As I slowly emerged from my drug-induced haze, discomfort washed over me. I cautiously opened my eyes, only to stare at the cold, hard floor. Bound tightly to the table, I couldn't move an inch. The scent of various aftershaves, deodorant, and sweat overwhelmed my senses, while the sound of people conversing filled the air.
My mind, still clouded by drugs, struggled to make sense of it all. Helplessness consumed me as I realized I was completely exposed, naked as the day I was born. I could sense a drip, confirming just how heavily drugged I was. Frustration coursed through my veins, as my hands remained immobilized and my purpose remained unknown.
The examiners circled around me, their fingers probing the spaces between my vertebrae, discussing measurements I couldn't comprehend. The touch of cold metal against the back of my neck sent shivers down my spine. Then, from below, a new sensation emerged. The clinical language exchanged among the researchers confirmed they viewed me as nothing more than a mere specimen, a piece of meat to be examined. Each time the cold metal touched my skin, I involuntarily shuddered.
The onslaught began as metal pins relentlessly battered my spinal vertebrae. Each strike hit its mark with precision. These were no ordinary pins; they fractured my vertebrae in multiple places, causing excruciating waves of pain to radiate throughout my body. Sweat trickled down my brow as the intensity of the agony intensified, and desperate screams escaped my lips.
Yet, the examiners remained detached, devoid of any empathy. I was trapped in a bewildering state of torment, utterly helpless as the pain relentlessly consumed me, growing more relentless with each passing moment.
I was propped on my stomach on the cold, metal table, my body rigid and immobile. The sharp pain of my neck vertebrae breaking sent a jolt through my entire being, but my spinal cord remained intact. Yet, it shifted, causing nerve pain to course relentlessly through my body. I desperately fought to stay awake, but I was rendered utterly helpless and terrified.
My vocal cords, damaged and uncooperative, struggled to produce any sound. The disorienting effect of the medication only added to my confusion. The incessant pounding of hammers reverberated in my ears, each strike coinciding with the breaking of a vertebra. If the bone were repaired, it would only be shattered anew.
Some sinister drug heightened my perception of pain, amplifying the helplessness that engulfed me. I no longer remembered the invincibility I once possessed; now, I was consumed by agony, vulnerability, and fear. I found myself unsure of what my next move should be. I wasn't a flea; I was just drugged up confused Mimi.
Eventually, my entire spine became a crushed mass, irreparable and agonizing. The hammer device was taken away, and I was wheeled into a sterile operating theater. They painstakingly removed and collected the shattered bone fragments before extracting my spinal cord, leaving a void in its place. It was then I realized that another patient was always present in the operating room, receiving my spinal cord.
Moments of consciousness came and went, with the doctors' clinical conversations incomprehensible to my muddled mind. I was treated as nothing more than a piece of meat devoid of value. Each time they ripped out my spinal cord, the pain intensified, further clouding my thoughts. I had no sense of how long I had been trapped or where I even was.
The grueling ordeal in the operating room spanned a seemingly endless 60 hours. I glimpsed a clock on the wall, my limited ability to turn my head, revealing the passing of time. They coated my spinal vertebras with cobalt to prevent regrowth, ensuring it could not heal. Yet, they could always take my spinal cord from me again. The purpose of the liquid in which they placed the extracted piece of spinal cord remained a mystery to me.
Eventually, I was returned to my room, where I was connected to a powerful drip. Darkness engulfed me swiftly, erasing all consciousness.
Damien and Sark operated on many patients, always transplanting a spinal cord from Mimi. Damien gave his own blood into a piece of the spinal cord in the graft, and although he drained the blood into the graft. After a couple of hours, the graft died, from each patient and Sark ordered the patients to be ended because they were paralyzed and without a spinal cord.
He didn't want the authorities to know about his and Damien's experimental surgeries. They had many other uses for the target, and the new drug that Damien had developed kept Mimi so confused that she didn't understand her surroundings at all.
