe the first crest into the young man's skin. Maybe then Claude would be able to make more of himself -- though only after paying a price, of course.

The symbol was already drawn onto the patient's upper arm, waiting to be inked in. The doctor realized that he could have done the job while Claude was still unconscious, but that would be depriving the young man of a pain he clearly shouldn't miss out on -- in the doctor's opinion, at least.

He stood a short distance away from the table and the light, wanting as little exposure to it as possible. It needed to do its work on the patient, but the doctor wanted nothing to do with that. Not that it would have much of an effect if the subsequent steps weren't taken, but safety was a high priority. For the staff, at least. The patients were another story, of course.

So the doctor stood by, waiting for his patient to wake up.

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Before Claude was even fully awake, he could feel the hot, intrusive light penetrating behind his eyelids. Face contorting, he sharply turned his head and tried to roll over. Unfortunately, his limbs didn't want to cooperate with him, almost as if they were too heavy to do anything. Sucking in a breath, he tried harder to move again, and, amidst his waning grogginess came the horrible realization that he was strapped to a table.

Dread knotted up in the pit of his stomach as the last few moments of dinner came rushing back to him. He'd been talking to Mason, and then a couple of orderlies had showed up. When Claude first saw them, he'd tried to put himself between the staff and his roommate. Don't let them take him like they took Rey, he'd thought. But instead of grabbing Mason, they'd taken--!

No way, he thought to himself as he suddenly became aware of the way his heart was wildly thumping against his ribcage. No way! He'd been here so long that he'd come to believe they just weren't interested in running experiments on him, of all people. Aside from the combat skills that most anyone could develop with enough practice and focus, he had no special powers or abilities that could possibly be worth that much attention. If someone sliced him up, all they'd find was the regular anatomy of an average Earthling.

This wasn't supposed to happen!

"What the hell is going on here!?" he hissed, squirming against his bonds.

Even for those patients who weren't necessarily extraordinary in any obvious way, there was always something interesting that could be added or forced upon them. In this case, Claude had a legacy he would be able to live up to once this was all said and done, but the explanation of that would come in good time.

Despite the fact that the patient had been here for so long, he still acted generally shocked upon waking. It was novel, really. The doctor watched him writhe beneath the restraints, arms crossed over his chest. He knew he was only barely visible to the young man, especially with that light that was probably making Claude's eyes water by now.

"I would have imagined you had heard all about this by now," he said calmly, remaining in his spot for the moment. "I apologize for the light, by the way, but it's necessary. It might start to damage your vision after a time, but that's the price that has to be paid, I suppose." It wasn't like Claude had much choice in the matter, anyway. Still, sometimes it was fun to give patients the illusion of it. They never seemed to learn that sometimes it was easier to just give in.

The voice was unfamiliar, but not necessarily unexpected. Claude turned his face toward the source and tried to open his eyes. With the excruciatingly bright light hanging overheard, though, all he could manage was a half squint. The best he could make out was the general shape of a man. If they were going to experiment on him like this, the least they could do was allow him to see the face of the bastard who was going to actually do it!

Cowards, he bitterly said to himself, but it didn't make him feel much better. Especially when he heard what the man had to say next. Tensing up, Claude promptly squeezed his eyes shut in a forced attempt to protect himself. But even the shield of his lids didn't provide much respite, and the realization sent a bead of sweat running down his forehead.

This wasn't...seriously going to blind him, was it? Or was he just trying to scare him? Then again, after everything he'd seen this place do, Claude knew he couldn't put anything past the sick people who ran this place. As long as the Head Doctor was the one ultimately overseeing everything, then he could only expect tonight to be nothing short of awful.

Claude took in another breath and swallowed hard, willing himself to try to calm down with a sudden, steely determination. He didn't want to show his tormentor anymore weakness than necessary, nor did he want to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing him break. As terrifying as the thought of spending a whole night at someone else's mercy was, he'd been here long enough to see a lot of horrid things. He would survive this.

At least, that's what he had to keep telling himself.

"Price for what?" he asked after a moment, though his voice was a little tighter than he would have liked.

It seemed that for now, the patient had given up on trying to break free. That was really for the best, since all it would do was tire him out. Which wasn't really such a bad result, but it was tedious to watch someone attempt the same thing over and over again even though there was no chance of the outcome changing.

