I woke up tied to a metal table. My head was really fuzzy, and the medicine that had been stuffed into me was on the stronger end of the spectrum. I tried to break free, but my muscles were like jelly, and I couldn't get my arms to work quite as well as I would have liked.
I had no fucking idea what this was meant to be, and Charles had no idea. Were those men infiltrated this facility or not? Was that woman good at all? I was somewhere I did not want to be, so I was ready to do something about this. Had they done something for Charles, too?
Metal shackles, tight. With spring and spikes. I was naked, in the cannula, and something was dripping down the central cannula. The first thing to do is to try to contact Charles. Nope. Nope, cannot do that. Plan B. Take out my rage and blow it out fully. Nope, I cannot do that. Some sort of rage blocker was on me, and it made me so freaking furious.
The room door opened, and five men in lab coats walked in. Their gazes were emotionless, looking at me like a slab of meat, spread out on the table, ready to be dissected.
They didn't even talk to me and started gathering their supplies, their instruments. Then they came at me. They started to dissect me. An autopsy while alive is not a nice thing, not even close. The men were talking about my body parts as if they were doing an autopsy. My voice box was paralyzed, so I couldn't talk.
They tied me to the table even tighter, putting more shackles around my thighs and on my arms before they started. It disturbed them if I wriggled too much when they cut and dissected me. It was fascinating for them to see how fast I healed. They examined my heart, my lungs, and all my organs. Pain tore through me. The torture was endless. But I had been in this situation before.
This is not the worst that I have gone through, not nearly. Not yet, anyway, I thought bitterly. They did experiments. What would happen if they swapped the aorta and the superior vena cava? How would my heart do? They performed several pulmonary embolisms on me and saw how easily I healed.
Eventually, that torture stopped. They moved me to the bed after giving me a very strong sedative. So I was out cold most of the time it took them to move me. I came to, chained in bed, cannulated, still naked. Scientists were talking in their jargon, referring to me as it or the subject. Not seeing me as human.
Still, I knew that if I unleashed my rage in some way, I might save these because I saved innocents. And most of the humans were innocent and were just doing their jobs. It was easier for them to see me as a subject and be objective. Not see me as a feeling being. Testing and weakening me continued; they still had procedures to be done and me to be tested.
Then, they put metals in the IV: iridium, vanadium, cobalt, and rhodium. The drip bags were so I could see them all the time. The sedative was strong; I was stupefied and desperate. My reality was spinning, and I kept seeing the damn bags. This awful feeling of helplessness took over my mind, making me feel weak and small, unable to fight back, then just see those enormous bags of metals dripping into my veins, feeling this drug taking me over fully.
They'd go and change the new ones every time they ran out. Metals dripped into my veins all the time. The feeling of being metalized soon became very pronounced: headache, tiredness. Nausea was there too, not sure why, and the sedative dripped too, keeping me helpless. That thick, bright yellow stuff, big fat drops, and quite fast too.
My mind was a desperate mess. There was no cool plan for me to do, no sly thoughts on how to get myself out of this. No thoughts at all but this powerlessness, feeling of being weak and small. Time had lost its meaning. My memory could not function in that much, so I could not have a sense of time, or even count how many bags had been dripped into me.
Then I was moved again to another room, heavily sedated on a bed with spiked cuffs attached, naked. The first incubus came. He looked about 80 years old, and he came and spread my legs, pushed his cock straight into my cunt, and started fucking slowly but steadily. And then he came. It hurt, and it always hurt.
The incubus' sperm or whatever they're shoving inside me burns like acid because it's supposed to release your chi, your life force, so the incubus gets a meal. When the acid splashed inside me, and this ancient man bent down to glue his lips against my mouth, I hoped Charles was already tearing the whole place apart to find me.
The man sucked my chi until he was finally in his twenties. And he left. I was thinking that if these would kill me again, well, at least I could end someone's mind and tell them about what happened to me, but would they be able to get my body back? I had no idea.
18 other incubus did the same, and time after time, I began to feel my strength and life force begin to fade. Then he came into the room. The incubus king that I thought I had killed so many times. Damon had killed him the first time, but over the years, he had just resurfaced, and I had chopped off his head at least six times, and here he was again-Julian MacMahon's duplicate.
He sucked a lot of my strength, and the burn inside me didn't subside right away. I could feel how weak I was, and my straps had taken a big hit. I had learned to recognize this feeling. I knew I had less than 100 straps left, and those that I had were weakened, and there was no Colin to give me drops in order for me to keep my straps.
A few hours later, scientists came back. They were surprised how much weaker I was, and it was fascinating for them. So it needed to be studied. The investigators took me in for another autopsy on how the incubus stuff was affecting me. The experience was as horrible as the last one. I was so much weaker now, so it took even more out of me. When the autopsy was over, I was again put in a room and given metals and sedatives, more of them this time.
At one point, the woman was there. She was almost yelling at men and telling them not to kill me. It is not part of the plan. So they gave me something. I have no idea what, so I would not lose my straps. I knew that woman was evil. She was on this.
My head was groggy, my thoughts slow and wandering. My strength was low, and I kept seeing the drip bags. I saw the IV stand, those full, plump bags full of that bright yellow poison. I saw a big fat drop dripping into the chamber, in my veins. I felt it. It made me feel despair and pain. They were dropping drugs, now several different bags. I don't know; I had no sense of time. I was completely helpless.
Then they came and put thin but long spiked shackles with silver spikes in my hands. Spikes dug deep in my wrists, but they were like bracelets. Very narrow. They took me to a patient room and put on a patient gown and resting handcuffs so that they covered the spiked chains. They made sure the drug was on properly. They brushed my hair and sedated me, so my expression was neutral.
I was not moving so much. I turned my head. There was a window in this room; there was a corridor behind it, so it was some kind of observation window. My eyes blinked slowly. There was no thought of getting out in my mind, only helplessness and disgust, powerlessness too.
Then I saw through the window as Charles watched me with a worried look and his contact next to him. This woman had a doctor's coat on, so she looked like a doctor. I couldn't believe it. Whatever that woman had explained to Charles, he believed.
They looked at me for a moment and walked away. I somehow realized that this was not a factory, not at all, but a medical facility, and Charles had known this. Something in his expression, a slight moment of guilt, had revealed it, but my drugged-up mind could not comprehend much more.
Soon, the investigators took me away, and the torture continued. I was rented, that much I somehow understood, and there were a lot of people. My enemies were coming to try to do things to me. They tried to coin me, brainwash me, several autopsies, metals, drugs, and interrogation at fleas. I said nothing. I couldn't get rid of the drugs; I couldn't get rid of anything.
I had no idea how many enemies there were. Krycheck was there, Sark at some point, but he was busy, and this drug inhibited my enzymes, so he was not interested. I had gotten my share of enemies over the years, and now was their chance to try to get me.
My health deteriorated, metals did their thing, sedatives crippled my mind, paralyzed my soul, and my will to fight. Each enemy had only a few hours to work over me, so they did not get so much done, but there were ideas, and many times they tried their best. My body was in terrible shape. My mind was even worse.
From time to time, I was taken to the presentation room to make Charles look worried when I had a seizure. I was in rough shape, but they covered me up, made me presentable, and drugged me almost out of my mind. How could he have known that every organ in my body had metal conducting electricity through it so that I would have convulsions?