#and yes that includes both Psychonauts AND TF2 fics!

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Day 16: Amputation / Chronic Pain / Hospital Characters: Caligosto Loboto Warnings: Amputation, torture Summary: Keeping track of multiple clients had always been a pain, but Loboto had never realized just how much of a pain it could be until now.

The note on the calendar seemed to jump out at him, and Loboto's entire body went tense.

Ah. Yes. That had been coming up.

It had been at the back of his mind for the past month or so, but every time the thought of it popped up, he'd waved it away, thinking, Bah, I'll get to that in a minute. It wasn't uncommon when he was working with more than one client, and especially when he was really on a roll with something.

Such had been the case this time, when he'd been working on figuring out how to make that sneezing powder General Oleander had discussed with him, and when he'd been preparing the ingredients to make it. He'd figured it out, sure enough, only to discover later that the powder would lose its effectiveness if left sitting, so he needed to procure a pepper grinder for its use. His mind had been entirely absorbed with working on this, so that'd he'd entirely forgotten about his other client.

This one was... an interesting fellow. His clients always tended to be, given his line of work, but this one was a psychic himself, looking to create an anti-psychic weapon. Hah! Who would've thought a psychic could want to harm his own disgusting kind like that? Not him, that's for sure. Not that he was psychic himself, of course.

Still, Loboto's hands gripped the edge of his work bench as he stared at the circled date on the calendar—today. His loupes darted over to a piece of paper situated below that, which was coated in a fine layer of dust. Quickly he snatched it up and looked it over, wondering if he could throw the thing together before his client got here, but no—it required many different things that he did not have immediate access to.

Loboto gripped the paper, glaring down at it, and finally slammed it down on the table again. Fine. It was fine. He'd meet with the client and tell him he needed an extension—he could do the project, but a job this precise needed time. He was sure to get chewed out—perhaps have fire lobbed at him or something—but he would manage.

Keeping his back straight, he marched out of his lab and down into the asylum, making his way to the storage room to check for Sheegor. Once she’d been made aware of what was going on, he headed out. He ignored Crispin's mindless praise and Fred's incoherent rambling, Gloria's pointless plays and Boyd's paranoia, all the while running different apologies through his head—strategies in case everything went belly-up like a dead fish.

Worst case scenario he'd tell the client off—tell him he can hire someone else for the job.

Finally he was down at the beach, waiting to see a boat creeping toward the island. No need to make him come all the way up to the lab and give him something else to be angry about. He waited at the shore, his feet sinking into the frosty dirt, and his hands twitching near the venus flytraps just so he could see them move. When still no boat appeared, his gaze turned to the shallow water along the shore, following the fish that made their home there. Busy as he usually was, he didn't get the chance to watch the marine life often.

"Enjoying yourself, Caligosto?"

With a startled squawk, Loboto spun around. There, directly behind him, was his client. He wasn't near as tall as Loboto, but coming up to his shoulders was an impressive feat regardless. Loboto looked down at him, then back and forth over the shoreline.

"Well? Where is it?"

Loboto turned back to his client with a frown. "Was gonna ask you the same thing. Where's your boat? Or did you take a swim? A bit chilly for—"

"Where is the weapon, Caligosto?"

He tutted. "I was getting to that! So you see, this project has turned out to be a delicate procedure, and will need a bit more time in the operating room, so to speak.”

The man stared at him—or, Loboto presumed he did. It was annoyingly difficult to tell with his face shadowed under that wide-brimmed hat. "...You don't have it."

Loboto stiffened, and sighed inwardly. All right, it was going to be one of those clients. "No, I don't have it. But if you're willing to grant me an extension, I can certainly—"

"I asked for it by today." The client leaned in close, and Loboto could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. "You told me it would be ready by today."

"Yes, well, I underestimated the time it would take," Loboto retorted. He took a step back and looked up at the tower. "If you'd like to come to my lab to talk this over, I can easily reschedule your app—"

The client grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down to eye level. "On the contrary, Doctor, I think we should discuss this in my office."

Before Loboto could protest, the beach abruptly disappeared.

—

Okay, so he'd figured the meeting would be in the client's office, but hey, it had been worth a shot.

Grumbling, Loboto looked around, finding the place maddeningly dark—worse than Thorney Towers, even. He'd been here once before, but then the client had at least been gracious enough to have a light on over the table where his plans had been laid out. Now though, he could hardly see anything, save for whatever the light from his loupes bounced off of.

"I like what you've done with the place," Loboto grumbled. He didn't move, for fear of bumping into a table or chair or who knew what.

"I'm going to cut to the chase," the client said, suddenly directly in front of him. Loboto took a step back. "This failure is not acceptable."

"Did you have to bring me here to tell me that?" Loboto snapped. "Look, if you don't like the way I handle things, you're free to find another—"

"No, Doctor, I'm not." The man leaned in closer, and his smoky breath reeked. "This plan needed to be known to as few people as possible. You know of the plan, of the weapon, and I am not letting word of it get out to anyone else. Do you understand?"

