Patient 117391-D banged her head against the wall as the screaming continued. The sharp screams cut through the thick walls. It reverberated through steel and stone. Each trill, each shriek echoed and amplified. When the screaming stopped, and Patient 117391-D thought it was over, new screams would take their place. She wasn’t always known as “Patient 117391-D.” She had a name once. She just couldn’t remember it. This place did that to you. It broke your spirit. It stole your identity. It robbed you of your sentience. They had beaten her identity out of her. Not physically, the smiling doctor in the white lab coat knew better. No, they beat it out of her through despair and through subterfuge. After how many days, months and possibly years, she’d forgotten her name. And slowly she’d forgotten her family. They still hung at the very edges of her consciousness. And sometimes, she would see a figure at the edges of her sight, only to turn her head and the figure would not be there. Other times, she would dream of a smiling beautiful boy holding up his arms for “Mommy.” Those were good dreams. The bad dreams were when she saw the same boy’s head bashed against metal walls. She’d wake up with the sound of the wet crack of bone and flesh against metal still in her ears. All Patient 117391-D could do was bang her head against the wall. She moaned pitifully for the screaming to stop. She tried to scream. She couldn’t scream. Her mouth would not open. Her lips were sewn shut.
She stopped banging her head against the wall, as she heard the bolt in the lock of her door slide. That sharp, staccato click cut through the dull, throbbing rush of blood in her head. She backed up as far into her little corner as she could. The door swung open, two figures silhouetted in the door. The little light in her cell came from the small peephole in the door, and the small grate, no larger than a music box, on the wall her back was to.
“Weren’t you told to stop dirtying the walls with your blood?” one, gruff voice questioned her. 117391-D clawed at the metal walls, broken nails, dirty fingers scratching in futility. Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and her legs as the voice continued, “I guess we’ll just have to teach you another lesson.”
Her wide eyes caught a glimpse of a bald head and a broken face, before her thin gown was pulled up and tied, securing her arms above her head and her eyes unable to see the two men. She kicked uselessly as they spread her legs. 117391-D sobbed uselessly.
Malice hummed to himself as he worked. Caught up in his own little world, he smiled joyfully as his hands moved in careful concert with the tune he was humming. He didn’t remember what the tune was from. It might have been from that concert he went to last month. It didn’t matter. The tune sustained him through his work. He reached for the small metal tray next to him, picking up a thick, black marker. Carefully he studied the body before him. Male. Human. Somewhere in his mid 30s. He drew careful marks with the marker along the left side of the sternum. The incision will have to be offset, I don’t want to have to completely butterfly him. Too much work to close up.
The Asylum had over three dozen of these labs. Two of which opened into operating theaters for demonstrations. The floor beneath this one was thick. Blocking out the screams of the inmates below. Poor souls, rounded up to be experimented upon. Exposed to disease, the elements, pain and anything else the staff of the facility could think of. Three dozen surgical labs, a wing devoted to chemical and biological agents, two floors to infectious diseases, and over five thousand holding cells for all sorts of life. Part of the Asylum was a “teaching hospital.” That part handled strange and unusual cases, and taught the basics of quarantine and handling new and emerging diseases. That was the part of the Asylum everyone knew about. The part that Malice worked in was detached. Kept away from the prying eyes of curious students by all manner of guards and a maze of corridors that doubled back on each other. That was the part of the Asylum with the holding cells and the weapons experiments. That was the part of the lab known only to a percentage of a fraction of the staff.
Malice scowled to himself as he heard the doors to the lab open with the distinct hiss of pressurized gas. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed a young non-commissioned officer standing there, awaiting recognition. Nodding his head once in the direction of the NCO, he continued to mark off the corpse laid out before him.
“My Lord,” the NCO began, “Your presence is requested within the Grand Chamber. Lord Corvus is convening a special session of Parliament and requires your presence.”
Malice scowled and put down the marker, “And just who is to finish this experimentation?”
His voice grew shrill as it grew louder, “Lucius wished me to prepare more advanced Aptrgangr! Who will continue the work?! You?!”
Malice had stalked closer to the NCO, sweat upon the poor young man’s brow. The scientist began to poke the NCO square in the chest, “Tell me, can you properly expose the heart without damaging the aorta or superior vena cava?!”
A hand curled around the NCO’s tunic. Spittle escaped from the scientist’s mouth, punctuating each rabid exclamation, “Or am I to leave this body to rot?!”
Seizing upon the Dark Side of the Force to accentuate his abilities, the slight scientist lifted the NCO above his head screeching, “Answer me!”
