Your grogginess was unnatural, but familiar, reminiscent of that time you were put under for surgery following a battle. You were sedated, for sure. How else would such a skinny thing best you? 

Skinny. Tall and skinny. With round goggles that reflected ominously in your peripherals while he whispered something that made your skin crawl. Of course. How could you be so stupid? It was Dr. Helzir. 

It wasn’t like you thought you were safe. Despite the frustrated requests of his superiors, Helzir still managed to get away with picking off soldiers if he liked their zombification potential. What a laugh. How can a fleet commander fail so spectacularly at leashing one goddamn fish? 

Blearily, you open your eyes. The overhead surgical lamp burned a bit, so you turned your head to the side with a wince, squinting into a less bright corner of the room. There was a floater in your vision from the light, but you eventually blinked it away, and your gaze settled on some terrible, hulking amalgamation pacing behind a thick glass.

You’ve seen these before. Never this close, though. Brutes, they were called. Helzir made many kinds of zombies, but these were the ones the fleet liked the most. They’re destructive powerhouses, far more than the sum of their literal parts. The rumor is that he strips the densest thew out of multiple trolls and intricately weaves them together, braiding muscle strand against muscle strand until he’s made something stronger than any natural thing. 

You’re not sure it works like that, but regardless, it makes your stomach turn to see the way their muscles ripple unnaturally under the tight, dead skin. Whatever repulsiveness is occurring beneath the surface, you’re just glad you can’t see it. 

“Do you like him, little bug?” 

You visibly startle, and instinctively pull at the reinforced leather straps around your wrists and ankles, the little metal bits jingling as you do. Silence follows, and for a moment, you almost believe you made him up in your mind, like some kind of bogeyman you made up to scare yourself. But your gaze soon settles on a figure seated beside the brute’s containment tank, smiling placidly. 

Your stomach feels rotten again, only worse. 

“He’s to be shipped off soon. I’ll be sorry to see him go. I think I really outdid myself this time.”

Kizien’s voice was even, almost droning, but something about his tone carried a certain ill-fitting airyness. You stare at him, getting a glimpse of his eyes behind his goggles. His tone was innocent, but his eyes betrayed this. He didn’t do this for the money, or even the notoriety. He did this for fun. Like everyone was just a doll in his toybox. 

“Save it,” you spit venomously, “the commander won’t let you have me.”

The biologist brings a hand up, adjusting his goggles as a toothy grin breaks out on his face. 

“Oh, he won’t know until you’re long gone. I prefer to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” 

Kizien rises from his seat, trailing a gloved hand over the brute’s enclosure as he passes by it. He approaches you on the vivisection table, and you instinctively lean away. Twiggy as he may be, Helzir unsettles you. You and every ensign that has to tiptoe around his floor, that is. You don’t understand how some people can hold a normal conversation with him, knowing that he’s always thinking about which of your parts he can upcycle. He has no loyalty to anyone. That’s scarier than any zealot, imperial OR rebellious. 

You strain against your bindings again. The violet tuts and pulls a rolling hand table closer. The instruments on display there may be clean, sharp, and well-maintained, but it brings you no comfort. It will be immensely painful regardless. You’ve heard the screams from his lab before. 

“Well, now that you’re good and awake, we should probably get started. I can’t wait to get my fingers under your skin and really feel what I’m working with here…” 

“Wait-” you interrupt, trying not to sound like you’re stalling. Kizien hums and looks over. His hand hovers over one of the surgical tools, fingers twitching excitedly. Think. What can you get him talking about? “... I know I’m not getting out of this. Can’t you tell me the secret?” 

Kizien’s gaze is fixated on you curiously, seeming to turn the request around in his brain a few times. 

“The secret?” 

“About the zombies. About why no one can make them the way you do. I heard about the commander’s old research team. Everyone says it’s special, what you do– that it’s the only reason they let you stay.” 

“That isn’t the only reason.” 

“Well, I’m as good as dead, right? And you’re probably dying to brag to someone about it, right?” 

Kizien’s quiet at first, and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. But you don’t mind, he can chew on this for as long as he wants, if it delays your non-consensual murder-surgery/surgery-murder. But eventually, he does speak again, a smile ever-present on his face. 

“I’ll let you stall us just a little bit, little bug” he acquiesced. 

Kizien picked up a scalpel to turn it over in his fingers idly. Thinking about what he would have done with that makes you shudder… You have to find a way out, now that you have time. You swallow thickly and give the biologist your attention, hoping he’ll be too distracted by his words to notice you trying to get your ankle out of its restraint. 

“Growing up, I thought magic was just science we haven’t figured out yet,” he began. “That’s what many scientific minds say about it, at least. But in time, I learned that magic really is an entirely different phenomenon than biological or chemical studies, and only a select few are blessed with the ability to utilize it. It isn’t like psionics. You can’t prod at it through the mind or body. Magic is from somewhere else. And then… I discovered that you can still prod at it, even if you can’t use magic yourself. It’s a delicate process, but the previous Sorcerer’s notes were more than enough to get me started.”

“The previous Sorcerer?” 

“Yes.” 

Your brows pinch together. 

“I didn’t know there was a previous one. Titles aren’t usually passed down.” 

“Mm, well, the title was stripped from him when he abandoned the fleet in favor of seeking power and immortality, and the mantle fell to his descendent, our lovely commander Kollin. They figured he ought to be just as powerful as his ancestor, but…”

Kizien's eyes narrow in amusement, and you feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, suddenly defensive over your superior. 

“The commander is a powerful sorcerer. What do you know about magic?” 

“More than he does, actually. But we’ll get to that part of the story later. I want to answer your question first, about the ‘secret’. It should come as no surprise now that the secret is magic. I can’t actually wield it, but if I get my hands on raw magical energy, there’s a lot else I can do with it. Most other scientists don’t have the right sort of mind to understand it, though. It’s why your precious commander could never find a team to do it properly.” 

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“No. The other reason is that Velzka Kollin is a fraud, and he needs me.” 

Your mouth feels dry. You try to focus on getting your ankle free, but you begin to wonder… Would the commander even be able to help you, if you got out? 

“What do you mean?” you manage through the cottony dryness of your throat. 

Kizien smiles again, spinning the scalpel around in his fingers. 

“Any magic-user can certainly learn and train and generally improve their skills, but one’s inherent magical capacity is effectively immutable. Some trolls will simply never be able to reach the same heights as others. Not without outside assistance. In the commander’s case… I acquire raw magic for him to take, so that his superiors don’t replace him with someone better. Think of it like… performance-enhancing drugs, but to a more extreme degree.” 

“You’re blackmailing him?” 

“Is it blackmail if I don’t intend to reveal him to anyone? I think it’s more like a bribe. Either he can take it, and enjoy reaping the benefits of his station, or he can send me away, and risk being made obsolete. Really, it’s a choice he’s making here. A selfish choice, when you think about it.” 

You swallow. You were nervous before, but now you’re… scared. The commander is under Kizien’s thumb. There’s no protecting you, even if you get out. The violet takes notice of your demeanor shift, and that big, toothy grin returns to his face. You begin to fight against your restraints again, despite the fact that you know the Ripmaw isn’t safe for you anymore. Anything– ANYTHING to delay the inevitable. 

“I think that’s enough distraction for now,” the biologist hums blithely. 

You yell and squirm and thrash your head, restraints clattering against the surgical table. You almost can’t hear Kizien’s calm voice beneath it all.