Chapitre 43: 2. Crucified.
I woke up being dragged into the car, but I couldn't do anything because I was tied up with a silver chain, judging by the pain. I only saw Adam's werewolves unconscious in the alley, and they were also tied up with silver chains. My head hurt, and I could smell my own blood, so obviously, I had been hit on the head.
I tried to move, but the chains were too tight on me; my coat had been taken off so that my arms were bare, and the chains were biting hard into my flesh, weakening and burning me. I was still too distracted for me to get my rage out.
The men lifted me into the car, and someone struck an injection into my shoulder. A cage was in the car, and they locked me in it. I was tied up like a turkey at Christmas and couldn't move at all. I tried to ignore the burns and couldn't wake Mimosa up. I don't know how they had already sedated Mimosa. My arms were in agony, and every time I moved, the chains bit deeper and burned worse. I could smell my own burning flesh just about.
I tried to wrench myself away, but the medicine they injected into me took away my strength and consciousness. My vision blurred, and my muscles would not obey; my thoughts were clumsy and sluggish, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper even as I tried to fight it all the time. The drug took my consciousness entirely from the get-go.
I woke up in bed in chains. I struggled to get my eyes open and started looking around. I was chained to the bed with iron shackles; these were not silver, although I could still feel the silver burns on my skin. I tried to pull my hands through, but they were tight. Maybe with time.
And without this satanic IV. I tried to get my hand so I could reach over the drip and squeeze it shut, but I couldn't quite reach it. Next, I thought I'd try to get it in my teeth. My head could move, but I was pretty damn drugged and slow still, but I didn't give up.
As I was implementing this plan, the door opened, and the men came in. One man looked OK, with green eyes and black hair, and he looked at me with interest. He had fair skin and a white doctor's coat; I saw a black tee shirt underneath. He could be a nice-looking guy and with a smile and some other expression he would be humanly looking but as he looked at me like a piece of meat with no value, it took humanity off his expression. Turning him into a soulless monster, almost.
He said to the other one, " You will now do all the physical tests you want, and then I will start working on her. I want this cocktail to drip constantly and ensure she can't reach the drip—three days, around the clock, six bags a day, and a cooling blanket. I want as little of the drug out as possible. Keep her metabolism as slow as possible. No nutrition and weakening will help with this. When she is weak physically, she is also weak mentally. If she can't be killed just one time, a little poisoning reaction won't hurt. Then, three more days of the same dose, no more cold blanket, just a virtual helmet. After those three days, I'll start manipulating her. You'll always get your turn. I was part of the team working on this one, so it is time for me to see where she has gone."
One man had written it all down and said: "OK, Doctor Krycheck. Were there any other instructions regarding this creature?"
Krycheck shook his head and looked at me like I was just a piece of meat. He did not see me as a feeling creature or someone with a soul. He saw me as a subject, it was a chilling look.
I thought it was good to know who I was killing. Another researcher came over and moved the drip away. He hung the first bag on my drip and put it on with the infusion pump to go. Krycheck came and programmed the speed himself. Then he took a syringe from his pocket and emptied it into my drip. My head went cloudy and my eyes blurred, and there was a blackness.
At some point, I woke up completely confused. Now, I couldn't remember Adam, Samuel, or even Damon, and I was just panicking, completely helpless, lethargic, very confused, and really messed up. The medicine dripping into me made me feel almost frightened and panicky. My rage did not really sharpen my mind like normally it did. I was achy, and sore, and in the state that I hated.
Tight, extra restraints and a cooling blanket did nothing to help. I had no sense of time. I tried screaming, yelling, and talking, but I probably wasn't even making any sense. In between, I was unconscious as my blood sugar dropped so much that I lost consciousness just from that alone. The drug was dripped relentlessly for three days.
The cold blanket made me slow, and my body functions slowed down constantly; my thoughts slowed, and I tried to remember something. Even anything, but somehow, the drug blocked access to the memories, and I didn't know who or what I even was.
I tried to escape, but the panic seemed to increase daily; likewise, my sense of reality and time blurred effectively. I had hallucinations. I got my memories back somehow, but I didn't know how. Hallucinations were always horrible and nasty. They made me full of panic and fear and paralyzed me as wholly as I could.
Damon comes and eats me dry, and I forgive him, but he walks away when I was just a meal to him. I saw a scene in the woods where he threw my dead white body to the forest floor and walked away. Or then Adam and Samuel say I'm nothing and tell me to go away, not even giving me clothes to wear. In these, I stood outside either the house in Chicago or some other house, feeling so damn hopeless and alone.
Or Damon kissing another woman and telling her all about me. I mean, calling me names. What a freak I am, a monster, a weirdo who can't die. These were running through my mind, and I knew nothing about anything.
Then, three days later, the helmet took everything I had left. They had a screen with kaleidoscopic patterns moving, different colors, clicks, crackles, beeps, and bleeps from the headphones. When you have werewolf senses, headphones on your ears are not comfortable.
Then there were various quick flashes on the screen, almost too sudden movements that my eyes kept reacting to. There were smells in the helmet. Eventually, I didn't know where I was or who I was. I was in such a hellish place somehow. The panic had turned into some sort of compulsive need to do something. A voice spoke to me. It told me how Damon loved the other, how Damon kissed the other.