Sweat dripped freely down the NCO’s brow, his neck, down the back of his tunic as he stammered, “M-my L-l-lord, D-d-doctor S-st-steiner has volunteered to continue your work.”
The NCO found himself unceremoniously dumped on the floor, “Oh, excellent. That changes everything. I’d been trying to get Steiner to help with this, but he’s had other projects.”
The scientist’s change in mood was legendary. In one second he could go from raving lunatic to charming to standing on a street corner screaming at people that he was a lamp. He proceeded to stick the tray of tools into the bin marked for used instruments, so that they may be cleaned, all the while humming the same tune.
Finished, he turned to the NCO, who still stood on the floor, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get my shuttle ready. I’ll need to pack. I wonder if I get to wear one of those wigs. I always wanted to wear one of those wigs. I never got to wear a powdered wig, you know.”
This last directed at the NCO who still sat there agape as the scientist walked over him, out the door towards his quarters. As he turned the corner, and the door to the lab slid shut, the last the NCO heard was, “But, this time, I shall wear that wig! Lucius isn’t here to stop me!”
Malice sat in the Grand Chamber bored. Parliament had been called to an emergency session. The powdered wig perched on his head was starting to get scratchy, and the powder was irritating his eyes and nose. He was ready to take it off, but as his eyes swept the chamber and noticed the looks from everyone else, he decided to keep it on. What he mistook for looks of reverence and awe, were in reality the glances of curious and alarmed Parliamentarians who knew of the Mad Scientist’s reputation as a psychotic.
Malice focused his gaze to the dais as a gavel banged. A blond man had banged the gavel down. Is he expecting us to come to attention now? Sighing inwardly, Malice stared, bored, at the dais.
“Members of the Common House, august representatives of the Lords,” at this those in session stared at the box that Malice sat in now. With the Lords off world, the body had designated representatives to act for them in the event of emergency. Three figures sat in the box, Malice being one of them. The other two had their hoods drawn up, masking their faces. “At 0200 hours, by way of an intermediary carrier, an encrypted message arrived from the Malevolent. The message was simple, ‘Make sure to lock the doors, we won’t be home for dinner.’’
Corvus let the words sink in, and the murmurs come to a din before banging his gavel once more for order. “Furthermore, through our economic contacts, we have received reports that Nagi suffered an attack close to the Imperial Wing where war game exercises were taking place.”
Once more, the murmuring and the din continued. Corvus let it grow again before banging his gavel once more to call for order. “In light of this revelation, we are heightening security within the system. All traffic inbound will be turned away. All traffic outbound will be suspended indefinitely. Furthermore, under article seven of our Constitution, I hereby take emergency command of the planet in the absence of the Marshal, the Supreme, and His Majesty, The King.”
Louder cries from the Members of Parliament, as Corvus banged his gavel once more. Continuing over the comments below, “Effective immediately all traffic in system is to be monitored and documented. Vice-Admiral Armus is closing all space lanes as we speak, and increasing fighter patrols. Members of this august body, I urge you all to return to your homes and prepare defenses. We know not when or even if the fleet will return. Our resources are stretched, and we may very well be the next target of these invaders. Until further notice, this, the Seventh session of our Parliament is closed.”
Corvus banged his gavel once more, as armed troops lined up near the dais to escort him from the Parliamentary Grand Chamber to the Prince’s Audience Chamber where he would hold court.
Malice leaned over to the hooded figures seated to his right, “We have just under three hundred Aptrgangr ready, and two dozen Draugr.”
One of the figures nodded, before the Mad Scientist stood and made for the submarine bays below the city, to make his way to the Castle.
The War Room within the Castle was sparse. Most of the officers and personnel that would be present there were taken with the Field Marshal to the military exercises. Those that remained were the aides to the Lord Corvus, now acting Prince, and the Commander of the Navy, Vice-Admiral Armus. Malice was also in attendance, representing the various weapons programs being developed on de Clare's Asylum. Rounding out the group were the same two hooded figures from the Parliamentary meeting, Lords Drexus and Kronus.
Malice glanced up from the datapad before him, "We have close to two thousand undead troops ready to respond to any emergency, including three hundred Aptrgangr and two dozen Draugr and Fluffy II."
Corvus arched a blond brow, "Fluffy…the second?" he parroted back in confusion.
"Yes," Malice nodded his head, "Lord Drexus killed Fluffy I. I rai - *urk*"
Lord Drexis's knife edge hand connected with Malice's throat, effectively silencing him. Looking at the assembly around the table that stared at him expectantly, he offered up, "Lucius told me to."
