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“Quit squirming.”
You shifted once again against the wall. The tingling pain in your thigh left you restless. No position was comfortable enough, and you couldn’t take your mind off the, quite frankly, frustrating sensation. It made you lightheaded.
You supposed you could cross ‘getting a stab wound’ off your bucket list now. Although Yarnaby’s claws didn’t give it away at first glance, their damage was a hassle to stitch up. It was a miracle you were still alive at all down here.
In a desperate attempt to clear your mind, you glanced around, taking in the decor of the room you were in. Who would have thought that there would be a prison for orphans down here? The walls, cracked and dusted with what could’ve very well been mold, did little to provide comfort. Maybe long ago, it was a less hostile place. Not this room particularly, though. The operation rooms had to be some of the worst places a child could end up in.
The Hour of Joy. You wondered how the dozens of visitors felt in their final moments. Surely, any fate associated with this hellish factory was not one you’d wish on anyone. Whatever life you had been living just a few hours ago felt foggy and distant, your brain struggling to piece together a reality in which these horrors were unknown to you.
A firm pressure wiped away the liquid warmth snaking down your calf. You lost sense of time quite a while ago, but you assumed enough had passed since the wound had opened on your limb. Thanks to this, or maybe the couple of well-expired Advils you swallowed a bit ago, the stinging had somewhat numbed out. Your ‘saviour’ informed you that painkillers could, surprisingly, last for years after expiry, which was certainly reassuring.
Additionally, what was more surprising is who your saviour was. Doctor Harley Sawyer. If it wasn’t for him, you probably would’ve been left to bleed out. However, you couldn’t trust the man, for his motives remained questionable; why would The Doctor be interested in keeping you alive?
You recognized that the torn cloth which was around your injury originated from your lower pant leg. Calm, precise movements of cold metal hands bound your thigh securely after raising it. ‘Helps with blood flow’, he said. Whatever. You had no choice but to trust him on this.
“I had sincerely expected more out of you.”
He chuckled, the low synthetic sound only met with silence.
You hissed as he finished tying up the fabric, maintaining a light pressure.
“Ah, don’t look so sullen. I assure you, that performance of yours was quite entertaining.”
Right, of course he thought making living toys chase you around was ‘entertaining’.
The Doctor bent over, his screen equivalent of a face searching for your lowered one.
You resolutely met his gaze. Let him dream of the day you’d allow yourself to act more vulnerable than… whatever situation you were already in.
The singular eye appeared half-lidded in a bored or simply neutral expression.
“Not much of a conversationalist, I see?”
You glared.
Suddenly, the metal fingers of the machine tightened around your makeshift bandage, a jolt of pain coursing through. You flinched away, mentally cursing him. That bastard.
The watchful eye was now upturned.
“Hmm, still responsive. Good. If you couldn’t perceive stimuli through your leg, that would be cause for concern.”
He relaxed his grip, but didn’t release you quite yet. A shuddering breath slipped from behind your clenched teeth, one you weren’t aware you sucked in. He observed you closely, as if you were no more than another experiment for him to study and alter to his heart’s content.
The hunched figure straightened, towering over you. He began to slowly pace around, pondering what to do with you.
“If you don’t do anything stupid, your recovery here shouldn’t pose any issue. Given the cut’s shallow nature, it will not take long to start healing. For the time being, you shall remain seated until I deem you able to walk again.”
You moved your legs a bit while he spoke. It still hurt, but the cream he applied beneath the expertly bound cloth gave you partial relief. It’s fine, you’re fine. Pushing up your aching body, your feet shuffled to stand up, only for your head to be forced back by his hand.
“Are you not listening, Outsider?”
An exasperated, 8-bit sigh was directed at your disobedience.
“You’re staying here. Do you intend to play doctor now? I assure you, my expertise in this field puts me well in a position to decide what is best for you.”
His eye narrowed as he settled down in front of you on the floor, finally within view so you wouldn’t need to crane your neck.
“I don’t want to stay here.”
“Oh, but you have to!”
The monitor lowered onto the silver hands which were holding your raised knees, the man’s attitude far too pleased with your predicament. You were too stunned by his head being literally on top your knees to even breathe for a beat.
“Don’t pretend your feeble limbs could support you if you stood.”
You snapped back to reality. Rolling your eyes, you turned your face away.
“You said I should recover soon.”
“So you were listening.”
A sound not unlike the clicking of a tongue was heard from Sawyer.
“Soon is… a relative word.”
His finger rhythmically tapped on your kneecap. You found yourself unable to fully devote your attention to his words anymore.
“So…”
You began slowly, your eyes glued to his hands.
“When should I be able to walk then, Doc?”
A hum.
“Days. Weeks, if you keep your stubborn act going.”
You froze.
“Wh- I can’t just stay here for days!”
You suppressed a pained sound when you shifted too suddenly. The monitor displayed what could have been interpreted as a raised eyebrow.