Damien kept these memories to himself, and Damon wouldn't remember them. Just because this was about the future and as delicious as it would have been to have his brother remember working for Sark, there was information in these that he didn't want his brother ever to know. Damon was now roughly asleep, and Damien was thrilled with the state of things. He would keep this one asleep as long as possible.
This time, I woke up on my back, the sterile white ceiling above me. Mr Sark's disappointed voice filled the air, tinged with frustration as none of the grafts had survived. But despite the setbacks, he was determined to conduct another experiment.
The room was filled with the clinical scent of antiseptic, mingling with the metallic tang of fear. I could hear the soft hum of medical equipment, the distant chatter of the nurses. Mr Sark's instructions echoed in my ears as my jugular vein and carotid artery were cannulated, the sharp prick of the needle sending shivers down my spine.
I was then heavily sedated, the panic medicine coursing through my veins, rendering me in a state of groggy submission. Spiked handcuffs confined my wrists, a cruel reminder of my helplessness. Panic surged through me, overwhelming and all-consuming, as if a storm raged within my mind. I thrashed about, desperate to escape, but my confusion held me captive, denying me the knowledge of how to break free.
They administered additional drugs, pushing me deeper into a state of helplessness. Confusion clouded my thoughts, leaving me feeling utterly powerless and at the mercy of their cruel experiment. Panic gripped me, squeezing the air from my lungs, as I found myself completely overwhelmed.
Led into another room, my heart raced with trepidation. There lay a man. His age was etched on his pale face, his breath coming in labored pants. His arm bore a cannula, a lifeline in this twisted experiment. The connection was made. My carotid artery joined to his, our veins intertwining as if merging our very beings.
My sedative, ineffective on a human, brought no respite from the mounting fear. Yet, the man's blood flowed into me, tainted with illness. It was a toxic mixture, his failing liver and kidneys poisoning his very life force. But as his blood coursed through my veins, I felt a change within me. My breathing became more efficient, as if his sickness spurred my body to fight for survival. My heart strained, burdened by the weight of circulating the blood of two.
Amidst my panic, I struggled to comprehend the tumultuous journey I had been thrust into. The man, connected to me for a grueling 24 hours, showed signs of improvement within three. His life force was now renewed while I grappled with the torment of our symbiotic existence.
Damien and Sark were delighted, their smiles lighting up the dimly lit room.
Damien's voice filled the air, excitement clear as he exclaimed, "I told you she's more than just an enzyme. These guys are paying us handsomely, and our reputation is soaring. We must explore if other supernaturals out there need our services."
A brief silence followed as Sark pondered, before finally agreeing, "You're right. In the long run, these endeavors might prove even more profitable than the enzymes. It requires time to locate and analyze them, but if we can capitalize on the others as well, we'll continue to prosper."
Damien nodded. Satisfaction was obvious on his face. Everything was falling into place, just as planned. The man lying before them had been given a lifeline, extra time to find a new heart. The rarity of a living dialysis/heart-lung machine like this made it a highly sought-after commodity.
Exhaustion washed over me; the task of repairing the man's body and purging his toxins had taken its toll. Once again, I found myself in a room, the scent of antiseptic hanging in the air, as a new IV stand awaited. This time, it held twelve different bags, a colorful array of potent concoctions. Sark meticulously calculated the pace, ensuring each bag would infuse into my veins within four hours.
Sark was pleased as he arranged the dripping speeds. These were the newly devised drugs, a product of Damien and Sark's ingenuity. Damien's intimate knowledge of this creature had granted them access to highly effective precision medications. After each target, a four-hour session of medication followed, enhancing the drugs' efficacy.
The target, now bewildered and panicked, struggled to comprehend their situation. Sark observed Damien approaching, finding it hard to believe that the feeble, sickly figure in the bed was the once-feared leader of the resistance. A quiet chuckle escaped Sark's lips as he marveled at the irony. Yes, this creature could save people, but only those who could afford it would be granted that privilege.