Corvus worked his jaw, wondering just why he was here. He was retired. Why did he have to deal with the psychotics again? He clutched at his stomach, imagining a new ulcer forming.
Malice coughed a few times and saw the Governor-General clutching his stomach.
"Aww, does schnookums miss the Marshal?," Malice sing-songed, "he told me all about your interlude on the Asylum many years ago. Are you missing those strong arms pinning you down, tearing through your clothing as you try to scr - *slam*"
Lord Drexus had slammed Malice, face first into the great table mid-tirade.
Corvus groaned and rubbed his temple, feeling his stomach gurgle. Yep, that was an ulcer.
She stopped banging her head against the wall, as she heard the bolt in the lock of her door slide. That sharp, staccato click cut through the dull, throbbing rush of blood in her head. She backed up as far into her little corner as she could. The door swung open, two figures silhouetted in the door. The little light in her cell came from the small peephole in the door, and the small grate, no larger than a music box, on the wall her back was to.
“Weren’t you told to stop dirtying the walls with your blood?” one, gruff voice questioned her. 117391-D clawed at the metal walls, broken nails, dirty fingers scratching in futility. Two sets of hands grabbed her arms and her legs as the voice continued, “I guess we’ll just have to teach you another lesson.”
Her wide eyes caught a glimpse of a bald head and a broken face, before her thin gown was pulled up and tied, securing her arms above her head and her eyes unable to see the two men. She kicked uselessly as they spread her legs. 117391-D sobbed uselessly.
* * * * *
Malice hummed to himself as he worked. Caught up in his own little world, he smiled joyfully as his hands moved in careful concert with the tune he was humming. He didn’t remember what the tune was from. It might have been from that concert he went to last month. It didn’t matter. The tune sustained him through his work. He reached for the small metal tray next to him, picking up a thick, black marker. Carefully he studied the body before him. Male. Human. Somewhere in his mid 30s. He drew careful marks with the marker along the left side of the sternum. The incision will have to be offset, I don’t want to have to completely butterfly him. Too much work to close up.
The Asylum had over three dozen of these labs. Two of which opened into operating theaters for demonstrations. The floor beneath this one was thick. Blocking out the screams of the inmates below. Poor souls, rounded up to be experimented upon. Exposed to disease, the elements, pain and anything else the staff of the facility could think of. Three dozen surgical labs, a wing devoted to chemical and biological agents, two floors to infectious diseases, and over five thousand holding cells for all sorts of life. Part of the Asylum was a “teaching hospital.” That part handled strange and unusual cases, and taught the basics of quarantine and handling new and emerging diseases. That was the part of the Asylum everyone knew about. The part that Malice worked in was detached. Kept away from the prying eyes of curious students by all manner of guards and a maze of corridors that doubled back on each other. That was the part of the Asylum with the holding cells and the weapons experiments. That was the part of the lab known only to a percentage of a fraction of the staff.
Malice scowled to himself as he heard the doors to the lab open with the distinct hiss of pressurized gas. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed a young non-commissioned officer standing there, awaiting recognition. Nodding his head once in the direction of the NCO, he continued to mark off the corpse laid out before him.
“My Lord,” the NCO began, “Your presence is requested within the Grand Chamber. Lord Corvus is convening a special session of Parliament and requires your presence.”
Malice scowled and put down the marker, “And just who is to finish this experimentation?”
His voice grew shrill as it grew louder, “Lucius wished me to prepare more advanced Aptrgangr! Who will continue the work?! You?!”
Malice had stalked closer to the NCO, sweat upon the poor young man’s brow. The scientist began to poke the NCO square in the chest, “Tell me, can you properly expose the heart without damaging the aorta or superior vena cava?!”
A hand curled around the NCO’s tunic. Spittle escaped from the scientist’s mouth, punctuating each rabid exclamation, “Or am I to leave this body to rot?!”
Seizing upon the Dark Side of the Force to accentuate his abilities, the slight scientist lifted the NCO above his head screeching, “Answer me!”
Sweat dripped freely down the NCO’s brow, his neck, down the back of his tunic as he stammered, “M-my L-l-lord, D-d-doctor S-st-steiner has volunteered to continue your work.”
The NCO found himself unceremoniously dumped on the floor, “Oh, excellent. That changes everything. I’d been trying to get Steiner to help with this, but he’s had other projects.”
The scientist’s change in mood was legendary. In one second he could go from raving lunatic to charming to standing on a street corner screaming at people that he was a lamp. He proceeded to stick the tray of tools into the bin marked for used instruments, so that they may be cleaned, all the while humming the same tune.
