Fantasy Blood Bound

[Phadia]

Mae:

Current location: ???
Emotional Status: Confused and terrified
Physical state: Mildly injured

The cold was the first thing to awaken her.
The furnace must be out again, she thought to herself, groggily. Fortunately, this was an easy fix.
Unlike the time that storm had knocked a tree into the roof, or one of the younger children had nearly set fire to the bedroom with a magnifying glass, this was something Mae could rectify.
While life at Mrs. Thackeray's House for Unwanted Children wasn't always bountiful, the children there had an almost endless supply of donations streaming in- especially from that of the elderly community.
And if there was something that the little old ladies loved most, it would have to be knitting. Hats, mitts, doll clothes, and blankets flooded the home in abundance.
With a particularly brutal winter having just come to an end, the furnace had ran itself into the ground heating the Victorian style mansion. And while it had been repaired numerous times now, the old thing was still prone to giving up the ghost, especially during the middle of the night.
Thankfully, a couple of the knitted blankets would remedy the situation nicely.
Which is what Mae had decided to get up and fetch.... when she came to the realization that she couldn't move.
Her limbs were exceptionally heavy, almost as though something was holding her back.
In a still half-asleep state, she tried again to turn onto her side.
This time, a harsh clang of metal upon metal shook her to her senses.
A pit welled up in her stomach, growing with each passing second. The more awake she became, the clearer the sense of 'wrongness' became.
She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as though they'd be weighted down by some unknown force.
At the same moment, she became acutely aware of the pressure on her wrists and ankles, and a cold sensation encircling them.

"0:03am: Subject D27-1 has lost consciousness."

The unfamiliar voice spoke in a monotone voice, followed by the familiar sound of a pen on paper.

"0:04am: Subject D27-2 is currently regaining consciousness."

Huh....? Is someone talking to me? Mae tried again to open her eyes, this time with limited success.
That success was short lived, however, the blinding light forcing her to close them almost immediately. Squinting, she opened her eyes once more, but slowly this time.
The first thing she could see were the bright florescent light-bulbs affixed above her head. They lined up in rows, like marching soldiers protecting the while ceiling beyond.
To the sides were white walls, cold and sterile looking, not at all welcoming like the faded yellow wallpaper of the girls' bedroom.
A man clad in a white lab coat and mask stood nearby, clipboard in hand.
"What's...?"
She tried to speak, but her voice came out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper, her mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed full of cotton balls.
She swallowed and tried again.
"What's going on?"
As the man approached, Mae tried again to sit up, only to see what was preventing her. Her arms and legs were shackled to what seemed to be an operating table.
Her once baby blue dress was torn in several places, and covered in what appeared to be blood, now drying.
She started to panic, tugging on the restraints.
The masked man set down the clipboard, picking up a syringe instead. He approached her, speaking in the same lifeless voice as before.

"Administering Round 19."

"What are you doing?! What is that?! I'm bleeding! I need help!"
Her voice rose in fear as she tried in vain to move away.
The prick of the needle never came, however, and for a moment, Mae thought the man had changed his mind.
That is, until she felt the cold creeping up her forearm.
An IV?! I'm not sick...!
She started to explain herself, realizing that there must have been some sort of mix up. Or maybe there had been an accident. As she spoke, however, the cold feeling in her arm began to burn.
"That hurts! It's not supposed to-"
She stopped herself, biting her lip. Painkillers weren't supposed to hurt. This nurse was supposed to answer her. There must have been some sort of accident.
The more she tried to rationalize what was happening, the more intense the pain became.
"It's burning...!"
She cried out, thrashing around against the restraints in a desperate attempt to escape the pain taking hold of her own body.
"Please help! It hurts!! It hurts so much....!!"
The pain was blinding, like tiny shards of glass being propelled through every vein.
While Mae screamed, the strange man stood idly by, taking notes.
After an indeterminable amount of time, he approached with a second syringe.

"Administering Round 20."