“Your wound will otherwise reopen. Now, we certainly wouldn’t want that, would we?”
You glared at him. The proximity between your faces increased when you leaned forward. You were not scared of him.
“You won’t keep me here.”
Having picked up on the challenge in your tone, Sawyer scoffed.
“Don’t be reckless.”
“What business do you even have with me, huh? Do you want information, a test subject, bait?”
You wave your arms for emphasis.
“What makes you believe I would cooperate with you under any circumstances?”
He wordlessly latched his fingers onto your wrist to lower it.
You squint, heart throbbing from a mix of dull pain and frustration. Although you knew what he had done, what he was capable of doing, you tried to think critically. Being presently trapped with the scientist, you were disadvantaged in both strength and speed, thanks to your injury. You’d need to find an alternative way to escape.
“I’m telling you in advance, you’re wasting your time.”
“Is that how you express gratitude towards the one who saved your life?”
“You’re the one who sent that creature after me!”
You raised your voice, baffled he even attempted to guilt-trip you while still leaning on your knees.
“Silence.”
“I don’t think I will, no.” You gritted your teeth. “Not until you tell me why you’re keeping me here.”
The Doctor’s intense gaze remained on you for a tense few moments, before he ultimately sighed and closed his eye.
“You are incredibly stubborn. This… attribute of yours may be the answer as to how you managed to get this far.”
The half-lidded expression returned to the screen.
“All you need to know is that you possess utility. An advantage. Your proficiency in problem solving, paired with your exhausting curiosity… I can see why you were hired within this company. You are skilled, Angel, but you are in over your own head.”
“…what? ’Angel’?”
“You are Poppy’s Angel, are you not?”
You paused. Although overly flattering, that was one way to put it, sure. You did not consider yourself a saint or anything. Rescuing Poppy simply felt like the right thing to do.
“Your characteristics are unusual, given your plain look.”
Harley’s eye turned up again, metal appendages drumming against your leg once more.
“Let me guess, you want to cut me open and see what makes me so ‘special’?”
You raised your eyebrow.
“Oh, no.”
The deep voice lowered, teasing.
“At least not yet. Fear not, I can wait.”
You huffed through your nose at the ridiculous notion.
“Fear who? You? I’m not scared of robots.”
The cloaked figure remained unfazed.
“Your increased heart rate indicates otherwise.”
The man chuckled, squeezing your wrist. You had nearly forgotten about that. Had he been monitoring your pulse this entire time? Unease crept in at the intense observation of your every minor gesture.
“Curious. You appear troubled.”
He inched closer, the unsettling scrutiny forcing you to fidget in discomfort.
“Oh my. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing- you aren’t ill, are you?”
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
At the very least, he had come to the wrong conclusion about your tense state. The grabpack pressed uncomfortably into your spine as you tried in vain to distance yourself from him. You desperately hoped the impromptu misreading of your body language would soon come to an end, but alas, your oh-so-generous saviour had other plans.
“How terrible for my favourite patient to be ailed with a disease… It appears that you really do have to remain here.”
You observed as The Doctor finally lifted his screen, reaching for the crumpled heap from the operation table across from you.
“This facility has a history of being cold. They never invested in heating around these parts. That’s one thing I do not miss losing; the ability to catch a cold.”
He swiftly unfolded it. A wide, stained piece of cloth sprung out, waving like a flag.
“You, however, are not immune to it. Allow me.”
The sheet was brought around your shoulders. The thin fabric, soaked in the smell of disinfectant and distinct lack of aeration, covered you like a robe. It wasn’t until moments later that you reluctantly admitted to yourself that this was, indeed, regulating your temperature decently.
“…This stinks.”
“It would not surprise me if it did. From what I can tell, you likely do not smell much better yourself.”
You scowl, but refrain from commenting further.
Under the pretext of checking your temperature, he brushed loose hair away from your forehead with an uncharacteristic gentleness. You almost flinched. As perceptive as ever, Doctor Harley Sawyer took note of your reaction.
“Quite jumpy, aren’t you? It appears as though my every touch makes you…”
He stilled, as if processing. Then it clicked.
The distraction, the fidgeting, your state of being on edge; they weren’t merely caused by your wound.
“How intriguing.”
Nor was it by an illness.
The Doctor held your chin in place, facing him.
How could he possibly have missed it before?
“Does my proximity bother you, Angel?”
Swallowing hard, you curled your fingers against the cold tiled floor. The mechanical scientist drew himself closer once more. He wouldn’t allow you any sort of personal space, not when he could tell it made you most uncomfortable.
Sawyer let out a low laugh.
“Fascinating. Well then, while you remain in my custody, dear guest, I believe a few tests are in order.”
Harley’s eye thinned out, his gaze gliding over your face with renewed meticulousness.
“This will be fun.”