Hello, sorry to disturb! I really enjoyed the 'badly injured villain collapsing in their hero nemesis' arms cause hero has morals so they wouldn't hurt them' prompt whump that you wrote, would it be possible to request for a continuation? Thank you! (´꒳`)/
Oh, I absolutely loved that one! I really hope I got the right one, there’s a couple different things I’ve written that are somewhat close to that description. If not, I’m really sorry.
This is a continuation from here, which is such a fun one. That one was entirely angst, so here we have some good comfort! I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for your ask!
CW//Injury, eating non-food, talk of wounds, thoughts of death, hospital setting, mental breakdown, on the run
Their leg.
It had been the only thing Villain had had the capability to focus on, ever since a near brush with capture had left them with a terribly wounded limb. Every last time they’d awoken, shaking and shivering, their mind had snapped to their lower body.
To their leg.
Besides the heroes, relentlessly on their tail, their wounded limb had been the greatest threat to their existence, and their freedom, so far. In a normal life, perhaps, a broken leg would be only a mild point of annoyance. Something that forces one to use mobility aids for a period of time before the limb heals itself.
But Villain’s life, for the past few weeks, had been anything but normal.
There was nothing normal about living as a hunted animal.
That was exactly why, when Villain awoke, their mind did not immediately go to how they had gone unconscious in the first place. They did not find themself thinking about their environment, or the time, or anything else that was perhaps important.
No. They thought only about their leg. Every time they’d woken up, they were determined to keep stock of it. After all, day by day, it had been getting worse. Always worse. First, it was swelling. Then an unbearable, itchy redness, followed by a terrible numbness that seemed to ebb and flow with the weather.
What was it now? Was it still good enough to use?
The result of their physical inquiry had not been something Villain was prepared to handle.
Their leg was... okay.
Sure, it was still a little itchy, and still felt a bit odd. Yet, there was no swelling, no numbness. No numbness, and yet, no pain. They could still feel the leg, feeling the weight of something pressing down on it, but there was no pain associated with it.
It was that pressure that finally convinced them to open their eyes.
Blearily, a few times, Villain blinked, allowing the light of the waking world to filter into their eyes. Where were they? Were they still at that abandoned mall, or had they moved on to the train station? They couldn’t quite remembe-
They couldn’t see their leg.
Villain’s train of thought was cut off in a panic as they looked down, to the location where the limb should be. They took stock of nothing else around them, no, only the lack of a limb. Their eyes shooting around in a panic, they found that their other leg was gone too, and their pelvis, their torso-
Oh.
It was only then that Villain truly woke up to realize their surroundings. They were laying on a bed. Overtop of them, a white blanket, obscuring their lower body, which was most surely still in its proper place.
A... bed? A blanket?
Were they dreaming? They had no such luxuries, not as a hunted animal.
Then...
Somewhere in the room, a room that they had not so much as thought to examine just yet, an opening door creaked.
It was then that the memories of the night prior hit Villain like a truck.
The train station. That was where they had been hiding out, the abandoned train station, sleeping on a platform where thousands of prospective passengers had once paraded. Then, the shouting. The chase...
They’d been found. They’d fled, of course they’d fled, but with a bum leg holding them back, there was little to stop them from being herded right where the heroes wanted them.
A firing squad. Villain had been forced into a room, surrounded by armed foes, encircling them on an upper story catwalk. They did not remember pain... Did that mean this was the afterlife?
No. Not the afterlife.
If it had been the afterlife, Villain would not have looked up to see Hero. But, that was exactly what they did. In an instant, their heart caught in their throat as they struggled to sit up, to look at the world around them.
A hospital room. They were in a hospital room, on a bed, surrounded by blank white walls and every sort of machine. Was this some odd sort of torture? Putting adrenaline into their veins so that they could not die as they were being mauled, ravaged?
Their expression turned to one of utter horror as they met the eyes of their foe. Hero was... smiling? Not a wicked smile, not a grin. A true, soft smile.
Villain’s mind all at once associated that particular smile with one particular phrase:
“It’s only a tranq.”
When Hero had spoken those words, Villain had assumed them to be a joke. A little jab, a last laugh before they were torn to shreds by a thousand shots of lead.
Yet... There were still here.
Why?
They had been so ready to die. So much time running, so much time crying, failing to sleep... They’d been ready for the end of the hunt.
Yet, here Hero was.