I felt a deep sense of confusion overwhelming me. The room was sterile, the scent of antiseptic filling the air. My body, their presence lingering in my thoughts, had cleansed the blood of twelve people. The medicine coursing through my veins had me hallucinating, distorting my perception of reality.
And then Damon appeared. He stood before me, donning a pristine white jacket adorned with the words "D. Salvatore" across his chest. As he gently caressed my hair, his touch provided a moment of solace.
"Hello, baby. How are you feeling?" he inquired.
Hesitantly, I contemplated whether to address the apparition before me. "Help me, Damon. Please, take me away. Bring me back home, save me. Why did you leave me here?" I pleaded.
Damon met my gaze, his eyes filled with a fleeting emotion. He turned away momentarily, adjusting my IV with a firmer touch and continuing to stroke my hair until sleep overcame me.
In a soft whisper, as darkness enveloped me, he murmured, "Baby, since I'm not Damon..."
Sark was on the move again. Damien's ideas were brilliant, though. He could get good guys from these studies, and promises of future reality to join his team. He was always on the lookout for new talent. It was unfortunate that Damien's condition didn't allow him to be in charge all the time. Otherwise, he would have hired Damien as one of his chief scientists. He couldn't help with that problem, and if he had been fighting with his brother over who would win that body for a thousand years, then Sark was a realist, so he didn't think he could help. Besides, the whole Damien/Damon thing was a very fascinating subject of study from time to time.
I became a guinea pig for medical students, their eyes devoid of empathy. My voice box was rendered useless. I was given a potent muscle relaxant. I could only feel, every sensation amplified. My emaciated frame bore witness to the weight I had lost. Agonizing pain consumed me, my sanity slipping away.
Sark showed how the silver harmed me, prompting them to experiment with various herbs. They brought in plants from outside, crafting vigorously rubbed pastes into my body, even penetrating my organs. I was subjected to dissection each day, a morbid fascination gleaming in the students' eyes.
Sark reveled in the wealth of information he gleaned from my seemingly immortal existence. He introduced different metals into my body, including ghastly combinations and compounds. The students showcased their versatility in this twisted game. The aim was simple: extinguish the target. I despised this game, knowing I was the primary focus of their destructive efforts.
A decade had passed since my last partook in this cruel affair, yet it had not improved. I was under constant surveillance. Their eyes fixated on how swiftly I resurrected and the contributing factors. No matter the acidic substances that eroded my brain, no matter the scorching oil that engulfed me, boiling me alive, I endured. My diminishing weight reflected the confusion induced by the multitude of drugs. With each death, a strange certainty gripped me - I would keep every memory, vivid and unclouded.
Then the guests came. The alphas, they were ready to put me in heat. Again. Sark agreed. He wanted to study the heat. First, he eagerly delved into studying the intricate process of transforming into a wolf. Mimosa had been sedated with a potent drug, so I seized the opportunity to start the transformation, cursing under my breath.
Midway through the metamorphosis, the frequency of the lamp suddenly shifted, causing excruciating pain that I never wished to endure again. Panic engulfed me as I realized the drugs had been forcefully administered, rendering me immobile in a nightmarish state, trapped between human and wolf forms.
This grotesque existence persisted for an agonizing week, during which my tissues were probed, photographed, and sampled, subjecting me to what felt like a live autopsy. The duration of my consciousness and unconsciousness blurred together, leaving me disoriented and disconcerted.
Then came the demand to remain in wolf form throughout the entire mating process. As soon as I transformed, the alphas wasted no time in initiating their primal rituals, their heated desires consuming them.
Overwhelmed by a mixture of blind panic, despair, and even horror, I lost all semblance of control and rational thought. Bound and with my tail secured, I became a vessel for the mounting wolves, their insatiable lust driving them to enter me and deposit their primal substances forcefully.
