Chapter Text
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if the moon went dark tonight
and if it all ended tomorrow
would i be the one on your mind, your mind, your mind?
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Feofan sits hunched over on the cold metal examination table, his borrowed clothes hang off of his malnourished frame. His dead eyes stare at the ground below where his feet dangle, trying hard not to even glance at the other man in the room. The Doctor stands a few feet away, his pen scratching across some kind of form that Feofan didn’t get a chance to look at.
Feofan lets out a resigned sigh. This is going to be the last room he’ll ever see, and the second of the fatui harbingers is going to be the last person he’ll ever speak to. This is it.
The room they’re in is rather plain, there are no papers or decorations on the wall. Only the table Feofan sits upon and the counters that the doctor is leaning on. He would assume that someone who works directly with The Tsaritsa would have at least some budget going towards interior design.
“What caused your...various injuries?” Feofan flinches as he’s broken out of his thoughts by the sound of the doctors voice. He looks up and sees the doctor staring at him expectantly with both of his arms folded to his chest.
“Uh...” Feofan’s voice is hoarse as he speaks for the first time in what feels like days. He cringes at himself and breaks eye contact with the doctor. “Does that really matter?” He doesn’t understand why the man would even ask. Isn’t he just going to inject something in him and then kill him? Do the bruises covering his body have any sort of affect on the testing process?
The doctor stares at him silently for a few moments, his blood red eyes boring into his almost translucent skin. “I suppose not,” He sighs and uncrosses his arms. “I was merely curious what you could have been involved in that would cause such drastic internal bleeding in your stomach.” The doctor says flippantly, adjusting his glasses.
“Internal bleeding?” Feofan isn’t a doctor, but he has enough sense to know that something like that doesn’t sound too good. He did notice that his stomach was hurting to an almost excruciating amount but Feofan assumed that it was pure hunger. He can’t remember the last time he had anything to eat.
“Yes, internal bleeding. An intra-abdominal hemorrhage if my interpretation of that ghastly bruise on your lower stomach is correct.” Low and behold when Feofan lifts up his shirt his eyes land on bluish splotches around his belly-button. When he presses down onto his stomach he hisses and yanks his hand back. Feofan doesn’t even remember the doctor making him lift up his shirt. He must really be out of it.
“You don’t seem too concerned.” The doctor speaks again, Feofan still doesn’t look at him.
“Well this doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Feofan lets his shirt fall down and runs a hair through his long hair. The unruly black strands sit just past his shoulders now, he’s been due for a haircut for some time now. However the thought is futile, he’s going to die either now or within the next few days, no reason to entertain himself with the idea of a makeover. Not that he had enough money to think about it before being sold to the doctor.
“Why not?” The doctor asks, with a neutral tone of voice. He’s now made his way back to his notes, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the edge of the clipboard he’s writing on.
“Am I not about to die? What’s the point of telling me about my internal bleeding if you aren’t going to fix it?” Feofan slouches his shoulders and looks up at the doctor through his long eyelashes.
“Are you suicidal?” The doctor asks. Feofan furrows his brows in confusion—the doctor doesn’t even look at him. Too wrapped up in whatever notes he’s taking.
“What?”
“All the other specimen begged me to spare them. You seem rather accepting of your demise.” The doctor speaks with clinical precision and Feofan shudders upon hearing the word specimen. What a cold term to describe living beings.
“Quite the opposite actually, I just happen to think realistically. You are going to kill me, there’s no point trying to convince you otherwise.” Feofan says, point blank.
The doctor hums and Feofan thinks that’s going to be the end of it. Until his own mouth betrays him—
“And I’ve heard a lot about you.” Only then does the doctor look at him. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth turns down in a confused frown. It’s the most emotion the man has shown so far, and Feofan finds himself intrigued. Which is the only reason he keeps talking. “They say you would do anything to see through the results of an experiment. That’s why I’ve made peace with he fact that I will die sooner or later to your hands.”
The doctor tilts his head to the side slightly, “I see my reputation precedes me.” is all he says.
“And what a reputation it is,” Feofan feels his lips turn upwards into a subtle smile.
The doctor stares at him for a few moments longer and Feofan almost shies away from the blood red eyes that seem to stare right through his soul. Can they see just how pathetic he is? How many losses and embarrassments he’s experienced in his mere twenty years of living? Just when the staring begins to get rather awkward, the doctor turns away abruptly.
He searches the cabinets above him, moving aside different bottles and vials full of colourful liquids. Even though he has impeccable eyesight, Feofan can’t make out what any of the labels say. A few of the containers have their names written on them in some kind of foreign language, and the others seem to be written in just absurdly messy handwriting.
After a few silent moments, the doctor seems to have found what he was searching for. He holds up a syringe full of purple liquid with foreign script on the label. The doctor inserts a sterile needle into the syringe and turns back towards Feofan’s hunched figure.
The younger man looks away quickly, hoping the doctor didn’t notice his blatant staring. An ominous shadow falls over him as the doctor makes his way to stand before Feofan, his silhouette blocking the harsh overhead light.
“This is the experimental drug, I’ll need you to give me your arm so I can administer it directly into your bloodstream.” The doctor holds a hand out for Feofan to place his arm in.
Feofan takes a deep breath, the reality of the situation finally catching up to him. This will be where he dies, in front of the second of the fatui harbingers, in his underground lab. No family or friends to say goodbye to—not that he has any in general. Once the doctor puts the drug in his system it will only be a matter of time before he takes his last breath.
Feofan can feel his fingers tremble and desperately yearns for a cigarette. He wonders if the doctor has any in his lab.
Feofan is broken out of his thoughts as the doctor squeezes just above his elbow causing one of his veins to pop up out of his inner elbow. While trying to stop himself from having a heart attack at the sight of the needle lining up with his vein, he thinks he hears the doctor mutter something about Feofan having “rather nice veins” which he tries not to find weird at all.
He shuts his eyes as the needle is injected into his arm, he barely feels the pinch at all. When the syringe is empty of all the purple liquid Feofan begins to feel the effects of the drug take over. His eyes droop and he suddenly feels as if he’s about to faint.
His thoughts end up correct as he sways forwards once, before going slack and falling right into the doctors awaiting arms.
Feofan loses consciousnesses to the utterly terrifying thought that he wont ever wake up again, as well as the feeling of a broad chest against his face.