I arrived at the party venue, stepped out of the sleek car, and entered the vibrant atmosphere. Soft, dim lights cast a warm glow, mingling with the lively chatter that filled the air. As I made my way inside, a cacophony of scents assaulted my sensitive senses - a symphony of perfumes and aftershaves. Yet, I endured them, knowing I wouldn't be staying for long.
The gala was packed with people, making it difficult to locate my target. Among the crowd, I noticed a surprisingly high number of individuals of Indian descent. Holding a champagne glass, I wandered, casually sipping from it before placing it on a passing tray.
Ah, there they were. With a lazy stride, I approached the target, leisurely circling and observing. This was an artist's gala, and I took the opportunity to admire the displayed paintings as I quietly closed in. I knew patience was key, so I took my time, progressing slowly.
However, my confidence would soon prove to be my downfall. The first signs of double vision appeared, and I cursed myself for not anticipating this. It seemed that someone had expected my presence and drugged my champagne. I had been foolish not to see it coming. My overconfidence had led me into trouble before, and this was not the first time.
Resigned to the situation, I decided to abort the mission and seek refuge in my car. My car was my sanctuary, heavily fortified and equipped with hidden compartments that concealed a wide array of weapons, explosives, and equipment. Additionally, I had a well-stocked medicine cabinet, containing adrenaline, Ritalin, and a test kit to detect and counteract any drugs or tranquilizers in my system.
Knowing I had to make it to my car without the person responsible for drugging me and getting their hands on me, I pushed through the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me. My legs felt unsteady, as if they were about to give way. Suddenly, a tight grip enveloped my arm, and another figure emerged from the other side.
The men held me still as I felt the air injector press into my neck and shoot something into my veins that clouded my head really badly. I felt the men dragging me into another room. My vision was darkening menacingly and this would be quite a damn tight spot to get free from. I heard the voice of this satanic scientist, but I couldn't make out the words as everything went black.
After initially sedating the subject, the men brought her into a sterile room. The bright, harsh fluorescent light illuminated every inch of her body. There, the subject was gently lifted onto a cold, metal table, her dress and shoes forcefully stripped away.
The men wheeled in a powerful X-ray scanner, its hum filling the room as they meticulously searched every inch of the subject. Their touch was efficient and devoid of any gentleness, treating her as nothing more than a piece of meat. She held no value in their eyes. There was nothing concealed beneath her skin.
Dr. Murray, now assuming his new identity, ran his hands over the subject's body, feeling her physical condition. The cold scales attached to the table revealed her weight of 68 kilos. Although not overly muscular, the subject's muscles exuded strength from every angle. Physically, she was in impeccable shape, a perfect target for their plans. She seemed capable of enduring much more.
Dr. Murray observed the subtle movements of the subject, even though she was tightly bound with restraints. However, her resistance would soon be irrelevant, as their transport was on its way. He planned to regain control over the subject with sedation.
Retrieving a glass bottle of bright purple liquid from his pocket, he equipped a syringe with a needle. Slowly filling the syringe with the substance, he carefully withdrew the needle and approached the subject's head. Gently turning her head to the side, he felt the soft skin under her ear. Taking a long, thin needle from the table, he inserted it deep into the subject's brain, just beneath her ear. Methodically, he attached the syringe and emptied the contents into the cavity of her brain. The drug would ensure that the subject's rage remained suppressed, rendering her powerless.
Oh, how I despise the sensation of something being injected or forcefully pushed into my brain. The sheer rage that accompanies it is palpable. The scientists, engaged in their hushed conversation, filled the room with their voices.
Amidst the chatter, I distinctly heard the voice of an Indian man, cold and clinical, uttering, "Let's administer a sedative into the abdominal cavity. I'll insert a cannula and drain the entire contents. It should ensure safety during transportation."
The callousness in his tone was nothing new to me. To them, I was merely a subject, but I refused to lie still and endure their torture. I spent every moment planning, desperately searching for a means of escape. But how could I escape something happening within my own abdominal cavity while restrained to a table?
Well, I had my ways. Even in my conscious state, I had developed the ability to control my blood vessels and circulation. Cannulating me wasn't as straightforward as they believed; my blood vessels could easily obstruct the cannula, diverting the flow. I had mastered my tricks, and I employed them diligently.
