#100% should not have done this with an ungloved finger but here we are

[squeakadeeks]

chemical dust amung us

[an-agender-disaster]

Whumptober Days 9-12  (Shackled, Unconscious, Stitches, “Don’t Move”)

I rolled all of these into one long work that was inspired by @aromanticandaromatic‘s awesome post here! I would highly recommend it! If this gets enough love, I would defiantly consider making it a series! 

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Word Count- 1929

Characters- Unsympathetic Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Remus, Sympathetic Deceit (Eden)

Ships- Platonic/Familial Anxcitmus 

Warnings- Unsympathetic/Abusive Logan, Sympathetic Dark Sides, Blood, Medical Descriptions of Gore, Gore, Dehumanization, Minor Swearing

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    Logan pulls at the creature’s wings. No longer was it Virgil, nor was it his friend. No, it was an experiment. Y731*2A. That was all it would ever be to him now.

    Placing the unconscious subject Y731*2A onto the lab table, wings facing the ceiling, he gingerly moved it’s wrists into the shackles, as to not injure it any further. Just capturing the thing after it unveiled it’s wings proved to be enough of a challenge. The bruises and cuts along Logan and itself were enough of a testament to that.

    Locking the cuffs into place, Logan flips open his notebook. He already has the preliminary data from E793*4C and T132*3D, the Kraken and the basilisk respectively, so this would not be too difficult, so long as he stuck to the procedure. Pulling on a lab coat and a pair of latex gloves, Logan begins his prodding. 

    Knowing the creature would not be “asleep” for much longer, he started testing vital signs. Heart rate was slow, but that was to be expected with the condition it was in. The temperature that was recorded is 97.8 degrees Fahrenheit, or 36.56 degrees Celsius, a little low compared to Vi- subject Y731*2A’s normally observed temperature, but it is most likely nothing to worry about. It’s blood pressure is 120/80, a healthy level to be at. Finally, it’s respiratory rate is 16 breaths per minute, and slowly speeding up, an indicator that the subject is stirring. Logan would have to record height and weight later.  

    While still recording each statistic in the notebook, the experiment begins to regain consciousness. It pulls up it’s arms, likely an attempt to sit up, and when it finds itself unable to do so, begins panicking, its heart rate and respiratory rate increasing. It’s wings flare out, perhaps an attempt to fly away, perhaps because it is afraid, though it is interesting all the same. Logan will have to run more tests with a similar stimulus.

    “I must ask that you calm yourself,” Logan tells it, voice indifferent to the matter. He finishes jotting down his thoughts and looks across the wingspan, curious as to just how wide they really were.

    “Logan! Let me out or I swear, I’ll-” the subject’s sentence is cut off as a jolt of electricity is sent through the cuffs to the experiment. It screams out in pain as 100 mA travels through it’s body, not enough to kill, but more than enough to severely injure it.

    When the subject stops, Logan begins, “I would not recommend doing that.” He adjusts his glasses. “If you put too much tension on the cuffs, I have them rigged up to release a sudden electrical pulse, hopefully effectively calming you down.”

    “Why are you doing this? This isn’t like you!” it cries out, wrists covered in burns. Logan chooses to ignore Y731*2A, and instead looks down at the next part of the procedure. Incision. 

    Gathering the needed supplies: a scapple, suture, and a needle, Logan looks back to the experiment on the lab table. It is laying mostly still, seemingly defeated by it’s own eagerness to escape. With all of his supplies on a tray, Logan lifts it off the counter, puts it onto a cart, and rolls it back to the table. He only wishes he had painkillers, just to slightly numb the test subject, but Logan knows he will just have to make do without.

    When he and the cart arrive, he pushes down the wings, trying to get the best view of where the wing’s humerus connects to the spine. “Don’t move.” With one last look at Y731*2A, Logan makes the incision into the wing. 

    He cuts down, deep into the muscle, until he hits a bone. Y731*2A screams out in agony as nerves are cut through. Logan accidentally slices through an artery, causing blood to spurt out onto his gloves and the creature’s bareback. It’s preteen ebony wings grow darker with the stain.

    Logan sighs, “You really do need to calm yourself, as I have formerly stated. This was a minor incision. It will get worse as we progress.” The experiment doesn’t respond and only begins to pull up his arms again. Stepping back before the shock, Logan grabs the needle and satire and puts down the scalpel. 

    He waits for the electroshock to end, then walks back up to the table, where the creature has gone mostly limp. “I hope you are willing to cooperate now. All of you test subjects have the same reaction. It is quite tiresome.”

    It only takes a few minutes for Logan to sew up the wound and wrap the wing up in bandages, but when he’s done, the subject seems anxious to get away, and he resorted to trying yet again to pull his wrists out of the cuffs. 

“Are you really so eager to injure yourself?” Logan questions after the third wave of pain floods through Y731*2A. Sighing after receiving no response, Logan wheels the table out of the primary testing room and into the white-tiled hallway. His shoes clack against the floor and echo down the hall and into the main housing unit of the experiments, where he was heading.