His eyelids weren't enough to save him from the light, but that was really only a side effect. Granted, it was the only part that Claude could actually register, but there was already a process taking place inside of him. The doctor wondered how long it would take him to figure it out. Maybe he would explain it, but that all depended on his mood.

When the patient spoke up again, the doctor let out a sigh and nodded to himself. "That is the question, isn't it? But in case you weren't aware" -- he didn't know how Claude wouldn't be, after all the time he'd spend here, but there was a chance he'd just been that oblivious -- "these experiments often leave the patient with something helpful. It's kind of surprising that so many people complain, really," he said calmly.

"I mean, haven't you always felt a bit... lacking?" It was inevitable that he'd have to draw close, and so the doctor laid aside his reservations about exposure to that light in order to draw up next to the table. He grabbed for the patient's arm, the one he'd already penciled the crest onto, and then jerked it (probably painfully) in a way that Claude could get some idea of what was drawn there, if he opened his eyes and looked.

"You must know what this is," he murmured.

Helpful? After all the torture they'd inflicted on other captives, this guy had the nerve to say they were doing them a favor? Claude's dread from before sharply turned into an burning fit of anger. It gave him the will to speak up, his words growing stronger for now. "Ashton and Luke would have been better off without your stupid experiments!" he snapped. "And that's not even touching on all the others you've hurt before."

What kinds of monsters were these people? As if complaining about having something done to them against their will was somehow ungrateful! The thought made Claude's stomach turn. Doctors and scientists were supposed to help others, not put them through bizarre procedures with such little regard for their health. Had this man been brainwashed into performing these tests on his "patients", or had he willingly volunteered to go along with Martin Landel's twisted vision?

His seething was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching him. Just who did he think he was, asking a question like that? Claude was about to snap back with some kind of retort, but he could only give a startled, pained noise as the doctor jerked his arm into a different position. Turning his head, he tried to crack his eyes open long enough to see what he was trying to get at. It was so difficult to see that his pale skin seemed to blend in with the rest of his surroundings. But in the midst of it he thought he could make out the dark outline of some sort of...design? Still, he wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what it was, even if he couldn't see all the details.

"A heraldic crest," he answered as he shut his eyes again and tried to yank his arm away from the doctor's grasp. "You're wasting your time, though. I don't use heraldry."

Edited 2010-05-20 22:46 (UTC)

Luke, Ashton... The names rang vague bells, but it wasn't like he'd been personally responsible for those. There were quite a few of them on staff here, naturally -- though leave it to one of these patients to lump all of the acts onto one person. No, the doctor was more than willing to take credit when he'd earned it. And he'd take credit for this, most certainly.

Even with his blurred vision, Claude had managed to decipher what was on his arm. "Looks like you're getting an A on this quiz," he said as he pulled his hands away and gave a mocking clap.

"But you shouldn't sell yourself so short, Claude," he continued as he moved away to grab the equipment that he'd need to inscribe a permanent tattoo onto the boy's skin. "I know you feel like you can never live up to all of your father's impressive accomplishments, but with some molding here and there, you'll be all set to follow in his footsteps."

In fact, Claude's father was in the institute, though he wasn't quite his father yet. Maybe the results of this experiment would give the two a chance to have some healthy family bonding. Wouldn't that be sweet?

Even if he couldn't see the doctor, he could hear him clapping once Claude had given what was apparently the correct answer. So it was a crest for heraldry! But why?! He hadn't been born with the ability to use anything like that.

But then he heard the doctor explain further. ...With some molding here and there, you'll be all set to follow in his footsteps. The words made Claude's muscles tighten against his bindings, and he sharply turned his head toward the direction of the man's voice. "Shut the hell up," he growled from between clenched teeth. "Stop pretending you know me!" How dare this bastard act like he could talk about his relationship with his father so casually, as if he could possibly understand anything.

"I can do just fine without any of that!" the blond added hotly. He didn't have to ride on his father's coattails to be successful in life. He didn't need to! Dad had used his own skills and strengths to do his job, and, dammit, so could Claude! That was why, up until now, he'd relied on what he naturally possessed in order to try to keep his friends safe. There was no reason he had to change that, no reason to depend upon the so-called help of some madman to make himself better.

"Like I said, you're wasting your time."

The doctor had heard from Landel himself about just how self-righteous Claude could be, and he already found that he wasn't disappointed on that count. It was just too easy to rile up the young man, and he idly wondered at whether or not the patient would be able to keep flinging those words out through the entire procedure. It would be rather impressive if he could, considering everything that was in store for him.