By intentionally slowing down my circulation, I could cause blood clotting, effectively blocking the cannula. The irritation caused by this obstruction would prompt my body to create new veins, bypassing the affected area, and ultimately causing the death of that specific portion of my vein. It required intense concentration, but this man had never truly captured me in decades, and thus remained unaware of my abilities. I was more than willing to showcase them.
Chaos defined me. I had learned to harness my chaotic power to defend myself, much to the dismay of the well-intentioned yet overly enthusiastic group of doctors. Damon, with his usual tactic of drugging me, typically targeted my flanks to diminish my control over my chaos power.
However, in this particular situation, chaos was already in motion. I couldn't prevent the substances being poured into my abdominal cavity from affecting me, but I remained an elusive target for cannulation. I could sense their numerous attempts all over my body.
A sharp cut in my upper abdomen told me that something was already in action. I could feel the cannula being floated deep into my abdomen and could see that the bag was at least a liter, if not two. So either the drug would always be in a dilute concentration so I wouldn't be completely out of the game, or this was playing it safe.
They did not know just how resistant I was to the drugs. I was already directing more blood to my liver, ensuring that the drug would be eliminated as fast as possible from my blood. One more trick to be used. If someone touched my right upper abdomen, they might feel a slight warmness there, but I was not sure if humans could notice it, Damon would.
The drip tube was completely open, and I could feel the liquid splashing inside me. The examiner started feeling my stomach, and I tensed my abdominal muscles. A tease is a little tease. My muscles were rock-hard, making it impossible for him to feel anything inside me.
The liquid had drained into me surprisingly quickly, and I didn't feel any amazing effect yet. I was actually becoming clearer all the time. My little trick with my liver purged that earlier drug out of my blood all the time. The men were looking at their watches and phones. I was lying on my back on some kind of stretcher in chains, naked.
I kept my eyes almost closed, faking to be sedated and limp. The best way to make these put their guard down even a bit. In case there would be an escape chance for me.
The tube had been taken out of my stomach, and the examiner was looking at me expectantly. Nope, still nothing. I kept my faking on. The investigator's phone rang, and he left the room to talk. After 5-10 minutes, he came back and said, "Transport is on the way. We'll get her sedated a bit more then."
One of the men said, " She needs nothing more. Good thing she can at least keep her eyes open in there. That's just about done."
The examiner looked at the man and said, "Look at her eyes; the pupils should be small, and the eyes should move a little from side to side. You see normal pupils and stationary eyes. This lady is just biding her time to get away. Well, news flash, you're not getting away. I've got a brand new piece of equipment we want to test. You'll see. "
Oh, well, this is an observant scientist, pupils and all. Fine, never mind. I'm just waiting for the right moment. It would be fast and efficient, the result being the researcher's neck is broken, and those other men are quickly put down, then just put on clothes and run away. Good plan, but first, we have to get out of these chains.
Before I could really focus on twisting my wrists free, the sound of steps was heard. The door opened, and an older man came in carrying some sort of tackle box or kit. This man was another cross between a Holby city's Guy Self and a Sebastian Roche. The man opened the kit and took out several medicines, syringes, and needles. He started pulling the drugs into the syringes.
He said, "This individual can control her vascular system very well in consciousness. That's why I'm going to give this buzz first, an ultrashort-acting sedative, to bring her down so that we can get a proper venous connection, and then we'll continue the sedation through that. This individual requires many drugs at the same time, and in large doses, I have three anesthetics, two muscle relaxants, and four large animal tranquilizers. Once I get the medication, she will be safe to move."
I felt this guy stick a needle straight into my heart between my ribs, and everything went blurry pretty talented. My vision blackened, and I was drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling my grip on my vascular system drip away. I felt needle pricks in my neck, which told me about the central line, and another one in my elbow. A slight burning sensation on my neck told me that something was injected in there and then the blackness came.
Once the subject was properly rendered unconscious, the men put a patient gown on her and moved her to the van. There, the subject was kept fast asleep for the entire 23-hour drive. When they arrived, the subject was taken to a room transferred to a bed, and placed in strong spring-loaded cuffs.
The medication was dripping all the time but should keep the subject sedated, not fully anesthetized. They had brand new surgical robots they wanted to test. They had just programmed the robots to do little else but heal. They weren't interested in enzymes.
I awoke, my head heavy and dazed, my senses dulled by powerful drugs. Without even lifting a finger, I surveyed my surroundings. My hands were bound tightly in spring-loaded shackles, each spike digging into my flesh. The medication, strong and disorienting, kept my rage trapped within. I knew I would have to delve deeper into the chaotic power that fueled me.
