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"Hello, I'm Dr. Lillianne Kaputin. I'll be working with you today, okay Mr. Cipher?" spoke the therapist, a lilac almost rabbit-like creature on two legs. Over her brown eyes, she wore a pair of glasses-
"I don't care," he dismissed her. "Fuck off."
"Unfortunately, that wasn't part of our agreement."
"I'm telling you to fuck off. Or it won't be pretty."
She scribbled something on her clipboard, flipping through sheets as if looking for a magic solution. "If I have to mark you as non-compliant, sir--"
"What are you gonna do, imprison me harder?"
She cleared her throat, "We are not a prison. We are here to help you better you heal, to smile once more. Now, as I was saying--"
"Non-compliant," he said flatly, "Get me out of here." Relenting, she muttered something to herself, disappointed.
"You will now be escorted back to your room."
His room was miserable, but it was less miserable than... any of that. Of course, he'd been in a better room before this, something that actually looked a bit like a real bedroom if you squinted at it right. But it was taken away from him when he, inevitably, tore down the shitty smiling paintings from the walls, tried to pull out the nails so he'd have something to do with his time, even if that "something" was just self-mutilation. Now he was in this padded fucking cell, feeling almost endless compared to his small size. Wouldn't allow him his powers, wouldn't even allow him the dignity of being tall. Terrible, absolutely fucking horrible.
He sat, trying to pick at the material with his blunt nails. Claws, they should be. He wasn't having any luck. Too bad. If he could- if he could, he would decorate these walls himself. He'd poke holes in them, he'd write out obscene messages, shit that would make the therapists squirm and himself laugh. He had absolutely fucking nothing to do in here, and he'd already lost track of the time. Sure, the tannoy announced something each "morning", but considering time didn't really pass here, he didn't understand their numbering system - it was basically as good as useless. He was certain it had been at least a few Earthly weeks... probably not much more. Unless it was.
"Just you all fucking wait," he muttered to himself, "Oh, I'm going to get out alright."
Without warning, the door opened. A doctor was let in, with a box of... art supplies?
"Mr. Cipher, hello. I'm Dr. Mixania S. Painterly. It's to my understanding you are struggling to adjust?"
Whatever the fuck they were, Bill didn't like looking at them. "Why wouldn't I be? This place is- is-"
"There, there, I understand," they smiled, sending a shudder through Bill. "Everyone has a hard time adjusting. Living a life of chaos isn't easy, is it?"
"...No, it's pretty easy."
They shook their head, kneeling down to place the art supplies in front of Bill. "Well, here are some supplies to do with as you please. Hopefully this will ease some of your struggles."
Cautiously, he narrowed his eye. "Yeah? What's the catch?"
"Catch?"
"Yeah- the- ugh. Never mind, I can't stand looking at you. Just go already."
"No can do, I'm afraid. I'll have to monitor you, for the time being, to ensure you aren't misusing the supplies."
"So that's the catch," he huffed, "Fine."
Hastily, he grabbed a sheet of paper, reaching out for a red crayon. The therapist made a noise of interest, and Bill narrowed his eye at them. He reached out for a yellow one next - they made another noise of interest. Fine, if they were going to play that way. He grabbed a green, a blue, and a yellow - first, he laid down the grass, messy scribbles of green. Next he drew the sun, in the top left corner. Finally, he filled in the sky with blue.
"There. I drew. Didn't shove the crayons in my eye, didn't eat the wrappings. Are you happy?"
They hummed and hawed, examining the drawing. Come on, it was a meaningless fucking--
"You're feeling anxious."
"What the--"
They cleared their throat, "May I continue? ...Yes, you're feeling anxious, particularly around authority. The blue you've chosen is dreary and dark..." their words of analysis faded in Bill's mind, his eye twitching. How- Where was all this bullshit coming from?! Why did they need to stare at his shitty drawing just to come to these conclusions, he- he-
He snatched the paper from their hand, scrunching it up into a ball and shoving it in his mouth, chewing, swallowing. "Mmm, wax!" he cackled, "How's that make you feel, wise guy? Huh? Huh?!"
They clicked their tongue, shaking their head as they took down a note.
"It's always fucking notes with you people, isn't it?!"
"That's our job, Mr. Cipher."
"I'm just a subject!"
"I assure you--"
Bill cackled again, pure cruelty in his voice, clamping his teeth down on Dr. Painterly's arm. They screamed, their blood tasting like sweet sugar, and--
The immediate aftermath was a blur. He didn't know what was going on, where he was, he-
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Why- why couldn't he see? What had they done to him?
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The thoughts in his mind, they were racing, they were pounding, screaming, utterly nonsensical--
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It felt- it looked- it- everything was- he--
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He was a prisoner and the cage wasn't just the room, it was his body--
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He couldn't move a muscle, no matter how hard he tried! He couldn't- couldn't feel any bindings, but he was locked in place- like-
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Pain after pain shot through him, and, and all he could do was just lay there- just take it--
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He couldn't even sob, couldn't even scream--
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He tried willing himself to fade into a mindless unconsciousness, hoping this would be over by the time he awoke--
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