"No matter how much you argue back, you're not going to stop it," the man said as he turned back from the side counter and then walked over with the bulky tattoo machine in one hand and a wet cloth in the other. He hooked a chair he'd specifically brought in here for tonight with his foot, dragging it along with him until he was once again next to the table.

He seated himself and then smiled widely. Claude might have been able to see the lower portion of his face, if he'd actually been able to see past that overbearing light. It was even harsh for the doctor to look at Claude's arm due to how the light was reflecting on it, but he would manage.

The man dragged the wet cloth over the patient's arm, sanitizing it one more time before he spoke up. "As much as you insist that you're fine without it, you know that's not the truth. If you'd had some sort of healing spell back in the coliseum, maybe you would have actually had a chance of saving your friend." Pure logic, the kind that couldn't be argued with and that was sure to slice Claude to the core.

He might have been right when he said that arguing wasn't going to save him, but if that bastard thought Claude was just going to roll over and obediently take this kind of treatment in silence, he had another thing coming. Just who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway? Claude's hands curled into fists at his sides, as if he were imagining what it'd feel like to clobber his tormentor in the face. But no matter how angry he felt, the straps kept him securely fastened in place. The more he was reminded of this fact, the more tense he became.

Claude turned his head again when he heard the sound of something dragging across the floor. Not surprisingly, he couldn't actually see what it was, which only served to unnerve him more. Still, he didn't want to give the man anymore ammo than he already had, so he took in another slow breath and tried not to let his apprehension outwardly show. It was about then that he sensed the doctor settle down near him. Was it just him, or had he just caught a glimpse of a set of white teeth flashing at him? Imagination or not, though, the sight made Claude scowl just the same.

He jumped a little at the wet cloth that suddenly ran across his arm, but so far there wasn't any pain -- yet. Before he could snap something at him in an attempt to cover the crack in his brave front, however, he was silenced by what the doctor had to say next.

The coliseum.

Just the word stirred up bloodied memories that he'd just as soon forget. Even after everything was said and done, some part of Claude still twisted painfully whenever he thought of it. But as natural as it'd been to lash out at Sync and swear vengeance against him, his actions belied the deep-seeded belief that what had happened had ultimately been because he hadn't been fast enough, strong enough, good enough. Claude knew there was no arguing against what he knew was ultimately true, but that didn't make being reminded any less painful.

Though his face was already tight from the assault of bright light, it suddenly took on a darker air. "How...do you know about that?" His words didn't have quite as much force behind them this time. Being reminded of that while strapped down had been something like a sock to the gut, momentarily robbing the wind from him.

That was enough to shut him up. The doctor took some satisfaction in the way Claude's face suddenly took on a completely different expression. He was no longer the strong hero who wouldn't balk no matter how intense the danger, but the young man who had killed one friend and been unable to save the other. Luckily for him, they'd made those deaths temporary.

"Oh, please," he said, giving a small shake of his head as he idly moved the tattoo machine around between his hands. "Do you think the head doctor would not mention something like that to the person assigned to you?" Landel loved sharing the stories of the coliseum when he got the chance, especially since patients so seldom actually made it all the way there.

They'd spent enough time on chitchat, though. Nodding to himself, the doctor switched on the machine, and the subsequent whirring sounded was loud enough that talking wasn't going to be quite as simple as before. He moved the needled end toward the patient's arm and started to slowly, meticulously ink in the pattern he'd drawn there.

"This sort of pain is nothing to you, right?" he asked, raising his voice above the noise. "It should be well worth being able to heal your friends, I'd think." And maybe now Claude could understand why he should be thanking them.

Claude wasn't sure what he'd thought, to be honest. Part of him had wanted to assume this man had been brainwashed and just didn't know the true extent of what went on in the institute. Up until now, automatically shuffling most of the staff members into the "brainwashed victims" category had been relatively easy. But with every word the doctor spoke, Claude got the sickening feeling that he meant every bit of it. Not only that, but he knew exactly what the captives here went through. How could anyone be part of something so heinous? And talk about the deaths and injuries of others so casually?

