Karrie (Vandal) Norton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vandalization) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2012-11-28 10:51 pm
vandalization) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-11-28 10:51 pm
Entry tags:
This Is Not Hell
WHO: Vandal, Prism.
WHERE: Prism's lab
WHEN Over the course of a few weeks.
WHAT: Vandal's POV of her capture, detainment and "experimentation".
WARNINGS: Torture, gore, medical malpractice (putting it lightly), violent imagery, do NOT click if you have an eye-squick.
She opens her eyes again. The light piercing through, sickly artificial. The smell of antiseptic thick, stinging her nose. She blinks, a motion that feels wrong on one side now. Just a twitching now. It's only moments after she wakes does the pain come back. She can feel it, all wrong, everything wrong in her body, stitches and incisions still healing. Itchy.
And there he is.
He greets her and by this point she's stopped hearing words from him anymore because she just panics. Panic and hope. Maybe today he'll let it end.
Maybe he'll finally kill her and the pain will stop; but no. He's going on in that overly-chipper tone. The fakeness of it makes her feel even more alone. As the tools are arranged, the tendrils reaching out with something unidentifiably sharp. She starts to squirm. Or try to.
How conveniently she seems to always forget that despite her lack of restraints, whatever he kept her drugged with makes it near impossible to move at all. But oh she's awake for it. Awake and aware and she can feel everything. He always made sure of it. He waits. Between the time she passes out to the time she wakes again, he waits.
Keeps her alive, just enough.
Just enough to wish he wouldn't.
Today he would be back with the needle again. It seemed to be the only unusual thing, the only thing he was really set on was putting the needle in once a day. Extracting something from her. Something that made the static screech in her mind even worse than before. It triggered the hallucinations. The terrors.
Yesterday it had been her right eye, today it was her left, because she had jerked her head, and the mechanism had gone in too deep. The memory is still so fresh, the wet pop it had made and so much pain as he had just sighed and extracted the mess all together.
Today she would have to hold still. She didn't fancy being completely blind. Not that she had much choice in the matter. He must have upped her dosage because she can't even manage to lift a finger.
For all of it though, she hasn't cried yet. Plenty of screaming, yes. No tears. It's not like she's an incredible badass... it just. Hasn't occurred to her that it's an option. It would be useless. All she has is screaming and a wish for death now. Because she knows once again, she'll be flayed open, perhaps shown her insides, made to look, humiliated, tortured until she passes out, sewn up and then tomorrow the process will begin once more.
Ironic, just a while ago falling for her best robot friends was the biggest problem on her mind. It seems stupid and petty now.
In her mind, she retreats to that place. The medbay, or curled up in Drift's passenger seat, sitting on Perceptor's shoulder or drinking with Wing. She's not entirely sure she'll ever get to see them again.
But it helps her cope in some strange way. To imagine what they're doing right now.
Wondering if they miss her.
The cold metal instrument slides smoothly along down her torso, drawing a bead of blood to the surface.
Wondering if they're looking for her.
The same, blinding pain she's getting used to still draws a strangled sound through her gritted teeth.
What if they don't miss her at all?
He's speaking again.
But she doesn't hear anything.
WHERE: Prism's lab
WHEN Over the course of a few weeks.
WHAT: Vandal's POV of her capture, detainment and "experimentation".
WARNINGS: Torture, gore, medical malpractice (putting it lightly), violent imagery, do NOT click if you have an eye-squick.
She opens her eye
And there he is.
He greets her and by this point she's stopped hearing words from him anymore because she just panics. Panic and hope. Maybe today he'll let it end.
Maybe he'll finally kill her and the pain will stop; but no. He's going on in that overly-chipper tone. The fakeness of it makes her feel even more alone. As the tools are arranged, the tendrils reaching out with something unidentifiably sharp. She starts to squirm. Or try to.
How conveniently she seems to always forget that despite her lack of restraints, whatever he kept her drugged with makes it near impossible to move at all. But oh she's awake for it. Awake and aware and she can feel everything. He always made sure of it. He waits. Between the time she passes out to the time she wakes again, he waits.
Keeps her alive, just enough.
Just enough to wish he wouldn't.
Today he would be back with the needle again. It seemed to be the only unusual thing, the only thing he was really set on was putting the needle in once a day. Extracting something from her. Something that made the static screech in her mind even worse than before. It triggered the hallucinations. The terrors.
Yesterday it had been her right eye, today it was her left, because she had jerked her head, and the mechanism had gone in too deep. The memory is still so fresh, the wet pop it had made and so much pain as he had just sighed and extracted the mess all together.
Today she would have to hold still. She didn't fancy being completely blind. Not that she had much choice in the matter. He must have upped her dosage because she can't even manage to lift a finger.
For all of it though, she hasn't cried yet. Plenty of screaming, yes. No tears. It's not like she's an incredible badass... it just. Hasn't occurred to her that it's an option. It would be useless. All she has is screaming and a wish for death now. Because she knows once again, she'll be flayed open, perhaps shown her insides, made to look, humiliated, tortured until she passes out, sewn up and then tomorrow the process will begin once more.
Ironic, just a while ago falling for her best robot friends was the biggest problem on her mind. It seems stupid and petty now.
In her mind, she retreats to that place. The medbay, or curled up in Drift's passenger seat, sitting on Perceptor's shoulder or drinking with Wing. She's not entirely sure she'll ever get to see them again.
But it helps her cope in some strange way. To imagine what they're doing right now.
Wondering if they miss her.
The cold metal instrument slides smoothly along down her torso, drawing a bead of blood to the surface.
Wondering if they're looking for her.
The same, blinding pain she's getting used to still draws a strangled sound through her gritted teeth.
What if they don't miss her at all?
He's speaking again.
But she doesn't hear anything.