Mae:

Current location: 7th floor cell block
Emotional Status: Confused and scared
Physical state: Mildly injured

......
Mae awoke with a start. The first thing she noticed was that her arms and legs were free to move again. She instantly tried to sit up, only to be slammed with a wave of dizziness that forced her right back down again.
What's happening....? Was that a nightmare....?
She tried to move her mouth and test out her words, only to find that her lips were covered in dirt. She started to cough a little, spitting it back out.
Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.
The blinding light from before was gone, replaced instead with a thick dimness.
The nearest light was a singular uncovered bulb hanging from a rafter several feet away.
Slowly, she tried against to sit up and get a better look around.
The room was no longer than eight feet. Two of the walls were solid dirt, heavily compacted. The other two were barred like that of a standard prison cell. A letter 'D' followed by a number '27' had been etched into the wall beyond the bars. The floor was made of compacted dirt as well. Other than herself, the room was completely barren.
The air smelled stale and faintly of vomit and some sort of chemical smell.
A prison?!
It was clear to Mae that there had been some sort of terrible mistake.
I didn't do anything....!
The last thing she recalled was going to bed in her attic bedroom after tucking the younger girls to sleep. Then the nightmare, of course.
She reached out her arm to touch the bars, only to let out a pained gasp. Her arm was swollen and hot, a red dot in the center of the swelling.
The IV....
No... this has to be a mistake.
Tears threatening to spring up, Mae blinked them away before opening her mouth to speak.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
Her voice was weak and didn't carry too well, but she persisted anyway.
"Can anyone hear me?"

 

[Satanic Nightjar]

____Armad Nocturne stepped into the elevator, glancing at the watch on his wrist. A few minutes late, but certainly no more than an irrelevant fifteen. If no one confronted him on his late arrival on the way down, it would be forgotten about by tomorrow morning. Absentmindedly punching a few buttons, he leaned back and waited for the doors to open. A moment later, the elevator was still standing still in its original position. The useless old thing was malfunctioning yet again, and he was certainly in no mood for patience. Slamming his pale fingers into the button with a large "7" engraved upon it, it finally lit up and the elevator at last began to move. Creaking and groaning, it protested every second of the journey down to the seventh floor, and apparently was eager to rid itself of him. The door opened faster than Armad had ever seen it open before, taking well under the typical ten seconds to drag itself open.

____The scene in front of him was nightmare-worthy horror, but he faced it with an indifferent expression on his face. He had endured suffering equally terrible as these children, and he did not intend to allow his heart to be broken yet again by something that did not involve him. These experiments, he reminded himself daily, were out of his control. But if they were available to him to benefit from the money and allowed him to pursue his . . . more private interests, then he would take advantage of that opportunity. The world was a massive tapestry of conflicting evil and good, and pulling a single string will not ever effect the final picture. At least, that's how he viewed the torturing of these children. However, all too often the strings we pull and manipulate cause the big picture to fall apart.

____Armad's footsteps echoed through the halls with a precise, smooth, and completely intentional click, click, click. The different sections of the cells went by in a blur, and he made no effort to see into them. More often than not, their contents were exceptionally disturbing,

____"D-7, D-8 . . . " He mumbled to himself as he passed by, eyes avoided everything but the numbers etched into the stone and metal prisons. The darkened hallway was eerily quiet on this Wednesday morning, the peaceful air filled with nothing but a sense of abandonment. Focusing on the constant sound of his shoes on the floor, he continued making his way past the cells. He had one thing in particular on his mind today, and like always he was certain that he would accomplish it. Each new day was another piece in the grand puzzle that was his ultimate plan, and never had he misplaced a single one, nor did he ever intend to.

____Armad was so absorbed in his thoughts that the faint sound echoing down the hall almost escaped his notice. It was a high, haunting sound, reminiscent of the voice of a terrified young child in the way that it trembled. He resisted the urge to investigate for only a moment before curiosity got the better of him, and he quickened his pace. As he got closer, he was able to distinguish full words and sentences. "Can anyone hear me?" The words were spoken in a desperate, pleading tone that infected what remained of his heart.

____When finally she came into view, he was surprised by her appearance. She was older than most of the people here, far older judging by her face alone, and despite her obvious fear she seemed healthy enough. "Hello, there," Armad murmured with a wide, threatening smile. "What do we have here?"