Either way, he didn't appreciate him bringing up the coliseum, of all things. Not when he was trying to use it as justification for what he was doing. It struck too close to home for Claude's comfort, especially when he actually caught himself trying to imagine what would have happened if he'd been able to heal Dias once his blade had struck him down--

No, he tried to tell himself. That was in the past now. He had to move forward or else he'd keep getting caught up in the doctor's mind games.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of some sort of machine whirring to life. Claude wasn't sure what it was, but it sounded absolutely barbaric compared to much of the sleek machinery of his own time. The next thing he knew, he began to feel a hot, scratching sensation creep across his upper arm. It had been so unexpected that he couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath, but, over all, it wasn't as excruciating as the machine's sound made him think it'd be.

Of course, that was little consolation when compared to how uncomfortable his eyes were right then. Not only that, but he could feel his stomach give an uncomfortable turn, though he wasn't sure whether it was from nerves or something else entirely.

"Don't sound so sure of yourself," Claude replied over the noise. He may have made vague references about "molding" him into something he wasn't, but that didn't change that Claude hadn't been born with the talent for heraldry, plain and simple.

The work required a steady hand and a good deal of concentration, so as the doctor applied the tattoo he wasn't quite as chatty as he'd been until that point. The mere fact that Claude had stopped being as mouthy was a clear indication of the fact that he'd hit a nerve. Granted, that was what happened when you had all the cards. It was a bit unfair, he'd admit, but that didn't mean he had any regrets about what he was doing here.

It was strange, how patients seemed to think that they weren't infallible. He would have thought that there was proof enough of how the patients were really just lab rats who were yanked out of their cages when Landel deemed fit.

"You may think that it's impossible, but you're not considering the future," the man said, still pronouncing his words strongly so that they could be heard over the machine's hum. "Maybe there isn't the technology in your time, but just consider the kind of research your mother did back home. Breakthroughs were bound to happen, Claude."

With a hold on both time and space, they were capable of anything here, and that meant both giving and taking way any skill under the sun. Or the light, in this case.

The future. Were there really people who actively tried to give others abilities they weren't supposed to have, that maybe they didn't want? That went against everything scientists like Mom stood for! How could someone warp the need for human understanding into something so horrible?! Granted, he'd caught a glimpse of just how dangerous heraldic research could be during his time on Nede, but he never would have thought the people of Earth would be capable of falling into the same trap. At least, not for a long, long time.

Between the light, the ongoing noise from the machine, and the discomfort on his arm, Claude still stayed tense. His headband was starting to become damp from the sweat that was beading on his face. Another droplet of perspiration rolled down his skin, barely missing his tightly closed eye. Something inside him was beginning to change, he could feel it. An uncomfortable, burning-like sensation that seemed to spread across every cell in his body. Claude swallowed hard as his fingers furthest away from the doctor dug into the bed.

While it was difficult to make himself heard, he knew he had to keep talking to keep himself focused on staying calm. "Leave my mother out of this," he tightly told the doctor. "She never would have wanted her research to be used for something so unethical!"

It was true that bringing up the boy's mother had been a low blow of sorts, but the doctor didn't have standards when it came to what he could use to torment his patients. Besides, Claude's response neatly led him into yet another thing he could focus on to get under the young man's skin.

"Maybe not her, but don't you think that there are scientists in your time who are more like me?" Science was tricky that way. It would always attract those people who were willing to try anything for the purpose of a breakthrough. The doctor was well aware of how he fell into that category, but he didn't see it as something to be ashamed of. Everything they were finding out with the help of these patients would be put to good use eventually.

"When I'm done with you, you'll count as a scientific miracle as far as your mother's colleagues are concerned," the man continued as he steadily moved the series of needles over Claude's arm, emblazoning the symbol there indefinitely. "If you were sent back there, I wonder what they'd think of you." He knew full-well, of course, but he was curious to see just how naive Claude was.

By this point Claude wished he could just tune out the doctor's words. Even if his pride would have allowed it, however, it was practically impossible for him to ignore, considering he was right there. Not only that, but with the constant noise, the pain from the tattoo and the uncomfortably bright light acting as the only other available company, the presence of this horrible person was the only incentive he had to keep himself together.

That there were scientists on Earth with less than noble intentions wasn't so hard to believe, even if he couldn't understand what made people like that tick. History was full of them, after all, and he faintly recalled the time he and Guy had discussed something similar awhile back. But he never would have thought that fact would rear its ugly head like this.

With the way the doctor was talking about how he was going to turn him into a "scientific miracle", it sounded like he knew exactly what he intended to do. But it was when he brought up other people's reactions to what was going to be done to him that Claude stiffened.