The encounters left me almost devoid of sensation, a clinical procedure devoid of pleasure. Sark and the others kept me unconscious, as my struggles posed a risk to the males locked in their intimate knots, preventing any alpha from having his member forcefully disengaged.
After two grueling weeks, my heat was on. I did not need sex; I was too drugged for that. Sark meticulously examined me, employing various methods to stimulate and extract samples. Electric currents, dildos, and the eager alphas awaited, for they were Bran's rivals, driven by a desire to explore, judge, and share the lust of women.
However, their focus had now shifted to the realm of artificial insemination. A cannula was inserted into my uterus, and I was relentlessly injected with sperm, while a myriad of stimulation devices were employed to induce ovulation and ignite my dormant desires.
Sark understood that unlocking crucial knowledge about treating this affliction would ensure a steady flow of eager alphas willing to pay for the guarantee of successful fertilization or simplified heat management.
Damien looked at Mimi. She was in wolf form, confused, and his sperm was dripping inside her all the time. Sark was very interested in this because Damon was Mimi's biological half theoretically, so he should have the best chance of impregnating her. But Damien knew how to make his own sperm. He didn't want Mimi and Damon to have children, not at all, not when he and Mimi, then it would be perfect. Damien didn't tell Sark every plan he had, not even close.
I was deeply grateful that Mimosa was asleep. The rush lasted four weeks. I was pregnant again. It was disgusting to feel the hot semen dripping all over my insides while it was heated and in some fucking booster room. I felt all the time how fucking filled my womb was. I was really medicated, but I knew how this was going to end.
They made me change back to human after it was confirmed that I had conceived. Now, I didn't last over ten days pregnant when the green discharge and cramps and fever started. I was already so damn unwell, skinny as hell, in pain, confused, malnourished, full of drugs and who knows what. I'd been a prisoner for four months.
They weren't treating the symptoms. They just cleaned up and measured how high the fever got. 48.9 degrees Celsius was the record. They pushed pharmaceuticals, so I was less restless. The pain was just awful, as if this was now something terrible that I had to get out of me, but all the time, my rage was growing even though I wasn't aware of it.
Then they made a mistake. They thought I was too weak and didn't tie me up anymore. After the nurses left, I ripped the tubes out. My rage exploded, a blazing inferno that consumed all weakness, pain, and suffering. It surged through my veins, visible in the fire that burned in my eyes. Nothing else mattered. With a finality, I departed. Once again, I was finished. But my rage was my ally. I would not remain here, no matter the cost.
I dispatched a nurse, snapping her neck effortlessly. Skillfully, I stripped her of her clothing, eliminated the guards, and seized their weapons. Shots rang out as I mercilessly targeted anyone within reach. Chaos ensued as I unleashed destruction, culminating in a blazing inferno that devoured the facility. Running, I sprinted towards the sanctuary of the woods, leaving the burning wreckage behind. The sprawling plant may have suffered, but I no longer cared.
I had mixed chemicals and ignited matches, igniting a series of fires that raged on relentlessly. My escape route was secured, and I ventured deeper into the unknown. The biting chill of the early winter snow numbed my feet, rendering them unfeeling. Amidst the gloom, the hoots of owls echoed eerily, accompanying my arduous journey.
My strength waned, my body protesting against further exertion. Yet, as if by some miracle, a cavernous opening materialized before me. Pressing forward, I stealthily bypassed a slumbering mother bear, her den serving as a temporary refuge. Despite the faint stirrings of new life within her, I couldn't muster an ounce of concern. Curling into a protective ball, I surrendered to sleep.
My exhausted body succumbed, activating the hibernation switch. Feeble straps barely held me together, as my body desiccated, transforming into a mummified husk. My heartbeat slowed to a mere pulse every five minutes, while wisps of breath escaped my lips intermittently, like delicate feathers drifting in the wind.