Chapter Text
You jolted awake with a cold sweat. The dream you must’ve had woken you up, but you can’t seem to remember what the dream was about. You always wondered why sometimes you can’t remember what you dreamt of.
You shivered, wanting to pull the blanket over yourself and go back to slumber—
You couldn’t.
Chains jingled every time you tried moving your limbs, it felt like you were splashed with a terrifying realization.
Prying your eyes open, you were immediately blinded by a bright light, it had a nauseating green glow to it. Checking the surroundings, you didn’t see much, but a table next to your head had a tray adorning many surgical tools and needles. They seemed to shine and gleam at you. A pit in your stomach formed, it made you uneasy.
Your hands were pinned above you, and legs parted in a wide V shape. You can feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, sweat starting to form on your forehead.
The more you tried to yank the chains, the more you can feel the blisters and bruises forming at your wrists and ankles.
Your whimpers and desperate cries were muffled by something. Using your tongue, you can feel something, a sphere-like object jabbed inside your mouth, it was no bigger than a ping-pong ball.
Suddenly you heard— what sounded like, a heavy metal door pried open.
Three silhouettes approached the table you were pinned on. There were two women and a man.
Once they came close enough to the light, you can really observe their features.
A tall woman stood at the foot of the table, she had voluptuous shapes, curled blonde hair cascaded to her shoulders. She had pale blue skin, her eyes were deep cobalt blue, but the way they looked, it tipped you off. She wore a nurse’s attire, and carried a blood transfusion pole. Her mouth was covered in a bloody bandage.
Next to her was a girl, she had fair skin— at least that’s what you thought, some parts of her body were stitched with a different colored skin, it was grey. She has messy peachy hair, her left eye was covered with an eyepatch, a head mirror, was it called? She also wore a nurse’s attire with a face mask, and had an additional apron splattered with dried blood, you’d presume. Her unblinking green eye stared down at you, your eyes trailed to her right hand— and noticed she was holding a saw, stained with crimson blood.
Your heart was pounding in your ears, what will they do to you? Why are they doing this?
Your attention was then turned to the man, who was standing next to the table with surgical equipment.
He was tall, taller than the woman at the foot of the table. His skin was sickly pale green, pointed ears were on either side of his face.
Not a human.
He has neatly combed hair, and yet a loose strand was sticking out, perhaps it was for aesthetics? He wore a grey trench coat, a white shirt, and dark brown pants secured with a mustard yellow belt. A crimson red scarf to finish the overall look. Your attention trailed to his face, noticing a bronze plague doctor mask, he also wore spectacles, with an additional magnifying piece atop.
He seemed to watch you intently, as if he was seeing every inch of your body. It dawned upon you.
You were completely naked.
Your face flushed at your revealed dignity, never have you felt so humiliated.
No wonder it was cold.
“I will undergo this procedure myself. I will call if in need of assistance.” The masked man said, with a swift motion of his wrist, the two women bowed and exited the room.
The door closed shut, the loud thud echoed through the room. Silence.
You weren’t sure if you should be glad or terrified. Whether glad that he dismissed the two, or terrified to be left alone with him.
“What a perfect specimen you are.” He hummed, raising his right hand.
You noticed the absence of fingers, instead, five sharp blades adorned his hand. The blades gleamed in the light, as the index blade made a close contact with your abdomen.
You instinctively flinched in hopes of getting as far as possible from his touch, but to no avail, the shackles kept you in place.
The index blade made contact with your skin ever so slightly, but you still felt the sting of the sharp blade.
He slowly moved his “finger” down the middle.
You whimpered, and he seemed to hear your pleading plea.
“Oh don’t worry, I won’t cut you up...yet.” He harshly removed the blade from your abdomen, leaving an angry trail of red behind. Despite the little pressure he applied to your skin, the blade was still sharp— sharp enough to leave a scratch, although not a severe one.
“Now, I will give you something that might— or might not help you during the procedure.” He turned to the table with various surgical tools, and needles. Picking up a vile that contained purple substance inside, he brought one of the needles and filled the tube with the unknown substance.
Filling up to the amount he needed, he brought the needle to your neck, you can feel the slight prick of it.
“This is something Neuronist Painkill uses on his subjects for interrogation purposes.” He said as injecting the liquid into your system.
“But I adjusted it to my liking, so not only the patient feels immense pain from just the slightest touch, but also—“ He cut himself off with a chuckle. He removed the needle from your neck and discarded it to the table.
“Well, you will see for yourself.” He watched you as the effects started taking action.
Your body grew heavy. The temperature raised immensely, it felt like you were taking an unpleasant bath in scorching hot magma. Your breathing quickened, it was starting to get harder to breathe through your nose. You opened your mouth as wide as you can, gulping as much air as you can through the ball gag.
He seemed to notice your struggle, and helped you out.
“Here, allow me.” Using his bladed finger, he cut the strap that held the ball gag in place, and discarded the trinket somewhere in the room.
You gulped as much as air your lungs can muster to fit. But it seemed not enough.
The slight gust of wind made you shiver out in pain, the pink pebbled buds hardened at sudden occurrence. There was another mixed feeling. It was masked with pain. You couldn’t figure what that feeling was, as it drove you insane.
You arched your back from the cold hard metal table, the slight contact from just laying on the surface made you lurch in pain.
Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes.
It hurts so much.
The more you struggled out of your bounds the more painful it began to hurt.
Finally, you gave up on trying. As you set your lower half back down, you felt something wet touch your rear.
“Ah, so slick already?” He asked with intrigue. Using his non-bladed hand, he flicked his index finger at your slick petals.
You let out a moan mixed between pleasure and pain.
As he removed his hand away from your folds, he rubbed his index finger and thumb, analyzing the substance.
“I must say, I have indefinitely outdone myself this time.” He remarked with pride, wiping the bodily excrements onto a towel that rested on the table.
His attention turned to you, flushed and drooling face.
“Now then,” he turned back to the tray with various sharp tools. He picked up a scalpel, admiring the polished and clean blade.
“Let the Kawanishi Corridor begin.”