"Wh-what are you getting at?" he warily asked, even if part of him was already beginning to understand.

Was Claude really going to make him spell it out like that? It was always more interesting when the patients could infer it for themselves, but in this case it seemed that he wouldn't have that luxury. As a form of punishment, the doctor held off on answering, passing it off as needing to put all of his attention into finishing up the tattoo. He was trying to get it done quickly now, as they still had a whole other part of this to get through.

However, when he really did take the time and put all of his concentration into it, the work got done that much faster. The doctor kept having to wipe the wet cloth he'd picked up over Claude's skin to keep it clean and get rid of the small amount of blood there (it wasn't as if he was looking to give the patient a bad infection, after all), but eventually the crest was completely inked in and he was finally able to turn off the loud machine and lean back in his chair.

He took a moment to admire his work. The light was dangerous, perhaps, but it had also made sure that he'd done a flawless job of it. He smiled to himself and then stood up.

"Those people who are desperate to work out just how heraldry -- or symbology, as they'll come to call it -- works... I think they'd do whatever they could to get their hands on your and pull you apart to see how you worked," he finally explained. The doctor moved back to the side counter to set down both the soiled cloth and the machine. Now came the more technical part.

For awhile, Claude didn't think the doctor was going to answer him, and he was forced to endure the tattooing in silence, left with only his own thoughts and the uncomfortable, hot scratching sensation that spread across his arm. While he waited, he could feel his heart thumping heavily against his chest, and his shirt was growing increasingly damp from the sweat that was collecting on his skin. Having to sit tight while preparing to endure who-knew-what at the hands of a madman was unnerving in of itself, but the strange feeling he'd noticed before was only increasing in intensity, spreading through his tissue like wildfire. It almost reminded him of the way someone could quickly develop horrible body aches from certain illnesses.

Even with those distractions, though, the "scientific miracle" comment weighed heavily on his mind. Claude knew he wouldn't be able to hide new-found heraldry abilities from people on Earth forever. Maybe if his family wasn't so well-known, and he hadn't been a member of the military, he might have been able to slip back into Earth society relatively unnoticed. As things stood now, though, they'd make him sit through a full physical for sure. It would become painfully obvious what had happened to him, and then...

The blond took in a shuddering breath and gulped, but managed to bite his tongue. He didn't want the doctor see this was getting to him, even if it was probably obvious just by how argumentative he'd been up until now.

When the machine was finally switched off, it was a relief to his ears, but little else. The doctor's next words only confirmed what he'd been thinking earlier. His throat constricted for a moment, making it difficult to breathe. No, he was just trying to scare him. There were laws to protect people from that sort of treatment, right? But then, why wasn't there anything restricting all the cruel treatment within in the institute?

As his hands curled into fists at his sides, Claude realized his mouth felt a little drier than he would have liked to admit.

"How can you call yourself a doctor?!" he suddenly demanded. "You're just toying with other people's lives! What you're dong isn't...it isn't natural!"

"Does something have to be natural to be considered right?" the doctor questioned as he slowly moved over a computer terminal (which was conveniently mounted on a wheeled cart) toward the table Claude was strapped to. It took some effort, since the monitor was large and heavy, but it would all be worth it in the end. The cart also held the devices needed for electroshock therapy, though chances were Claude wasn't aware enough to see that.

Good. It was always better to have the element of surprise.

Once he got the terminal situated next to the chair he'd pulled over, he halted and then reached down to grab the metal head band. "Now for the next stage," he said, using a mocking version of the sort of gentle, helping tone a normal doctor might have employed.

Using one hand to maneuver Claude's head, he arranged the band around his forehead. There was wiring coming out of the metal, which fed into the computer. Everything had been prearranged. Really, Claude should have appreciated all the trouble they'd gone to on his behalf.

"It isn't right, either, and you know it!" Claude snapped. For crying out loud, was he seriously going to try to play this game with him? What sort of skewed morals did a person have to have in order to consider doing experiments like this okay? Even if it was something that was considered for the greater good, there were just some lines you didn't cross. What this man was doing violated the basic rights every living being should have. It was inhuman.

He could hear the doctor preparing something else, wheels rolling against the floor. Claude turned his head and tried to squint, but all he could make out were vague shapes. Dammit, he was totally blind here. He squeezed his eyes shut again in a futile attempt to protect them from that awful light. Everything else may have been out of his control, but that didn't mean he had to just completely give up, either.