The scientists entered my room, carrying a peculiar scaffolding. I didn't bother questioning its purpose. An Indian man followed, retrieving a syringe from his pocket and injecting its contents into my cannula. Instantly, my vision blurred, my eyes rolling back in my head.
One of my arms was released from its restraints and placed into a cold, metal frame. It secured tightly around my limb, with additional metal ties locking my fingers in place. A second frame, interlocking with the first, immobilized my hand completely. It felt as though an external brace supported my hand, rigid and unyielding.
The same process was repeated with my other hand, forgoing the need to tie it due to its weight and the fact that it locked my elbow straight.
Next, the researchers wheeled in a contraption resembling an aggregate or battery. Numerous wires were connected to both frames, which were in turn linked by a mysterious transformer. The frames were activated, causing the spikes to turn inward, piercing through my hand, palm, and fingers.
Gradually, the frames began to compress, applying immense pressure that threatened to shatter my bones. The pain was excruciating, rendering me paralyzed. I could feel something seeping into my tissues, too. My hands were quite sensitive and the machine crushed them.
Unable to vocalize my agony, I listened as the Indian researcher spoke. "This will ensure your complete control for the next device. With your hands crushed, escape will be near impossible. As you can see, there are metals and herbs involved. Soon, you will receive nourishment to make you feel better."
His words dripped with sadistic intent, confirming my suspicions that this so-called nourishment would only serve to inflict further torture upon me. These were sadists of the highest order, and he reveled in my suffering.
The researcher's voice was emotionless as if I were really some kind of lab animal.
The researchers came and lifted my patient gown and, with a quick incision, pulled open my stomach under my diaphragm so that they could embed a feeding tube in my stomach. It took root, so my tissue healed around it. The pain prevented me from concentrating on the chaos force.
The heavy metal door creaked open, its hinges protesting with a rusty screech. Once again, the white-coated researchers entered the room, their footsteps echoing ominously. They carefully maneuvered a metallic drip tray, the clinking of glass bags filling the air. One bag contained a thick, almost crimson sauce, while the other emitted a faint herbal aroma, tinged with a hint of bitterness. As they approached, the pungent scent of crushed fresh tomatoes mingled with the earthy fragrance of coriander, thyme, and dandelion. The room seemed to shrink in anticipation.
In a calm voice, the Indian man spoke, his words carrying an unsettling weight.
"Oh, your lunch has arrived," he remarked, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. "First, you shall indulge in the tomato. Beware, it is not meant for your well-being."
The red liquid, crushed and potent, awaited its fate in three liters of torment. "And now, the herb mix," he continued, relishing in the anticipation of what was to come. "Coriander, thyme, dandelion, field horsetail, and a few other secrets."
Three liters of this concoction were also presented, promising to shape my hands as desired. The intention was obvious - a twisted healing, an agonizing transformation.
With a sinister smile, he concluded, "Enjoy your meal. Your hands shall be ready in three days. Until then, savor the torment. Better awaits."
Dread washed over me as the bags emptied their contents into my stomach, the relentless rush causing a sickening sensation. Already, my fingers throbbed with pain, crushed in multiple places, while my wrists and palms bore the marks of torment.
Escape seemed futile, as I remained fully conscious, my body not requiring sedation. The herbs and tomatoes worked diligently, inflicting upon me a wretched state. Headache, sensitivity to light, nausea, stomach cramps, and muscle spasms tormented me without mercy.
Amidst the chaos, my hands bore the brunt of the torment. The machine had crushed them, and now, it twisted and manipulated them; the bone ends grinding together in a horrifying symphony. Despite the destruction of my nerves, the agony persisted. My cursed existence allowed me to feel pain as long as the tissue remained alive, and there was no respite.
Colin, Damon, Samuel, Mirella, and I had searched in vain for a solution, a way to ease the suffering. Yet, our efforts proved fruitless. It seemed that fate had deemed it impossible.
Three days passed, and the researchers returned, removing the frames that held my shattered hands in place. Instead, they secured my hands with vacuum splints, contorting my fingers into hooks, my thumbs bent inward, and my wrists forced downward and outward. The sensation was far from painless, as none of the bones aligned properly.
Nevertheless, my hands were rendered incapacitated, trapped in this twisted state of immobility. The researchers took care to extract most of the bone fragments from my arms, ensuring that even a feeble attempt to strike would result in broken limbs. Healing from this ordeal would be a nightmarish journey, a true catastrophe.