Finished, he turned to the NCO, who still stood on the floor, “Well, what are you waiting for? Get my shuttle ready. I’ll need to pack. I wonder if I get to wear one of those wigs. I always wanted to wear one of those wigs. I never got to wear a powdered wig, you know.”
This last directed at the NCO who still sat there agape as the scientist walked over him, out the door towards his quarters. As he turned the corner, and the door to the lab slid shut, the last the NCO heard was, “But, this time, I shall wear that wig! Lucius isn’t here to stop me!”
* * * * *
Malice sat in the Grand Chamber bored. Parliament had been called to an emergency session. The powdered wig perched on his head was starting to get scratchy, and the powder was irritating his eyes and nose. He was ready to take it off, but as his eyes swept the chamber and noticed the looks from everyone else, he decided to keep it on. What he mistook for looks of reverence and awe, were in reality the glances of curious and alarmed Parliamentarians who knew of the Mad Scientist’s reputation as a psychotic.
Malice focused his gaze to the dais as a gavel banged. A blond man had banged the gavel down. Is he expecting us to come to attention now? Sighing inwardly, Malice stared, bored, at the dais.
“Members of the Common House, august representatives of the Lords,” at this those in session stared at the box that Malice sat in now. With the Lords off world, the body had designated representatives to act for them in the event of emergency. Three figures sat in the box, Malice being one of them. The other two had their hoods drawn up, masking their faces. “At 0200 hours, by way of an intermediary carrier, an encrypted message arrived from the Malevolent. The message was simple, ‘Make sure to lock the doors, we won’t be home for dinner.’’
Corvus let the words sink in, and the murmurs come to a din before banging his gavel once more for order. “Furthermore, through our economic contacts, we have received reports that Nagi suffered an attack close to the Imperial Wing where war game exercises were taking place.”
Once more, the murmuring and the din continued. Corvus let it grow again before banging his gavel once more to call for order. “In light of this revelation, we are heightening security within the system. All traffic inbound will be turned away. All traffic outbound will be suspended indefinitely. Furthermore, under article seven of our Constitution, I hereby take emergency command of the planet in the absence of the Marshal, the Supreme, and His Majesty, The King.”
Louder cries from the Members of Parliament, as Corvus banged his gavel once more. Continuing over the comments below, “Effective immediately all traffic in system is to be monitored and documented. Vice-Admiral Armus is closing all space lanes as we speak, and increasing fighter patrols. Members of this august body, I urge you all to return to your homes and prepare defenses. We know not when or even if the fleet will return. Our resources are stretched, and we may very well be the next target of these invaders. Until further notice, this, the Seventh session of our Parliament is closed.”
Corvus banged his gavel once more, as armed troops lined up near the dais to escort him from the Parliamentary Grand Chamber to the Prince’s Audience Chamber where he would hold court.
Malice leaned over to the hooded figures seated to his right, “We have just under three hundred Aptrgangr ready, and two dozen Draugr.”
One of the figures nodded, before the Mad Scientist stood and made for the submarine bays below the city, to make his way to the Castle.
* * * * *
The War Room within the Castle was sparse. Most of the officers and personnel that would be present there were taken with the Field Marshal to the military exercises. Those that remained were the aides to the Lord Corvus, now acting Prince, and the Commander of the Navy, Vice-Admiral Armus. Malice was also in attendance, representing the various weapons programs being developed on de Clare's Asylum. Rounding out the group were the same two hooded figures from the Parliamentary meeting, Lords Drexus and Kronus.
Malice glanced up from the datapad before him, "We have close to two thousand undead troops ready to respond to any emergency, including three hundred Aptrgangr and two dozen Draugr and Fluffy II."
Corvus arched a blond brow, "Fluffy…the second?" he parroted back in confusion.
"Yes," Malice nodded his head, "Lord Drexus killed Fluffy I. I rai - *urk*"
Lord Drexis's knife edge hand connected with Malice's throat, effectively silencing him. Looking at the assembly around the table that stared at him expectantly, he offered up, "Lucius told me to."
Corvus worked his jaw, wondering just why he was here. He was retired. Why did he have to deal with the psychotics again? He clutched at his stomach, imagining a new ulcer forming.
Malice coughed a few times and saw the Governor-General clutching his stomach.
"Aww, does schnookums miss the Marshal?," Malice sing-songed, "he told me all about your interlude on the Asylum many years ago. Are you missing those strong arms pinning you down, tearing through your clothing as you try to scr - *slam*"
Lord Drexus had slammed Malice, face first into the great table mid-tirade.
Corvus groaned and rubbed his temple, feeling his stomach gurgle. Yep, that was an ulcer.