Dead Man Walking -- Self Para
Who: Master Overseer Andrew Johansson, Madame Thornton, various staff
Where: Uvelea, the secret island
When: Sunday, July 13th
Summary: Andrew visits Uvelea and realizes the situation is far more horrific than he first assumed.
Tags: Medical experiments, blood, no anesthetic
Andrew couldn’t really say he wanted to be here. The moment his boat docked at Uvelea and they’d gotten past the cliffs surrounding everything, he’d been shocked at how huge it was. He’d seen the invoice and knew there had to be a lot of people here but the sheer size of it completely floored him. It almost gave him a headache to try and comprehend the sheer size of the complex he was in.
The tour was mostly bureaucratic bullshit, although meeting Madame Thornton was an experience and a half. She was brisk and to the point, leading the way through the facility and answering each of his questions wholly and concisely, sparing no detail. The three annexes were of course huge, each devoted to different spectrums of research. Throughout most of it he was attentive but a bit bored, the image he was seeing a bit different from what he had seen on paper.
That is, of course, until he witnessed some of the experiments. Some seemed relatively normal, just doctors taking blood samples and observing the slaves being used. Others, however… The first to really capture his attention was a female slave who must have once been exceptionally beautiful, but now looked ragged and emaciated, as though she should already be dead. The most noticeable thing though were her breasts, uneven and lumpy and covered in a myriad of scars. The doctors had led her into a room and strapped her to a table, not even bothering with anesthetic as they took a scalpel to the less scarred of her breasts and made a straight, precise cut down the center and right over her nipple. Her scream pierced the air, full of pain and a touch of familiarity, as though she were used to it. Which she probably was.
“What are they doing?” Andrew demanded, face a mask of hard lines while his voice was steady and controlled, hiding his disgust.
Madame Thornton gave him a beatific smile, as though true torture was not happening right in from of them. “Slave C-dash-one-four-oh. One of our most prolific subjects in our studies on cancer. The focus for her is of course breast cancer. This is a routine checking of the tissues. They will most likely take a sample before sewing the incision and sending her back to her cell.”
Barely able to stop from curling his lip, he asked, “And do they not believe in anesthetic?”
“There is no point in wasting the money.”
After this, the experience became worse, more experiments passing in the blur of horror and disgust. By the time he made his way back to his boat, one thing was abundantly clear. This needed to be brought to an end.