Loboto waved a hand in front of his face. "Yeah, yeah, loud and clear. Unlike your breath. Yeesh! When was the last time you brushed?"

"No, Doctor, I don't think it's clear."

"What, you really don't remember? I guess that's not a surprise—"

"It is not clear to you," the man said, "how much of a problem this is."

Loboto stared, and the man, he was sure—though he couldn't see his stupid eyes—stared right back. "You can't rush dentistry," he said coolly. "But if you're willing to help, we might be able to move things along faster."

"Oh, don't worry. I know how to get you to move this along faster, and I know how to help you as well."

Loboto sighed. "Whew! That's good n—"

Something snagged tightly around his middle, and he did not have to look to know that it was a disgusting psychic hand. He struggled, only for the hand to grip tighter.

"I think it's time you learn a lesson about what happens when you fail me."

Oh.

This was one of those clients.

"N-now wait a moment," Loboto stammered, and his voice pitched upward when his feet left the floor. "I've learned a lot of lessons already! You have to, to have a very official license like I—"

"Don't worry, Caligosto." The client lifted him up with his filthy, ugly psychic hand, and laid him down on a nearby table. "I'm sure you won't fail me again. Not after this."

"Y-you're quite persuasive!" Loboto whipped his head around as much as he was able. Still he couldn't see anything, until a light overhead suddenly flickered on, nearly blinding him. His loupes struggled to adjust. "I can certainly finish the project, but it would be a bit easier if you'd let me go!"

"I will in a moment," the client said, and Loboto could hear him rifling through some drawers nearby. "I just need to make sure this lesson is firmly cemented."

"C-cement, yes!" Loboto grinned, his mouth straining. "We use that in the dental field, you know! Use it to try to put teeth back together... but of course, it's better to just remove the bad tooth."

Pausing, the client stopped shuffling through the drawers. "Funny you should bring that up."

"Why?" Loboto tried to angle his loupes down so he could make some attempt at looking at the man. "Do you have a tooth in need of removal?"

The sound of metal sliding against wood reached his ears. "No," the client said. "But you have something in need of removal."

The blood drained from his face. "My teeth are fine—"

"I wasn't talking about your teeth, Doctor."

Before he could protest, another psychic hand grabbed his right arm and yanked it off to the side. At the same time, something else hovered into the light, and the teeth of a bone saw gleamed under the lamp.

Finally it clicked in his head what was happening.

"No, no!" Loboto cried, struggling against his disgusting psychic restraints as much as he was able. "Y-you can't do this—"

"I absolutely can, and I will, if that's what it will take to get you to take your job more seriously."

The bone saw was lowering toward him. "NO! I—I'll need my arm to work on this—"

"I'm sure you'll find a creative solution, like the one you promised me."

"NO!" He struggled harder, but the hands only gripped him tighter, the one grasping his arm gripping so hard he could no longer feel his hand, and it was getting hard to breathe. His chest heaved, his vision starting to glitch and flicker, the colors smeared and warping. In the fleeting moments when his loupes functioned, he could see three things: his client's form in the darkness, his own arm stretched out at his side, and the bone saw, looming ever closer.

Instinct kicked in.

BANG.

White-hot, blinding pain shot through his head as something purple exploded in front of him. There was a distant clatter, but he barely processed it, feeling dazed and disoriented.

"...You're full of surprises, doctor."

"Huhn... wha?" His loupes flicked on and off a few times as they adjusted. "What... happened...?" The bone saw was gone, so maybe his client had had a change of heart?

"You never told me you were psychic."

It took a moment before the statement registered, and when it did, Loboto scowled, his stomach turning sour. "I'm not one of those mentalists."

The grip around his middle tightened again. "Keep your outdated opinions to yourself." Anger edged into his voice as he went on: "It's time we proceed with the lesson."

Though the foggy pain in his head made it difficult to think, the sight of the bone saw hovering back into view made things alarmingly clear. "Wait, wait, NO—!"

The saw angled downward.

—

Loboto was not sure where he was, and was too exhausted and out-of-it to care. His throat hurt, and he was pretty sure some other part of him did, too, but his mind was dancing gleefully far away from whatever that was. He was also sitting, he was pretty sure.

"Good to see you awake."

His brain was sluggish to recall whose voice was addressing him. Once he did, he found himself too exhausted to be afraid, and too exhausted to remember why he would be afraid in the first place.

"I know you're feeling unwell, but as they say, live and learn. You'll live, and you've most certainly learned."

Unsure what he was supposed to have learned, he nodded.

"Good. Just know..."

Right now he just wanted to sleep. He nearly dozed off again right then and there, only for the man to seize his collar and yank him to his feet.

"If you let us down one more time," he said, and leaned in close, "I might not be kind enough to repeat that lesson."

The client stared into his eyes for a moment, and Loboto fought to keep his legs from giving out.

"I'll see you in a month, doctor."

And the next thing Loboto knew, the client was gone.

The room was gone.

Moonlight poured over him as he stood on the frosty shoreline, and chilly waves lapped at his boot heels.