 

[Phadia]

Current location: 7th floor cell block
Emotional status: Scared but hopeful
Physical state: Slightly dehydrated and feverish

Mae:
Mae flinched at the sudden appearance of the stranger on the other side of the bars. She hadn't honestly been expecting someone to answer her so quickly. With the events of the... nightmare or... whatever that was, still fresh in her mind, she was still highly on edge.
She then began to shiver, her tattered dress offering little protecting against the cool damp air.
Clinging to the bars for support, she looked up at the man addressing her.
His hair hung in a haphazard sort of a way, framing a sharp jawline. With his cold smile and sharp beak-like nose, the man almost resembled a vulture, preparing to dive in for a meal.
Yet, Mae knew she had to take her chances.
"Please..." she begged, her voice cracking.
"There's been some awful mistake! I'm not supposed to be here. You've got the wrong person!"
The words tumbled out from dry, bleeding lips, her voice managing to gain a little bit of volume as she spoke.
"Just call the orphanage. Mistress Langdon will clear this all up..."
As she trailed off, she could feel a warning bell going off in the back of her mind. Didn't most prison cells have a sink and a toilet, at least? Unless this was just a holding cell....
As her tongue passed over her parched lips, she became acutely aware of just how thirsty she was.
She briefly considered asking for a glass of water, but quickly decided against it. Something about this man's countenance spooked her, though she couldn't quite put a finger on it...
Besides... I can get a drink when I'm back home. Some water, or maybe even some juice... and perhaps a nice bit of toast.
She smiled inwardly at the thought of breakfast back home, before looking up at the man again, her face twisting. Her arm was really hurting at this point, and she couldn't stop shivering. She still felt dizzy whenever she moved, and she could feel a faint headache coming on.
That must be it!
She realized, with a small sense of triumph.
I must have picked up some sort of bug... that nightmare was probably from the fever.
Even as she thought this, however, she knew that it had been far too realistic.... That, somehow, that horrible pain had been real. Yet, she refused to let herself think that way, perhaps as a form of protection to save her psyche from the trauma of it all.

Richter:

Current location: 2nd floor offices
Emotional status: Delighted
Physical state: Healthy as usual

The man smiled at his own reflection, adjusting the blood red tie that hung around his neck.
"Perfect!"
He paused, then added, "... once again."
Some would have viewed it as a disorder- a problem with the way his brain functioned, but Richter took pride in his drive for absolute perfection.
In his eyes, only humanity was capable of perfection. It was the line that separated humans from the subhuman animals on the seventh floor. Or, rather, one of many lines.
It was a decision made long ago, that he would rather put a bullet in his brain than join the ranks of the creatures below him.
Of course, he needn't worry about such morbid things on a fine day such as this.
He hummed, smiling to himself, as he tucked his faithful handgun into its rightful place on his belt. He then smoothed his jacket over top, concealing it neatly under the black silky fabric.
Bullets wouldn't kill the beasts, and he knew this. Yet, he never cared to venture down to the seventh floor without it. If anything, he took satisfaction in knowing that, should he ever need to use it again, the creatures would at least feel the pain of the lead tearing into their bodies.
He also knew, that if used right, the gun could stop a rampage. While the mutants were immortal, he had discovered that, like with humans, pain was a great motivator. That, by inflicting enough of it, the creatures would revert back to their... "human" side. Of course, Richter knew that even the human side wasn't really human.
No, what the scientists had created- what he had created... was simply a subhuman stain, destined to rot in a cell for the rest of its miserable existence.
Which is why this day was simply the best day he could possibly imagine.
Because, while Richter hated the creatures on the seventh floor more than anything else, he couldn't think of a more fitting punishment. The creature that sent his life into a shambles had finally been returned to its rightful home.... and it was never going to see the light of day again.
This thought made him skip towards the elevator with a further ignited sense of excitement. He pictured the creature, crying in a cell, begging to be let out. And while a minuscule part of him knew it was wrong- that it wasn't normal to feel what he felt, his sense of satisfaction outweighed any shreds of a conscience he had left.