Automatically tensing when the doctor touched him, Claude tried to pull out of his grasp, but to no avail. Whatever this "next stage" was, he doubted it was going to be pretty. "W-wait," he said, his voice tinged with an increasingly panicked edge as his limbs began to grow cold with dread. "Wait, what are you about to do?"

With the head piece in place, the doctor bent down to grab a series of electrodes and then moved closer to the patient so that he could apply them. He had to tug the collar of Claude's shirt down so that he could arrange them on his chest, where they'd be able to pick up the readings from his body and display them on the computer screen. Even though the patient was yelling at him and demanding answers, for the present moment the doctor was completely focused on the task at hand, and Claude's voice became little more than background noise.

Once Claude was all hooked up, the man took a seat and then turned the computer on. He waited for the low hum that meant it had started up, and then watched as all of the patient's vitals showed up on the screen, which let off a dull light that could hardly compare to the one that was currently boring into Claude's body and literally changing his DNA.

"In this case, I think it's easier to show you than tell you," he finally said. Now that the computer seemed to be working and ready, they needed to see if the first crest had been successfully applied. "Let's see just how well your body can heal, shall we?" he asked as he grabbed for Claude's closest hand.

Holding the patient's wrist in one hand, he used his other hand to grab for Claude's pinky finger. He gripped it tightly and then pulled it sharply to the side, hard enough to break it.

He couldn't see what was going on -- there was only the uncomfortable feeling of the doctor attaching something to his body. Not even being able to get a visual confirmation of what was happening made him grow more nervous, and he felt the sweat begin to collect on his palms. Though he tried struggling against his bindings again, they were as tight as ever. Here this bastard was, getting him ready for some kind of sick procedure, and he couldn't even do anything? Claude squeezed his eyes tighter and turned his head away from where he heard the doctor taking a seat.

By this point, it was difficult to keep his wits about him. Between being strapped down to the operating table and bombarded by the unrelenting light above, he was starting to feel nauseated in addition to the aches that ran throughout his body. More than anything, he just wanted for this to be over.

But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. It sounded like the doctor had more planned, which was only driven home by the way he seized his hand. Before he knew it, his tormentor had grabbed his pinky finger, pulling it so hard to the side that he could feel the sickening pop! through his whole hand. Without even realizing it, Claude sharply tilted his head back and gave a choked groan through his teeth.

Edited 2010-05-25 06:47 (UTC)

If there was one thing that could be said about the patient, it was that he had a high tolerance for pain. Even if his arguing and his toting of a moral compass was something of an annoyance, at least he wasn't hurting the doctor's ears by screaming over every little thing.

The finger had been broken cleanly, and so he immediately turned back to the computer and typed in a command. There was a whirring noise in response, and then, amazingly enough, Claude's body reacted. The doctor watched as the bone moved back into place, healing as neatly as it'd been broken.

"Fancy that," he said once it was done. Now, could Claude really complain? He got a freebie like this once every night, and all he'd had to do was endure a bright light, a tattoo, and one small broken bone. Granted, they weren't done just yet. For one thing, he needed to see if the way he'd programmed it (for one healing spell per night) had worked properly.

So he grabbed for Claude's hand again, this time taking hold of his middle finger and bending it back, hard, until it also broke.

The break hurt like hell, but Claude had to keep reminding himself that he'd experienced worse on the battlefield. Swallowing hard, he tried to focus on breathing, on just getting through this. If they thought they were going to break him by breaking his fingers, they had another thing coming.

His mind was so clouded that he didn't even hear the sound of someone rapidly typing something onto a keyboard. If he had, he might have wondered what the hell they needed a computer for. But as soon as a whirring noise reached his ears, he felt his back arch against the bed as a strange, unfamiliar power coursed through his veins. Whatever of the doctor had done was making it react on its own accord. Within seconds, the new-found energy convened at the broken bone, enveloping it in a warm, soothing light that was familiar in a way that made an ache of nostalgia flare up in his breast.

While he'd acquired a skill on Expel that allowed him to patch up some of his own injuries, what just happened here was nothing like that. Instead of simply manipulating the energy flow through his body, this somehow felt...bigger than him, as if he could redirect the power externally if necessary.