The voice told me how I should be angry and hurt. How should I kill Damon? How should I kill Adam or Samuel? How should I turn into a wolf and maul a congressman because they allow drug testing? I knew the drug was still dripping; I saw it.
The voice wasn't familiar; it wasn't safe, and I didn't want to listen to it. I didn't try to block out all these suggestions, and I dug into my head for the feelings of safety and the memories. What I got first was the smell of passionfruit and Damon, and I clung to it with everything I had.
Then I felt the pain. There was severe pain everywhere, and the men were talking about a poisoning reaction. I was convulsing and moving. My mind was not operating. I was not listening to his suggestions. Krycheck told them to sedate me, but no medicine worked. My body was attacking now at all the sedatives, like ketamine, propofol, and fentanyl that they tried on me. Then, they brought a new medication. The panic returned, but now came the rage. I remembered my rage and slowly brought it out.
They pushed more drugs in high doses of some new anesthetic they had developed that would put me to sleep for five hours. I was asleep but barely, and the symptoms of poisoning kept up my rage, which again fought the drugs. I had become a very dangerous creature, operating solely with instinct and my rage.
Eventually, I was put in a white padded room to rest, when I was so drugged I was harmless. They had been stuffing me with as much as they could all the time and had got my system so slow that I couldn't stay conscious long enough to get my rage out properly.
Krycheck wanted to see if the programming would hold. It didn't, but I didn't tell them that. This had been the programming that was supposed to be done for me in the first place, and Krycheck had been one of Dr. Kendrick's star pupils. He had hoped my neural structure would be plastic enough for him to brainwash me, but he was utterly wrong. I did not tell him that.
They shot me with anesthetic darts that put me to sleep. I would fall into an unconscious heap every time the darts hit, well it took quite a few of them to knock me out. My rage always crept up when I was awake and wouldn't go away. It slowly filled my mind, erasing everything else from my head. I began to see people as victims, not as persons, and I felt like mutilating them alive.
Something woke up inside me. Darkness. Not just my rage, but some part of me that wanted to hurt, maim, revenge, killer instinct almost. Of course, it was born out of need, but it was a black part of me. The part was soulless. It only wanted to kill. There was no innocent, only those who had hurt me. Victims.
Mimosa was asleep the whole time. Luckily, she didn't know anything. This was just boring when the victims didn't get close enough. Apparently, the werewolf's claws I got out and the somewhat feral look kept all the so-good mutilating victims at bay, so then I started playing sleeping so the victims would come closer. I wanted to sink my hand inside them, pull something warm out, and see if the victim would survive. Repeat until the victim dies.
My rage became more and more apparent. I would shred someone now and then, and my rage grew, time after time. As I was drugged, I felt the ragewell fill up and gush over. One day, I noticed that my hair had grown out again, and that I had been here for a while. I guess it was time to leave. My killer instinct was out as well.
The toxic reaction still hadn't subsided, but I didn't care. There were symptoms, but now my rage was wiping them all away. Now, I couldn't make out any faces. They were all just victims who had hurt me, and no more; my rage was really boiling over. I was ready to have some fun, to feel those innards in my hands.
Now my rage was in full swing, and I was playing unconscious, lying on the padded floor, naked and disoriented as they tried to keep me as weak as possible. I was a living skeleton again, and I could feel and smell this material under me, the smell making my rage grow as I smelled my sweat, spit, and blood all soaked into this floor over and over again as I was stunned with darts.
Somehow, the smell had built up, and my pheromones, my pain, and my despair all stank, but I couldn't feel them anymore as the rage had burned everything out of my head. Once again, I heard the door open and didn't move. I didn't change my breathing rhythm or anything when Krycheck and another examiner came to check on me.
I smelled Krycheck's aftershave, his sweat, and some chemicals that had soaked into his coat. The other examiner also smelled of sweat and fear. He was afraid of me, and I smelled the tranquilizer gun in his hand, the metallic stench, the pungent stench of the drug, and I waited. They got closer, and Krycheck pushed the button, letting out a beep.
He thought the programming would work and the beep would hold me in place. Well, it didn't. When I realized the men were right where I thought they were, I jumped up and threw Krycheck against the wall and another researcher. Krycheck fell to the ground unconscious, and I killed the other researcher when I snapped his neck.
I didn't have time to go in and kill Krycheck when more victims came into the room, so I killed the nurses and the guards that had come into the room when I got out of the room. I went down the halls and mutilated and tore apart all the victims with my own hands. I was almost naked and didn't care about the darts that were being shot at me. It felt good to maim and kill everyone who had hurt me. To sink my hands inside them, pull something out and see life fade out of their eyes, just perfect.
I started destroying the place, collecting all the drugs I could find in big sports bags, smashing computers, pouring liquids on them, and destroying all the fucking samples they had taken from me. I didn't care about the bullets or darts being fired at me. I was a soulless killing machine, and my rage kept me going. I felt nothing.
I destroyed as much as I could before I grabbed the drug bags and walked out the door. I didn't know if anyone survived, and I didn't care. If I could have, I would have set the complete shit on fire. Somehow, I knew we were still in Maryland, and I started walking down the road. After a short walk, I recognized where I was and started walking towards the house.
Now, I was on my way to the house and to safety. I had put on scrubs, but my hands were bloody, and my clothes were stained with blood as the blood that had splashed on me soaked into my clothes. I walked down the road. I was still a killing machine, but I didn't see people as victims unless they had done something to me. Now I was going home.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone