Kapitel 317: 36. Tragedy.
I woke up groggily to the cramped car, my body feeling heavy and sluggish. The spiked handles dug into my wrists, leaving painful marks. The scent of a potent muscle relaxant hung in the air, overpowering and nauseating.
"Mornin', baby," a voice sneered, breaking through the haze. "You've been out for a while. About 18 hours, give or take. We're far from Australia now. Almost there, though. How do you like my little muscle-relaxing jelly? Bet you're feelin' it, even if it's mostly worn off by now. Don't worry, though. It doesn't numb you. You'll feel everythin'. Just can't do anythin' about it."
Anger surged through me, fueled by my helplessness. I longed to unleash my fury on the person responsible. But for now, I had no choice but to wait for the effects of the jelly to wear off.
As the car slowed down, I realized we had arrived at our destination. The driver, my husband Damon Salvatore, who was not in a good mood, stepped out and disappeared into the distance for what felt like an eternity. I strained against the paralyzing effects of the jelly, but my muscles refused to obey. I was completely immobile.
Finally, Damon approached the car. He removed the spiked handcuffs, his tongue flicking over my wrist where the wounds had already healed slowly. A twisted smile played on his lips as he reveled in my suffering.
"The little ingredient in the jelly," he taunted, "it slows down your healing. Oh, baby, I'm gonna enjoy this."
With ease, Damon lifted me out of the car and carried me into a larger building. It had tin walls and a cold, industrial feel. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the horrors within. Metal tables were bolted to the concrete floor, and a drainage system ran alongside it.
In the center of the room stood a strange contraption - a white shuttle made of plastic about two or three meters long. Its curved lid resembled a solarium, but its purpose was unknown. Nearby, a table displayed an array of sharp blades and probing instruments.
As memories of Sark and his computer-controlled experiments flooded my mind, a wave of fear washed over me, causing me to shudder involuntarily. I couldn't help but wonder if Damon had gotten this equipment from the medical facilities, looting or gaining it somehow. The thought of him working for Sark sent chills down my spine.
None of these mobile models had ever crossed our paths during any of our gigs. There were two other tables or shuttles in the room, but for some reason, I felt no inclination to get into either of them. My muscles were unresponsive, leaving me unable to see everything clearly, as if I was trapped in a state of helplessness. My head wouldn't turn even. The stench in the room permeated the air, causing my naked skin to crawl. I was completely at Damon's mercy and did not know what to do.
Damon carried me over to one of the cold, steel tables and fastened the spiked grips onto me. He skillfully inserted a cannula into my elbow and began dripping a thick, dark brown liquid from an IV bag that had been prepared in advance. Other bags contained sickly poison green and strange brownish orange, but they had not yet been administered.
My muscles remained completely unresponsive, rendering me unable to free myself from the shackles that held me captive. The blinding brightness of the lights overhead made it difficult for me to focus, but I strained to turn my head, desperate to see what Damon was doing.
He circled each shuttle, attaching them to a satisfying hum, pausing momentarily to press a button before moving on to the next one. Then he approached the computer and powered it on. My eyes caught sight of the cameras embedded in the ceiling, leaving me wondering why they were there. Were they some kind of security measure?
Suddenly, Damon crouched down beside me, his face at eye level. The table on which I was resting was unusually low.
He spoke, his voice dripping with a sickening familiarity, saying, "Did you know, baby, all these devices are interconnected? Once I place you on the first device, the others will know exactly what you are, what needs to be done to you, and where you are in the process. I'll always keep you informed of our destination, so you won't have to guess."
His gaze lingered on me, treating me like a mere piece of meat. He brushed my hair off my forehead, a gesture that felt so wrong, causing me to shiver with disgust. His satisfaction was apparent in his expression.
Then he said, "Maybe one day I can reveal the true purpose behind all this, aside from my own unrestricted pleasure. As you may know, I was once a researcher with my state-of-the-art facilities, conducting various experiments. I can confess that lives were lost, but as you understand, humans are fragile beings, and even the shape-shifters proved no stronger. Now, you are my target, and a scientific aim is at play. Perhaps one day, if this succeeds, you may be involved in saving lives. But it requires time and many sessions, my dear. Of course, I derive immense pleasure from it, so do not doubt that at all."
After the brown substance had fallen, I wasn't sure what it was, but Damon untied me from the table and carried me toward the white shuttle. As he opened the lid, a metallic cross greeted my eyes. Its design was minimalistic, and I shivered as my naked skin contacted the chilling metal. He positioned my hands and feet in shackles, not too close together, but not uncomfortably wide apart, either. Then he closed the lid, enveloping me in darkness. The shuttle emitted a distinct scent of lubricant, steel, and a hint of ozone. I could feel the vibrations coursing through the shuttle beneath me.