The throbbing in his hand was gone now, but was promptly replaced by a wave of dizziness. Claude was faintly aware of the feeling of warm blood flowing down the back of his throat, and a metallic taste began to fill his mouth. But his mind was reeling so fast that he couldn't make himself pay attention to details like that. If this power was supposed to be sort of like Rena's, then did that mean...?

Before he even had time to properly flex the healed bone or complete his thought, though, the doctor was grabbing for his hand again. A stab of panic shot through him. Wait, was he seriously going to--?! Claude sharply opened his mouth to protest, but his words suddenly turned into a tight, constricted yell.

Once again ignoring Claude's yell, the doctor instead waited, wanting to see if the patient's body reacted and healed him again. When some time passed and nothing had happened (not even with some prompting from the computer), he was able to assume that his calculations had been right.

"Everything seems to be going smoothly so far," he said as he glanced down at the still-broken finger. The young man would get a brace for it by morning and it would heal just fine. He just didn't get the luxury of instant relief this time. "Sorry, but you'll have to deal with that one. I had to test it." Despite his words, his tone wasn't that apologetic.

With all of that taken care of, the first portion of the experiment was officially over. Luckily for him, the second part was much less hands on. Now that Claude was hooked up, the computer could take it from here -- once he typed the code in, anyway. Seeing how he'd been tinkering with it for about a month now, he had it all stored in his head. The doctor turned toward the monitor and the keyboard and started to input it in silence, figuring that the patient would be busy dealing with the pain from his finger and the discomfort from the light.

"This part is going to hurt a bit more," he said, deciding to be reasonable and warn Claude beforehand. "You'll just have to bear through it, I'm afraid." With that, the doctor leaned back in the chair and tapped 'enter' on the keyboard, so that the patient's DNA could start to be rewritten. He had to wonder what the felt like.

He could tell whatever had made him heal before was trying to squeeze something out of him again. Another wave of dizziness hit him, and for a moment Claude's ears began to ring. Still, the noise wasn't quite enough to block the doctor's voice from reaching him.

"S-smoothly?!" Claude echoed with disbelief as he was forced to swallow more of the blood that was flowing down his throat. Here he was breaking fingers, and he had the gall to say this was going smoothly? The blond took in a shuddering breath, trying his best to distract himself from the throbbing pain in his hand. His rage, at least, was something to focus on. But before he could open his mouth to give the doctor a piece of his mind, he announced they were going to proceed with the next part of the experiment.

Some people might have wondered what could hurt worse than a broken bone, but Claude had enough experience on the battlefield to know there were definitely other things they could do. The last thing he heard was the crisp tapping of a keyboard button before his muscles suddenly seized up. He didn't know what it was that the computer was sending through him, but the pain was so unbearable that he couldn't bring himself to care.

Every inch of his body, inside and out, suddenly felt like it was on fire -- and the pain only increased in intensity with each new pulse caused by the whatever was being done to him. It was so bad that he didn't realize he was clenching his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek and drawing blood. Somewhere amid all of the pain, however, he became aware of the sound of himself screaming.

All things considered, Claude held out for a while before the screaming started. Judging from how unrestrained his yelling was once it started, the doctor had to assume that the pain was a lot for him to take -- and this was coming from someone who'd handled a tattoo and two broken fingers without too much of a fuss.

He made a mental note of that. Not that extreme pain was a deterrent for trying this procedure out on someone, but it was something to keep in mind nonetheless. If used on someone less accustomed to pain, there could be the risk of them passing out. Not that they had to stay awake, but it made things more interesting.

Scooting the chair back, the doctor clasped his hands in his lap and waited for the screaming to end. It would take some time for the process to finish up, but it would be worth it in the end. He couldn't risk testing the second crest out here, but he'd certainly be keeping his eye on Claude for whenever the young man decided to use it himself. If he even reached that level of control, anyway.

Claude wasn't sure how long the pain lasted, but if felt like an eternity. His muscles were clenched so tightly now that, if it weren't for the straps holding him down, he very well might have rolled onto the floor in agony. It was impossible to think, to even wonder what the hell this procedure was supposed to accomplish. His ears began to ring, his vision was fading...

And then his body abruptly slumped to the table.

Heart pounding in his ears, all he could do was focus on getting a proper breath. His face was wet, though whether it was from perspiration was difficult to tell. It was only after swallowing with his raw throat that Claude belatedly realized he was conscious -- and that whatever had happened was over now. Though he was still in a great deal of discomfort, it was far better than what he'd endured just a minute ago.

As much as he wanted to just lie there and rest, however, he knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. He weakly turned his head toward where he knew the doctor was sitting, struggling to open his eyes despite the bright light hanging over him. As he did so, he felt a warm droplet of blood drip from one of his nostrils. "What--" A cough as he tried to clear some of the blood that had collected at the back of his throat. "...the hell did you just...?"

It took some time, but eventually those screams died down, and Claude's body lost its tension and returned to the table. It hadn't caused him to fall unconscious, though he seemed pretty near to it. Would he even be able to stand after this? It was something the doctor would have to keep an eye on.

More than that, the young man was actually able to speak, although his voice was hoarse from the screaming. The doctor eyed him closely. His eyes were going to take some time to recover, and there might be other side effects due to the process, but the patient would have to discover those on his own.

"Let's just say that you won't only be able to heal," he said with an enigmatic smile that was probably lost on the young man, considering his damaged vision. Dusting his hands off on his thighs, the doctor stood, turned off the computer, and started to slowly put everything back into its proper place.

"I wish you luck in adjusting," he said as he moved for the door. "Maybe you'll learn to thank me someday." With that, he was gone. A minute or so of silence reigned, and then, finally, the restraints on the table loosened and Claude was freed.

The quiet clanking of instruments being put back into their proper place reached Claude's ears, but he was more concerned with what the doctor had just said. Had that last part of the experiment given him some sort of extra ability? But how? He'd already taken the time to put a crest on him, so what else had he possibly done to him?

But it looked like those kinds of answers weren't going to come so easily. With the procedure apparently done and over with, the head doctors' toys were packed up, and he was finished with Claude. After that final infuriating remark, he heard the door open, and then he was alone. Now he had no choice but to contemplate everything that had just happened. An uncomfortable mix of anger and humiliation rose up from the pit of his stomach. Uninjured hand clenching into a fist, his nails dug deeply into his palm.

"You bastard!" he hoarsely yelled at the walls. But no one was there to answer him, and Claude suddenly felt a little foolish for wasting his energy. At that moment, the restraints suddenly unlocked. Even though he was free to move now, however, he rested in place for a few minutes. As tempting as it was to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible, he'd been here long enough to know the dangers that were probably waiting outside the room. No, it was best to wait for someone to come here.

...Yet the longer he sat, the more he realized that no one was going to look for him. Claude had been sedated before he'd gotten a message out to anyone. Worse than that, he doubted any of his friends even knew he'd been taken in the first place. The thought washed over him like a bucket full of ice water. He'd always imagined that if he'd been taken for something like this that he wouldn't have to be afraid as long as he had friends he could rely on. But with every empty moment that passed, one truth became painfully obvious.

No one was coming for him.

Just the idea of having to face the rest of the night alone was somehow more terrifying than what he'd been through already. Throat aching, Claude slowly turned onto his side and drew his knees up toward his stomach. Though he squinted in an effort to see the door, the bright light made it impossible to see.

Resting here wasn't an option, he told himself. If he did that, the only things he'd accomplish would be sitting under this stupid light and feeling sorry for himself. Nothing would change unless he tried to fix things with his own hands. If he could just get himself up, then maybe, just maybe, the hall would be clear enough for him to make it past. If that was the case, then he knew his way back to the patient blocks like the back of his hand. Yeah...yeah, Claude definitely could make it to safety as long as he kept putting one foot in front of the other.

That sort of self talk awoke a small flicker of confidence that allowed him to finally pushed himself up to a sit. The sudden movement triggered ringing in his ears, but Claude took in a breath and waited for it to pass. Once he was sure he wasn't going to black out, he put his feet down onto the floor and put his weight down. His body felt heavier than he'd expected, but he just had to tell himself that he'd regain his strength after he'd had a chance to walk around a little more, even if part of him knew that probably wasn't true.

Now that he wasn't under the light anymore, Claude rapidly blinked some of the moisture away, trying to focus. He was pretty sure the door was up ahead, so he took one step forward, then another. Once he reached the threshold, he grabbed the frame to steady himself. Then, he turned the handle and made his way out into the hall.

((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/905445.html?thread=69751013#t69751013).))

Edited 2010-05-28 16:36 (UTC)

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Night 49: Disciplinary Therapy Room 1 [M-U for Claude C. Kenni]

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