Villain opened their mouth to speak, but found that no words managed to form. Hero filled the air for them:
“Hey, Villain. How are you feeling?”
That was when Villain’s spiraling thoughts managed to form into words on their tongue.
“How am I feeling? I- You were going to kill me! You should’ve killed me! You’ve been chasing me, I- I was eating grass and garbage and- I was done! My leg- I couldn’t keep going, I was done, I was finished, you were supposed to kill me! I lost! I failed!
I shouldn’t be here!”
By the time they were finished, Villain was panting, gasping for air, for sense, for anything.
How were they here?
Unthinkingly, they swooshed the blanket off from their body, revealing all that it had formerly veiled.
Their leg had been... wrapped in a cast? A blue plaster cast, beautifully done, with clean edges and all. Far better than the branch and rope they’d tried to splint it with. And the rags they’d called clothes for the longest time... They were gone. Replaced by a sort of gown, designed solely to keep them warm, with little thought as to style.
Help.
They were supposed to be killed! Shot! Shredded!
A deer in the scope of a dozen hunters.
Now, they were in a hospital room, their bum leg casted and healing.
With wide eyes, Villain looked up at Hero. Their foe looked just as surprised as they did, yet, in the very opposite angle.
Why was Villain surprised at such basic decency?
“Um...”
It was clear that Hero worked far more often in combat than in counseling.
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Hello ! I hope you're doing well ! Do you think you could continue the Recovery Center story. This one was so soft and comforting.
Hugs 🐰 !
Ahh thank you so much for the request 🐰 ! I love that series and I’m happy to continue. Now we’ve even got a little action! (though, mostly comfort.) I hope you enjoy!
The masterlist for this series can be found here!
CW//Hospital setting, therapy mention
One month.
Four weeks.
Approximately 30 days.
That was the timespan that Villain had spent in the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. For four weeks, their life had been more regular than ever before.
Every morning, when they awoke to the shimmering dawn and the reflection of the river that cut through downtown, there was no stumbling to an empty fridge. Rather than the popcorn ceiling of a disheveled apartment, they were greeted instead by beige tiling and, of course, the gentle aroma of freshly made food.
At The Villainous Recovery Center, three meals a day were always served, though some of the night owls tended to only attend the latter two, supplementing their food intake with late night snacks.
Life at the center was simple. Villain would awake early enough for breakfast, attend group therapy, eat their lunch, and relax until Hero arrived. Even a month later, the certainly busy hero kept up with their daily visits whenever they could. Following the meeting came individual therapy, then recreational time until dinner. Following that, everything around the facility started to wind down.
Everything was designed for comfort, for ease. Of course, there were still rules. It was a medical center, after all, not a hotel. Every resident was required to spend at least half an hour outside every day, weather permitting, and everyone had to attend some sort of therapy twice a week, or more if desired.
Along with the requirements, there were of course some things that were prohibited. Any fights that began were shut down just as quickly
Sometimes, Villain wasn’t happy about it. Of course they weren’t. No one wanted to be pulled away from a good book or game to go eat lunch or attend a therapy session. But, in the end, they knew it was good for them. As stressful as the sessions could become, they helped. They really helped.
Everything about the center helped. Villain supposed that that was the point. It was calm, quiet. There was always help when it was needed. Everyone had low points, everyone had panic attacks, episodes, nightmares.
There was always help. That was why they were here. To get help.
But the Recovery Center was not forever. There was reason it was called a Recovery Center, not a prison, not a boarding home. Everyone’s stint at the center was temporary.
Villain had seen it a few times, albeit rarely, when residents left. It was always a great occasion, a celebration of recovery. Once deemed fully recovered, released former villains would be given a new name and identity, for their own protection, before they set out on their own, out into Metropolis. They always left with an apprehensive smile and, every time, Villain couldn’t help but feel like a child, watching their sibling go off to college.
Of course, it never happened all at once. Leaving occurred in phases. First, they’d spend a few hours a day, learning how to navigate the world once more. Then, they’d usually be placed in a job, but would return to the center at night. After some time of that, it was at last time for release. Time for a party.
The idea of release terrified Villain.
The world hated them, that was why they were where they were in the first place. The world was dangerous, evil, full of people who deserved to be hurt.
They didn’t want to go back. Everything was safe, here. Everything was calm. Everything was better.
They had friends. They’d never had that, not on the outside.
Yet, with every passing therapy session, they felt their grip on that fear loosen. The outside could be scary, yes, but there was so much to be gained from it. There were opportunities, good lives that could be lead.
Now, their therapist had devised a new technique to help Villain. Exposure therapy, they called it. Controlled doses of what Villain feared most until the fear became manageable.
It just so happened that what Villain feared most was the outside world.
They didn’t want to go.
Sitting on the couch in the facility’s TV room, now, Villain couldn’t help but fidget, bouncing their leg and twiddling their thumbs. Anxious hardly covered it.
Even when their therapist had suggested this, they were nervous, and though they had not been forced to say yes, the idea of the matter still terrified them.
They were going out. Villain was going to leave the facility.
And worse, or perhaps better, their chaperone was to be Hero.
Turning their gaze to the clock, as it seemed as though they’d done a thousand times that hour, and likely a million since their arrival at the facility. 12:57.
Hero visited at one.
Generally, at this time, Villain would already be in the visitation room, flipping idly through a magazine as they awaited the daily visit. They’d stopped fighting it a long time ago. Now, however, they were awaiting a much different kind of visit.
“Villain?”
The voice made them jump, something that hadn’t happened to them in a long, long time. It was merely one of the nurses, someone they knew well. And yet, they were so anxious as to jump.
“Hero’s here to see you.”
“They’re early.”
“I think they’re excited.” The nurse pursed their lips. “You look... Worried. Are you sure you’re up for this? We can always just bring you two down to visitation for your normal chat.”
Villain shook their head, standing to their feet and moving to the nurse’s side.
“No, I... I can do this.”
“Atta’ boy.” They replied playfully with a pat on Villain’s back. “They’re waiting just downstairs, let’s go!”
It was an odd thing to dwell on, yet, it was the only thing their mind registered as they saw their daily visitor, standing in the lobby of the building. It was just about the middle of autumn, with the chill of winter starting to creep in. A coat was normal.
Yet...
For a month, Hero had always arrived looking the same. This was a change. This was different.
“Villain!” Their friend-- was Hero their friend? -- called out upon noticing their approach. For a moment, they looked about to open their arms, before remembering that Villain wasn’t one for hugs. “Ready for this?”
“I... Think so.”
“You seem a little nervous.”
“I...” Villain gave a little chuckle. “I suppose I am. But I’m ready. I think- I know I’m ready.”
Of course, Villain had been told in advance of where they were going. They were told everything in advance-- the weather, how many people would be around, even what stores were nearby, what food odors would fill the area. After all, this wasn’t supposed to be a challenge, nor some kind of test. No, this was meant to be their very first baby step.
Yet, even despite the thousands of warnings they’d received, there was still something breathtaking about the view as Hero pulled into the mall parking lot. People, cars, everywhere they looked there were things. So many things.
So many people.
So many people, and not a single one of them was scared. None cowering in fear. None begging for mercy.
Once, Villain would have hated that fact. Now, it brought the most subtle of smiles to their face. They were in public, not as a prisoner, not wearing cuffs or chains, and still, the world was safe.
They weren’t dangerous.
Villain was not the end of the world.
“So, where to first?”
They’d almost forgotten there was someone else in the car. Turning to Hero as they pulled into a parking spot, they questioned:
“What?”
“I said, where to first?” Hero repeated themself.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re at a mall, Villain.” They gave a gentle smile. “It’s a bunch of stores. Where do you want to go first?”
“I...” Their jaw dropped at the very suggestion of making such a choice. There were so many options! “I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is.”
“Well, we can always just walk around and see what piques your interest.” They turned the key in the ignition, settling the engine to sleep. “Though, I thought maybe we could find somewhere to pick out some clothes for you? Something better than... That.”
Hero gave a vague gesture to Villain’s current attire. Unable to really go shopping, the residents of the recovery center only had a choice between a few different articles of clothing in a couple different colors. It was better than a hospital gown, but a change would certainly be nice.
Villain gave a sheepish little nod.
“Clothes shopping sounds good.”
“Let’s go, then.” Hero hopped out of the car, their accompaniment hot on their heels.
Yet, the closer they drew to the front of the grand building, the slower Villain got. By the time they were at the front, they’d slowed almost to a crawl.
“Villain?” Hero’s words were quieter, now-- There were people around, after all. People who they didn’t want to spook. “Everything okay? Do you need to do some of your breathing exercises?”
They shook their head, forging forth with an ever so slightly renewed determination.
“No, I- I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, just- Something feels wrong.”
They passed through the front doors of the mall, swamping Villain in a new cacophony of noise. Crying children, rolling carts; they regretted not bringing their headphones.
But that wasn’t it.
“Wrong? What do you mean?”
“Like... Like there’s something in the air.”
“A bad smell?”
“No. Not... I don’t know.”
Hero placed a stabling hand on their shoulder.
“I think what you’ve got, Villain, is a bad case of nerves. Let’s take a couple deep breaths and get out of the busy part of the mall, okay? You’ll feel better, then. You just need some time to adjust.”
Villain supposed that made sense. This was all just so new to them. So, they did exactly as Hero said. A few deep breaths, and they were off.
They expected a disaster. A sinkhole, a tornado, for the building to explode!
Yet... Nothing happened.
The unlikely pair moved from store to store, finding a few nice pieces that fit Villain well. Not enough for a whole wardrobe, but enough to supplement what they had to add a more personal touch.
It was only after a few stores that that same unease seemed to creep back into Villain’s forebrain. In a way, when the lights went off overhead, they’d been expecting it.
They could not see the figure that crashed through the ceiling, on account of the newfound darkness of the facility, but they had no need to see them.
No, they could sense Supervillain by their own pounding heart rate alone.
“Villain!”
The voice seemed to echo through the oversized halls and chambers of the complex.
“I- I can’t believe I found you. Oh, goodness. Let’s go home!”
Please continue feverish supervillain on a civilians doorstep? I reallyyyy wanna know what happens!!
Of course! Sorry it’s so short, I honestly don’t have much of a concrete idea on where to go with this one, so I thought why not have some fun banter? If anyone has any ideas or suggestions for where the story should go next, feel free to shoot them my way!
“You can’t... You can’t do this- Foolish... This is foolish!”
Those were the first words that Supervillain managed to croak out in the back of the vehicle.
“You just went into cardiac arrest!” Civilian gritted their teeth as they gripped the steering wheel with white-hued knuckles. “You’re going to the hospital. Complaining just wastes your energy.”
“I don’t- I don’t know who you are- But you don’t know who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are. Public enemy number one. A supervillain.”
“That’s exactly-” They let out a sharp cough, shaking their head. “Why you can’t-”
It seemed that Supervillain had spent all their breath on protests, seeing as their words were abruptly cut off as, in the back of Civilian’s van, they began to sharply gasp.
Civilian’s gaze went first to their GPS, then to the speed limit sign, then to the speedometer. They were pushing it, easy, but any faster and they risked being pulled over. If the authorities caught wind of this... No. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Though, had Supervillain been in any worse state, it might have been.
They were already bad enough. Civilian had been optimistic after the very first stages of their recovery had gone by so quickly. In only an hour or so, they had gone from delirious on a doorstep to eating, drinking, and communicating.
Then, they had stopped breathing.
A battle for recovery had turned into a battle for survival. CPR may have brought the villain back for now, but they needed serious medical care, that much was clear. Of course, however, Supervillain had just had to make it difficult.
As soon as they’d come back to life, they had been struggling, kicking out and protesting like one of Civilian’s more rowdy feline patients. Luckily, given that some of their more late nights involved responding to veterinary emergencies, their van was outfitted with some medical equipment.
Most notably, a backboard. A backboard designed for dogs, yes, to immobilize their necks and spines to prevent further injury, but still a backboard.
That was currently the only thing keeping Supervillain from leaping right out of the van’s back doors, Civilian nervously mused as they glanced in the rear view mirror. Covered partly in a blanket, there lay public enemy number one, tied down to a veterinary backboard.
And to think, Civilian had expected a day off.
Another glance at the GPS reported that the hospital was mere minutes away. Squinting out their windshield informed them of the same thing-- the red, glowing lights of the ER were only a few streets away.
Supervillain would make it that long. They had to.
Even if they hadn’t meant to come to Civilian, they still had. That made the villain their responsibility, and Civilian never failed a patient, animal or otherwise.
“We’re almost there.” They spoke, more so to reassure themself than anything else. “Just a few more minutes. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling like I want to pull your throat out of your body. Who are you? Tell me!”
“As far as you need to know? I’m the person taking you to the Emergency Room.”
In time with their little quip, Civilian turned the steering wheel to the side, common sense advising them to be gentle but nerves making their movements jittery. Pulling into the Emergency Room parking lot, the windshield was bathed in red light from the neon sign overhead, denoting the building’s purpose.
Supervillain would need attention as soon as possible. Gritting their teeth, Civilian pulled up right in front of the doors, ignoring every sign telling them not to. Briefly, they considered attempting to drag the backboard in themself, before remembering that they’d never handled a patient bigger than a Rottweiler.
“I’ll be right back.” They didn’t so much as take the time to turn off the vehicle’s engine, rather simply parking.
“You don’t want to do this! Let me go right now, and I’ll let you live!”
Civilian bit their tongue. The words clearly did not come from a place of aggression-- No. Supervillain was scared. Supervillain. They were scared. And what was it they had been blabbering about a message?
They weren’t nearly well enough to be interrogated, not now. Instead, Civilian went with the only weapon they knew how to yield:
Snark.
“I’ve dealt with worse Jack Russels than you, Supervillain. Just- Please don’t die. I’ll only be gone a minute.”
True to their word, Civilian swung open the van door and hopped out, racing through the doors of the ER so quickly that their automatic motion sensors nearly didn’t activate in time. Skidding to a stop on the tile floor, they realized that they hadn’t even thought out what they were going to say. They couldn’t exactly say it was Supervillain, could they?
“Someone’s hurt.” That was all they could think of. Someone. A stranger. After all, that was all Supervillain was to them-- A stranger that needed help. “They’re out in my car, they stopped breathing and- I did CPR, but they’re still weak.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened. Within a minute and a half, a gurney had been summoned from the back, along with a pair of emergency staff. Wordlessly, Civilian led them back out to the vehicle.
“Where are they?” One of the staff asked frantically.
“Right in here.” Civilian guided the gurney around to the back of the van before swinging the rear doors open.
Only to be faced with a Supervillain, free of their backboard, standing with the help of the wall. Shaking and pale as they were, they managed to raise a hand, which quite immediately became the source of a blooming orb of energy. Gasping for breath, they barely managed to speak:
This is just whump. Only whump. Not an ounce of comfort for Signal. On that note, if anyone has any comfort ideas for our poor little lab rat...?
Thank you so much for this request Blue! Just for you, I’ve added just a sprinkling of Doctor Crane.
I hope you enjoy! Do heed the warnings, as this one gets a little intense on the medical stuff.
@shiningstarofwinter
@wolfeyedwitch
CW//Medical setting, surgery, intubation, anesthesia awareness (waking up during surgery), panic, braces, amputation talk, death talk
Beep
Beep
Beep
Beep
“Breathing?”
“Steady.”
“Blood pressure still okay?”
“Lowering slightly, but I wouldn’t worry.”
“I hate making all these cuts...”
“There’s no other way to do it. It’s- We have to do it.”
The words filtered into Signal’s subconscious, one by one, taking a monumental effort to simply comprehend their meaning. Breathing? Were... Were they breathing? Yes, they were pretty sure.
Oddly enough, the movement of their lungs, pushing air in and out, lined up perfectly with an odd, whirring sort of sound. Too, it seemed that they could almost feel their breaths, bouncing back over their lips.
What the...
Where were they again? They could hardly even remember the night- day- When had they ever gone to sleep? It was though their mind were being weighed down by sand, every thought dragging behind it a ball and chain.
It was through only a Herculean feat that Signal managed to open their eyes. Keeping them open for more than a moment, however, proved impossible, especially as their field of vision was accosted by a blazing white light.
There were people around them. Why were they people? And why were they laying down?
Their...
Their wings. Why couldn’t they feel their wings.
Why- Why couldn’t they feel anything at all?
The steady beeping that had formerly filled the room now picked up speed until it more so resembled a furious alarm.
Signal didn’t remember going to sleep.
They remembered an IV in their vein, the bruising grips of doctors as consciousness slowly melted from them. Even as they were forced away from the waking world, they could still hear the last few words, spoken about them:
Difficult operation.
Can we really save them?
There’s so many of them...
Will they make it out of surgery?
What if they go into shock?
Surgery.
That was what the doctors, Signal’s pair of hellish captors, had promised. Surgery. There were pins, pins embedded in their wings, threatening to tear them apart. They needed to be removed, to save the feathered appendages.
In some tiny part of them, Signal just wished they’d take the damn things off. That way, they could be normal again. That way, they wouldn’t have to live the life of a classroom hamster anymore.