    Logan unlocks the door and wheels in the subject, but only after ensuring the other two are still locked in the secondary containment facility. After he locks the door behind him, Logan walks over to the cameras and waits for the third stage to begin. 

…

    Virgil was in pure agony. Three times he hoped he could free himself, and three times the electricity pulsed into his arms and through his body. His right wing was on fire when it was cut open, which was only amplified by the second bout of energy. After the third shock, he chose to keep his eyes shut, and was wheeled out of the cramped room and into the hallway, then kept them shut when he heard another door unlock, and finally when he felt the table get pushed into another room.

    Only then he lets his eyes slowly open at the sound of two doors consecutively unlocking. Logan wouldn’t let two doors open at the same time if he would only be able to get into one. Virgil still knew enough about the logical side to know his habits. Or, he thought he did, before now.

    The cuffs were still locked when two familiar faces entered the room.

    “Virgil!” Remus shouted, running up to his friend.

    “So he got to you, too…” Eden slithers to the table, stroking his ungloved hands through Virgil’s hair. Peering down at Virgil’s wrists, he questions, “Just how many times did you try to break the cuffs?” Virgil only groans in response, leaning into the cool touch of his friend.

    “He’ll unlock the shackles soon. He did for both of us, anyways.” Remus holds onto his friend’s cuffed hands like a lifeline, his warm touch like a fireplace on a cold winter's night. “For now, we should clean up some of this blood.”

    “And get you a shirt,” Eden adds, noting Virgil’s bare chest.

    Remus nods, “And a shirt. But we’ll need to cut a hole into it…”

    “Give him one of yours. You’re both closer to the same size, and yours have holes already, to accommodate the tentacles.”

    Remus peers at his tall, well-built frame compared to Virgil’s short, petite frame, then nods. “Yeah. I’ll get him one of mine.” Remus walks into one of the four conjoined rooms as Eden slithers to a nearby foldable table, grabs a rag, and dips a small portion of it into water. Moving back to Virgil’s side, he slowly ebbs away the bloodstains, working from Virgil’s spine to his wings, where he takes more precaution to get it all off. 

    Relaxing at the touch of the naga, Virgil can almost forget about the situation he is in. Almost forget that one of his best friends took him in for experiments. Almost forget all of the pain in the last few minutes.

    Almost.

    Remus soon returns with a clean white shirt, many sizes too large for Virgil’s small frame. As he was walking up to his winged friend, the shackles released Virgil from their grasp, allowing the two others to truly see just how badly his wrists were injured. They both stop what they were doing to look at the burns.

    “Oh, Virgil…” Remus whispers in sympathy, hands fluttering around Virgil’s, unsure of what to do.

    “How many times did that bastard shock you!” Eden literally hisses, anger apparent on his face. His hands clenched into fists as he thinks about how much his friend just went through, and he was powerless to help. He was between punching a wall or himself. 

    “We don’t have anything for that, do we?” Remus asks, looking to Eden as Virgil props himself onto his elbows.

    “No. No, we don’t.” Eden responds through clenched teeth. He reaches out for the shirt from Remus, then pulls Virgil close, his tone immediately changing, “Can you put your arms up? Did he cut off circulation at all?”

    Virgil takes the shirt from Eden and swings his legs off the table. Now sitting down, he responds, “I’m fine. It’s not all that bad, you know.” Pulling the shirt over his head, he slips it on. There is plenty of room for his wings to come out the back, thanks to the height difference between himself and Remus.

    “I’m pretty sure this should be a bigger deal, you know.” Eden hisses, taking one of Virgil’s wrists in his hands. The scaled fingers on his left-hand brush against the wrist’s charred flesh. Virgil shrugs in response, apathetic to the garden of problems that are sprouting up. 

    Remus yawns as he looks around the room, “What time is it?” His tentacles droop behind him, slick with their natural slime.

    “Late.” Eden helps Virgil to his feet as the sound of another door unlocking rings through the air. The lights flash twice in succession, a telltale sign of the coming night. “I suppose we should show you to your room, then?” Eden offers his non scaled hand to his friend, and, when he accepts, they move further into the hallway. 

On each side, there were two sliding glass doors, three of which were open to another white-tiled room, these with a small cot and cabinet. “Remus and I usually rotate around these rooms, but we don’t have to if that makes you uncomfortable,” Eden explains, “But your stuff will be put in here-” he gestures to one of the rooms, “-when he sends it in.” Virgil nods along, looking into the room. It was an identical copy of the other three, with the same white-tiled floors and walls, grey cot with a dark grey spread, and light grey cabinet.

The lights start to flash again, a copy of the previous pattern. “When that happens, we need to be in our rooms. It’s like a late bell in school.” Remus steps into the door nearest to him, as does Eden. Virgil quickly enters his, and all of the doors slide shut and are remotely locked.

The lights both inside and outside the room turn off, and the glass door tints until it is nearly opaque. Looking once more around the room, Virgil settles onto the bed, back and wings to the ceiling. He let his eyes settle shut, the terrors of the day fading into dreams.