Damon's voice resonated through the loudspeaker, breaking the silence. "Now, this machine will scan you first, followed by sample collection. It will then proceed to test your pain tolerance and reactions. The gathered data will be crucial for the other machines. Feel free to scream as loud as you wish in there. It's quite soundproof."
Alone in the pitch-black darkness, I did not know what awaited me. Claustrophobia set in, suffocating my senses. Suddenly, I felt the intrusion of various blades and probes, penetrating my nostrils, ears, and even behind my eyes. They emerged from the sides of my eyeballs, invading my pussy, asshole too, and even my belly button. My sides were not spared, either.
Each insertion caused sharp, searing pains to shoot through my body. A collar secured my head in place as the machine probed my eyes, subjecting them to an excruciatingly bright light that intensified the torment. I endured, the pain becoming a constant, intensifying presence. Minute by minute, my agony escalated, and I fought to withstand each additional moment.
Utterly helpless and devoid of control, my anger boiled within me. Eventually, the pain engulfed me entirely, triggering relentless screams as I reached my breaking point. Despite that, it just kept getting worse. The machine did something to my throat so I couldn't make any more noise. I was in a dark coffin that by now smelled of my blood, sweat, metals, ozone, and oils. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. I don't know how long I was there, but Damon didn't say a word the whole time. I felt my bones being drilled and my insides being twisted. I panicked pretty badly.
Finally, the lid creaked open, and Damon's icy gaze pierced through me like a scientist dissecting a bug. Not a word escaped his lips as he released me from the clutches of the machine, disconnecting the hose from the wall. The icy water cascaded over my body, sending a jolt of stinging pain through the millions of wounds and scratches inflicted by the relentless machine.
Tremors wracked my body as the coldness and shock enveloped me, disorienting me for a moment. Each breath became a struggle as my diaphragm refused to cooperate. Once I was deemed clean enough, he lifted me off the machine, leading me to a cold, unforgiving metal table where he promptly re-secured me with unforgiving shackles.
I was too far gone; that had been too much for me to be able to act. I was almost broken by that experience. I remained motionless, allowing him to continue whatever twisted tasks lay ahead. The infusion resumed, now accompanied by a sickly green substance. Gratitude washed over me, knowing that the agonizing darkness confined within that machine was finally over. If only it had been a mere coffin. I wasn't so claustrophobic, but that pain, darkness, and helplessness were just too much. I felt utterly drained.
The pain, however, radiated from every direction, assaulting my body in unfathomable ways. No Sark or sterile medical facility had ever subjected me to such all-encompassing torment and anguish. They always focused on one aspect, like my liver and its resilience. But this, this was an onslaught upon my liver, intestines, lungs, kidneys, and eyes simultaneously. It was unbearable.
Damon approached the computer, his expression devoid of any emotion, as he scanned the numbers before him. His monotonous voice echoed as he dictated into the typewriter clutched in his hand.
"The subject endured eight hours on machine one, following the programmed parameters to completion. Infusion is underway with substance number two, three liters. The subject displayed signs of confusion and disorientation, unaware of their surroundings. Breathing difficulties and a 25% decrease in healing rate were observed, with visible wounds and cuts. Initial impairment of vision was noted, along with significant psychological distress during device usage. Further adjustments to parameters, increasing by 15%, will be made for subsequent device usage, to fully assess the subject's resilience. The subject's initial weight was 62 kilos. The muscle relaxant exhibited efficacy for approximately 30 hours, with the administered dosage proving sufficient."
Damon's fingers danced gracefully across the keyboard, the soft clicking sounds filling the room for a moment. His piercing gaze shifted back to me, his eyes like lasers cutting through the air. He came at me and took the empty bag off from the cannula. A nondescript brown bag lay empty in his hands, its contents now inside me. The scent of that mysterious brown substance lingered in the air, a mix of sweetness and uncertainty. He put the bag in a biohazard bag, leaving me a little uncertain of what the hell poison he had infused me with.
With swift movements, Damon hung orange jelly bags, their vibrant color contrasting against the sterile room. His fingers tapped the green bag, a muscle relaxant, as he spoke in a soothing tone, "Muscle relaxant, baby, to keep you relaxed. This little cocktail will keep your rage at bay." His tone was all wrong again; he was downright creepy.
Without warning, he took a scalpel and opened me up once again, right below my diaphragm. The pouring of orange jelly into my abdomen was relentless, filling me until my body bulged uncomfortably. The wound from the cannula insertion hadn't even healed properly, refusing to close. I could feel that damn jelly clouding my mind already some more, making me feel so utterly helpless.
I tried to move and got my hand to move a little even. In response, Damon stuffed the green jelly under my skin against my muscles, immobilizing me completely. The sensation of helplessness washed over me, accompanied by Damon's hands massaging my overfilled belly and muscles, feeling jelly underneath. I dreaded what the next machine would bring, not wanting to witness the horrors it held.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein