บท 169: 9. Andante, Andante.
I woke up in a dimly lit room. Sark's voice echoed through the loudspeaker, its sharp tone piercing the air. "Thanks for that," he said, his words laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Don't worry, we won't be needing that anymore. We already got all the samples."
The room was filled with the scent of antiseptic, a sterile environment that only added to my unease.
"You'll be pleased to know you're making progress and advancing medicine again," Sark continued. "It took time for you to heal. Your son was quite aggressive, I see."
His words sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and anger bubbling inside me.
My liver throbbed with pain, a constant reminder of the damage inflicted upon me. The metallic taste of platinum coated my mouth, a bitter reminder of the experiments they were subjecting me to. I lay in bed, tightly restrained and drugged into a hazy state.
Tests continued. In one moment, the room seemed to pulsate with pressure, making me feel that I was almost exploding, and then next the heat intensifying with each passing moment. My senses were overwhelmed, pushed to their limits. Then, suddenly, everything went dark. I was wrapped in numbing wrappings, my nose and ears blocked, plunging me into a disorienting silence.
Despite the agony, I fought to keep my rage in check. The platinum coursing through my veins only fueled my frustration, but I knew I had to remain in control. It wasn't just the isolation that tormented me; it was the pain, a constant reminder of my reality.
I had learned to use pain as a grounding force, to regain my grip on the world around me. Damien had done something similar in the shed, and now I found myself in a similar situation. It was not mere torture; there was knowledge to be gained, even if some of it was unsettling.
Once again, I was subjected to examination, my body encased in metal. Sixteen different metals had been dripped in my veins, as they monitored my vital signs, studying the effects.
Damien, unaware of my consciousness, spoke to Sark. "She is not ugly," he said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and frustration. "My brother is an idiot, losing her. They're going through a tough time. He constantly berates her, and blames her for everything. He lets that damn woman make all the decisions and doesn't even let Charles or Adam be with her."
Sark grunted, uninterested in their personal drama. "Interesting but irrelevant," he replied dismissively. "I am not interested in her domestic life."
Damien persisted, his voice filled with a sinister plan. "She's in a vulnerable state. You saw how magnificent she is as a feline. Think if we can break her, push her to a point where she chooses to embrace her feline side, becoming feral. Then she will be easier to manage. Her feline nature is much more straightforward. It would be easier to gain her trust."
Sark sat in silence for a moment before finally speaking. "She is not ugly," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "Her facial symmetry is perfect. She may be willful and stubborn, but I'm not sure if you can train her to be your pet. However, I must admit, she was magnificent as a feline. I've always had a fondness for big cats. She can take any form she desires. I would love for her to lie beside me in front of a roaring fireplace on a cold winter night, so I could stroke her and hear her purr as my loyal companion."
The thought of Sark finding me attractive made me cringe. It disgusted me to think that he saw me as his pet. It only fueled my hatred, and soon, that hatred would extend to Sark himself. I wished he saw me as a freak rather than admiring my facial symmetry. My mind shut down once again, and I drifted off into oblivion.
Damien spoke up, his voice filled with a sense of strategy. "In her feline shape, she can be useful to us. She can be our companion, our weapon. But first, we must break her. We need to make her want to be a feline. Damon is doing most of the breaking, so we won't have to. Our role is to provide her with some comfort in her feline form."
Sark seemed skeptical. "But how do you know that they have domestic problems?" he asked.
Damien smirked. "I've lived in those houses for decades. I've been a convincing Damon from time to time. It's not difficult to plant little microphones and cameras here and there. Adam no longer sweeps those houses since they have the protective bubble, so he doesn't realize it. Almost every house is rigged. You have no idea how much they fuck, Mariella and Damon. My own brother, Damon, has become nothing more than a fucking machine. And they despise her. I never imagined their love, once a genuine threat to my existence, would fade away. They say love is the strongest force in the universe, but not what existed between Mimi and Damon. That is more or less dead."
Sark grunted in response. Love was a concept he couldn't comprehend. He didn't believe in love or emotions. Logic, sense, and science were the only things he trusted.
I struggled to wake up, my body exhausted. These tests had taken a toll on my physical fitness and health, causing me to lose weight and strength at an alarming rate. I heard footsteps approaching, and then the door swung open. Damien stormed in, his anger evident.
"He ran away, that fool!" Damien exclaimed furiously. "And he took the others with him. But don't worry, baby. They won't save you. You've already been moved elsewhere."
He sneered, his cold eyes scanning my drugged state.
His voice dripped with contempt as he spoke, "Well, well, aren't you getting to where I want you to go? Utterly helpless, weak, and sick. But let's see if we can skip the sickness this time."
I glanced around the room, my vision hazy from the drugs that coursed through my veins. The room seemed familiar, yet subtly different, indicating I had been unconscious for quite some time. My body felt feeble, a fact that I was acutely aware of, but I maintained a neutral expression, desperately attempting to formulate an escape plan. However, my mind struggled to break free from the fog of the drugs. The last memory I held was of a horrific procedure, my spleen being mercilessly probed and metalized. After that, the darkness consumed me.
I had no way of knowing how long I had been unconscious, but what mattered most was that Lepard had managed to escape and had apparently set the other shapeshifters free. Now would be the opportune moment to take action if I weren't bound to the bed by a cold, unyielding metal chain. It was a pity that I was so heavily drugged, my senses dulled, and my body weakened to the point of helplessness. The despicable Damien sighed, his gaze fixed upon me, almost exhibiting a peculiar sentiment.
It sent shivers down my spine, a creepy sensation that only intensified as he continued to speak, "Never mind, we still have one more test to conduct, at least one more test, Baby."
He sat beside me on the bed, his touch repulsing me. Disgust filled every fiber of my being. He then rose to his feet, and Sark entered the room, his tanks dragging behind him. His eyes locked onto me, regarding me as a mere piece of meat, as he always did. It was a stark contrast to how Good Sark had once looked at me, with warmth and kindness.
Sark eagerly exclaimed, "Now we embark on testing a groundbreaking sedative/sleeping pill. Inspired by Damien's extensive knowledge of the wonders of jelly, we've transformed it into a gel-like substance. What's fascinating is its slow metabolism, which slows down every function in the body. Our current focus is observing its effects. I've already induced a six-month coma in some subjects using this marvelous drug. Damien will administer the gel to you daily, meticulously monitoring your metabolism, body temperature, and consciousness..."
With a nod of agreement, Damien secured me tightly to the bed, ensuring my immobility. He then brought the tanks closer, their mechanical hum filling the room. Approaching my side, he donned a surgical scalpel and delicately incised my upper abdomen just below the ribs. Gently, he inserted a transparent tube, roughly the thickness of his thumb, into the incision.
Waiting patiently, he allowed the incision to heal around the tube before opening the tap. "This will allow the jelly to first enter your abdominal cavity, swiftly spreading to your limbs and beneath your skin for rapid effect," he explained.
The same procedure was repeated on the other side, resulting in two thick tubes protruding from my stomach, steadily dripping the jelly inside me. Sark massaged it in, his hands exerting a near-bruising pressure. To ensure warmth, he intermittently applied heat packs, maintaining his hands' temperature. A staggering 35 liters of jelly were drained into my stomach. Occasionally, they adjusted the bed to an almost upright position, using gravity to distribute the jelly evenly, even in the most obscure corners.
Sedatives were injected into my veins, assuring my near-constant state of unconsciousness. Damien applied the gel to my legs, diligently spreading it each time I twitched. He continued this process, covering my arms and every inch of my skin's lining. This routine became my daily reality.
At day's end, they meticulously recorded my heart rate, electrocardiogram, and body temperature. The tubes remained embedded in my stomach, and I could perceive the jelly being swiftly absorbed as the pressure gradually diminished within hours. For the initial few days, nothing peculiar caught my attention. Drugged and devoid of rage, my mind remained clouded, leaving no room for escape. However, on the third day, as Damien began applying the gel to my legs, I could sense the medicine taking hold. Absorbed from my stomach, it introduced a fresh layer of weariness and confusion to my already disoriented state.
They were visibly excited. My pulse had noticeably dropped, my body temperature had slightly decreased, and my brain waves were already exhibiting subtle changes. Now, the heat wraps were carefully placed on the jelly for an hour or two at a time, allowing for quick absorption. They persistently administered drugs, fully aware that I could escape if given the opportunity. The effects continued to worsen throughout the day as the jelly seeped into my legs and permeated under my skin.
Once again, in the morning, Damien took pleasure in applying the jelly to my belly cavity, his hands now rubbing it in. He removed the thick tubes, opting for a slower approach. Each day, my temperature dropped by a degree, and the alterations in my brain became increasingly noticeable. Damien continued to massage my stomach until all the jelly had been safely absorbed. They no longer heavily drugged me, as this potent substance took control.
My body temperature continued to plummet, causing me to slip into a state of sleep. My energy levels dwindled, and even irritation became difficult to feel as my bodily functions slowed. I found myself sleeping more and more, only briefly awakening during the application of the gel. Damien ensured it was agonizing enough to jolt me into consciousness, yet as soon as the pain subsided, I drifted back to sleep.
It was morning, although I couldn't discern which morning. Awakening became increasingly challenging, as fatigue and coldness consumed me. He used a taser to forcefully rouse me from my slumber, after which Damien came to sit on the bed beside me, gently stroking my hair away from my eyes. I shivered in disgust.
"Good morning, Baby," he began, allowing the jelly to drip and skillfully massaging it into my stomach.
The concoction contained poisons and toxins, causing excruciating pain that paradoxically kept me awake.
Damien's sneer twisted his face, his lips curling with a cruel satisfaction. "Are we getting a little tired again?" he jeered. "Well now, no more gelling in your limbs. Except always I do in your tummy."
The pain sliced through me, as multiple venoms in that damn jelly coursed through my veins. I could barely muster the strength to stay awake. He had injected me quickly, the cold gel seeping into my body, numbing my senses. He reveled in my suffering, his presence a constant torment. No longer chained, he sat on my bed, his hand caressing my stomach, radiating a sickening warmth. The jelly, he ensured, was being absorbed, prolonging my agony.
He taunted me, describing the decline of my vital functions - my slowing heart rate, my fading brain waves. Hibernation was prohibited.
"Did you know, baby, that I loved you too?" he mused, his voice dripping with twisted affection. "How am I capable of loving now, but let's say I'm still very attached to you and you don't notice? After all, we were married for many years."
His words sent shivers of revulsion down my spine. But he wasn't done. He spoke of his search for witches who could perform a permanent body invasion, his backup plan. The touch of his hand, cold and clammy, made my skin crawl with disgust.
"Few of those bodies that Sark has destroyed are shifters," he murmured, his voice laced with anticipation. "Meaning I've got a few shapeshifters lined up, waiting for the witch. And then, Voila, I'll be a shapeshifter again, just like you."
His fingers traced my trembling form, outlining his sickening plans. He had struck a deal with Sark, ensuring that he could claim me when sleep overtook me, when the jelly failed to be absorbed from my stomach. He would prepare me, mold me to his desires, so that when I awoke, he would be transformed.
"You will teach me how to love, teach me how to feel," he whispered, his voice filled with deluded longing. "Let me be salvatore for you. In time, as I am your mate, you'll be in heat, and I'll conceive you. At first, I thought I could have impregnated you before you woke up, but I want you to feel it. You'll learn because as soon as the first kittens are born, I'll breed you again and again. You will love me. I will learn to love you, too."
The thought of teaching him anything but my wrath seemed impossible in my exhausted state.
Damien gently massaged my stomach, his fingers moving in slow circles until he felt the jelly-like substance had fully absorbed. With a satisfied nod, he silently walked away, leaving me struggling to remain awake amidst the intense discomfort.
As I fought to keep my eyes open, Damien's voice whispered in my ear, "31 degrees. Remember the reward that awaits you upon awakening?"
Exhausted, I succumbed to sleep once again, dreading the impending jelling.
Meanwhile, Damien distanced himself from Mimi, allowing her to rest undisturbed.
Sark, curious, observed his departure and inquired, "Why the talk of breeding? What's the purpose behind the affection and desire you show towards her?"
Damien locked eyes with him and replied, "She's a pretender. Breaking her, makes her want to be a feline. Though you may not possess extensive psychological knowledge, she will learn while she sleeps. Her brainwaves indicate she will be receptive to conditioning once she enters a deep state. This means we can mold her mind, and implant various ideas, such as being cooperative with us and refraining from resistance. I've already done it once. Love and breeding talk is one weapon in my arsenal to make her want to go feral."
A thin smile crept across Damien's face as he reminisced about the successful session.
Sark, growing impatient, pressed further, "What did you do exactly? Programming her could be advantageous, but she possesses great strength and willpower."
Damien reclined in his office chair, causing it to creak, and lazily responded, "Damon's teeth. He had access to some potent substances, as you know. I concocted a cocktail that paralyzed her will, rendering her submissive and compliant. I applied it to her limbs, effectively immobilizing her. And then, I informed her that every three hours of pain she endured, she would be rewarded with 15 minutes of respite, free from suffering, as long as she behaved like a good girl. It sank in. I made sure of it using Damon's telepathy. It's still embedded in her mind, so if Damon ever uses a few carefully selected sentences I left behind, let's just say she'll be thrown into a state of sheer panic."
Sark grunted in acknowledgment and remarked, "Crude, but effective. We need more control over her. It's a shame she stopped working; we could have used her to infiltrate the resistance or force her to cease hunting us."
Damien's gaze fixated on the slumbering woman, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to begin his lessons for the baby. He planned to dismantle her slowly, piece by piece, not exceeding the threshold of breaking her completely, but enough to make her fully comprehend his manipulation and her utter helplessness.
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