They didn’t know why they started screaming, nor were they truly sure why. There was no pain-- In fact, there was no feeling at all, outside from the very most sensitive features of their face. There was no fear, either, not really. There wasn’t anything at all.
Perhaps that was why they screamed. To feel anything at all. The sound barely made it past their vocal chords, sounding out into the outside world as little more than a squeak. Yet, it was more than enough to draw the attention of every last doctor in the room.
After all, you didn’t need a medical degree to know that your patient wasn’t meant to wake up during surgery. Later, a flustered anesthesiologist would admit to having forgotten to include the additional blood supply in their wings in their calculations.
For now, however, Signal was screaming.
From the sea of blue-masked and white-capped faces that ogled at them, there was only one they were able to pick out:
Doctor Sampson.
Of course, they had never much liked the doctor. It was more than difficult to like one’s captor, to enjoy the company of the one actively ruining your life.
Now, however, they longed for her. They longed for the soft touch on their hair as she took their measurements and vitals, the gentle words as Doctor Crane performed one of her many horrid experiments.
It was something. Something they could cling to.
With desperate eyes wide, Signal let out an unintelligible little squeak in their doctor’s direction. After a few moments of stunned panic, it seemed that the message had reached its destination.
First looking at her colleagues for permission, Dr. Sampson quickly received it, rushing over to Signal’s side. Leaning down, yet reluctant to touch with gloved hands, she hovered halfway over their winged captive.
“Signal, Signal, hey.”
There they were. The soft words that they had been craving, longing for. The words that made everything easier, if only for a split second in an entirely non-consequential way.
“Shh, shh. You’re okay.”
Her hand hovered over their hair, not daring to break the sterile wall between them, but getting as close as she possibly could.
“I’m so sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Signal. I’m so, so sorry.”
In the background, the white-coats muttered amongst themselves as one turned a dial.
“You’re going to be okay, alright? You’re going to go back to sleep in just a second, and when you wake up, this will be all over.”
Signal tried to speak, tube in their throat and all, but managed only more tinny squeaks.
They tried to beg. Tried to beg to have the wings removed so that they could be normal again. So that they could live again, so that they wouldn’t have to live in fear of punishments and cages any longer.
But, as always, their cries went unheard.
“Close your eyes, Signal.” Doctor Sampson whispered. “It’s going to be okay.
The first notably thing in this state was themself, their body. Rather than on their back, supine, as they had been laying prior, Signal now found themself upon their stomach, head turned quite uncomfortably to the side in order to maintain air flow in the awkward position.
For another thing, their sensations were back, as were their thoughts.
Upside down.
They could feel, now, and it was with all their strength that they wished they could not. Not that they had much strength at the moment, not as it was zapped away by the pain.
It was the second thing they noticed upon waking, after realizing their rather odd physical position: The pain. At first, it came in flashes, like being struck by a series of bullets from either side. Snap, snap, snap, a rock thrown roughly into a pond.
The epicenter of their agony was not difficult to locate, not in any way.
Their wings.
From several points along the feathered appendages, pain struck before radiating outwards, sending shivers down their stretched spine.
Surgery.
They’d made it out.
They’d made it out of surgery. They were alive! And, yet...
Signal gave a tiny, experimental flex of their wings.
The feathered appendages would not move so much as a millimeter.
They were restrained. Not as the usually were, not strapped down to a table or something similar. Rather, metal ran along them-- along their bases, along their flight feathers, through all of it. Thin metal, metal that curved and threatened to squeal whenever they dared attempt to move.
An exoskeleton. That was the first word that came to mind. The metal was so very perfectly fitted to their wings, holding them in place, holding them firm-
What in the world was happening to their wings? What had those hellish doctors done?!
This time, the beeping was louder when it filled the room. Another stupid heart monitor. Yet, when this one began to scream, it did not only resemble an alarm.
Rather, it triggered one.
With a suddenness that threatened to give Signal a heart attack, a great, blaring klaxon sounded, bathing the room in red light. After a few more rounds of this, of their heartbeat screaming in tandem with the sound that threatened to make their ears bleed, the door to the room was slammed open.
Signal had no way of telling who had entered, not in the position they were in. Yet, they had been lucky last time. Last time, Doctor Sampson had been there to comfort them. Maybe their lucky would carry over this time?
“What in the hell is going on?” Doctor Crane howled.