A few days later, I found myself in a dimly lit hall, my arms locked in a twisted, agonizing position. The pain had become unbearable as my bones had hardened, leaving them weak and fragile. The scent of tomatoes and herbs lingered in the air, further weakening my already feeble state. Bruised and exhausted, bouts of nausea overcame me sporadically, casting a shadow of despair over my situation.
To my dismay, the Indian researcher seemed pleased with my deteriorating condition. Life felt unjust. Only recently had I recovered from the torment in the shed, thanks to Mimosa's innovative strap substance. However, my relief was short-lived. I had maintained a well-stocked medbay, but the freedom to utilize its resources was limited.
Restraints held me tightly on a cold table, rendering chains unnecessary. An imposing device was wheeled in, reminiscent of the one Damon or Damien had employed on me, but significantly larger.
An Indian man approached, took a seat, and calmly explained, "This is our latest surgical robot, devoid of empathy. Equipped with one of the most advanced AIs on the planet, it possesses insatiable curiosity. It knows you well, as we have provided it with extensive information. Its purpose is to study you, confident it will surpass you in every aspect. To ensure progress, we have intentionally weakened you, just slightly. The AI even requested the herbs and tomatoes. Now, it's ready to engage. It will meticulously examine you at the molecular level, wreaking havoc as it goes. The next steps will be revealed in due time, but this process takes patience. The AI has developed smaller surgical assistants, yet it chooses not to utilize them. It possesses knowledge of your medications and will independently determine the level of sedation it deems necessary. This will undoubtedly be an intriguing experience, recorded and shared with a select group of individuals."
As the man rose from his chair, he pressed a switch, his sadistic gaze fixated on my vulnerable figure. The monstrous machine sprang to life, deploying an array of probes and blades that mercilessly invaded my orifices - ears, nostrils, pussy, asshole, and mouth. Even my belly button was not spared. Sensations overwhelmed me, each one more unpleasant than the last.
The pain quickly consumed my entire being. It manifested in various forms, ranging from searing burns to pulsating throbs, tearing through my soul. Every inch of my body screamed in agony, relentless and unforgiving. The pain was ever-changing, draining not only my strength but also my resilience.
The machine was a horrific sight, with its array of numerous heads, probes, blades, and an assortment of unknown devices. It emitted a constant hum, filling the air with a mechanical buzz. As it operated, it not only administered medication, but also probed my body, causing discomfort and unease.
The Indian man, always present, explained in detail how the machine had overcome my immune defense, digestion, and nervous system. I glanced at the monitors, realizing that people were watching this gruesome spectacle online, witnessing the machine mercilessly tearing me apart, piece by agonizing piece.
Amidst the relentless torment, I discovered a newfound power within myself, harnessing my chaos energy to create an armor-like shield. I combined this newfound strength with my unwavering will, feeling a force building up in my mind. It manifested as a subtle pressure, an electric charge that I could amplify when I focused. This pressure reminded me of the first time I had teleported, a sign that my powers had grown once again. It was time to explore the extent of my abilities.
Lost in this torturous ordeal, time became irrelevant. All that existed was the unrelenting agony, consuming my being. Amongst the multitude of probes, there was one that I despised more than the others. I fixated my attention on it, envisioning it bending upwards. The power within me surged, the pressure in my head intensifying. It demanded release.
With venomous whispers, I uttered a command, "Bend." A wave of energy emanated from me, causing the probe to obediently contort. The machine remained oblivious for a moment, and I inwardly sighed, acknowledging the slight depletion of my power when it transformed into telekinetic force. Nevertheless, I now understand my abilities and their potential.
Harnessing my rage once more, I channeled even greater power. The machine was incapable of comprehending emotions, rendering my fury inconsequential in its eyes. I accumulated immense energy within myself until it felt as if I would burst at the seams. Now, it was time for a more significant feat. I desired one of the machine's larger arms to forcefully rip out all the wires.
Concentrating my power, I commanded, "Rip out." A tremendous wave of force surged from me, eliciting a soft groan as it left me drained and exhausted. The wires were torn free, accompanied by a shower of sparks, and the machine came to a halt.
The investigators came to find out what was wrong with the machine. They took me back to the room. I gathered strength for the rest of the day, tore myself away at night, and left. I had been there long enough, and I used my additional power source as a boost that enabled me to work. I didn't even destroy the whole plant; I just found one car and tried to drive it out of control. I finally made it to my house in Nevada.