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oom: room 25...but not.
It starts the same as all the others.
The door is the wall.
He's lying alone in bed when he contemplates taking himself downstairs and celling himself to be able to be watched, since the Doctor wants him that badly. After everything he's heard the last two days, he's starting to consider it.
His eyes close.
Everything is fuzzy. He feels like he's on the drugs again, but he's not. He struggles to open his eyes, but he can't. He's lying alone in bed and trying to scream, trying to fight it, but he can't.
They slip shut.
The door is the wall.
The walls are coated in the peeling paint and still covered in the burns and scorch marks from the last time. The floor is coated in grime and dust and dark red splotches. Trails. One of them is fresh.
He can hear her screaming.
Something is dripping. The floor rumbles beneath his feet. Doc walks without fear, following the trails of blood. The copper scent is in his nose again. It's quiet, safe for the faint echo of footsteps. They're not his but he can't see who they belong to.
He doesn't want to know.
Doc steps into a room and rifles around in the drawers until he finds a handful of tools. He's not going in there unarmed this time. The knife is larger than a scalpel and the blade is coated in rust, but it'll work for what he wants.
He's going to find that Doctor and he's going to stop this.
The hand covers his mouth and he can't even shout. He can't breathe. His nose stings and his eyes water from the chemical and he tries to swing the knife around, but his strength sags as he has to inhale. His brain shuts down and the knife clatters to the floor.
He wakes up and can't move his arms and legs. His eyes burn and so does his nose. There's blood on his lips and he feels like he's been hit in the head with a brick.
Doc doesn't recognize anything.
There's a tank...
"Let me out..."
The door is the wall.
He's lying alone in bed when he contemplates taking himself downstairs and celling himself to be able to be watched, since the Doctor wants him that badly. After everything he's heard the last two days, he's starting to consider it.
His eyes close.
Everything is fuzzy. He feels like he's on the drugs again, but he's not. He struggles to open his eyes, but he can't. He's lying alone in bed and trying to scream, trying to fight it, but he can't.
They slip shut.
The door is the wall.
The walls are coated in the peeling paint and still covered in the burns and scorch marks from the last time. The floor is coated in grime and dust and dark red splotches. Trails. One of them is fresh.
He can hear her screaming.
help me doc
please help me doc he's coming
he's hurting me
Something is dripping. The floor rumbles beneath his feet. Doc walks without fear, following the trails of blood. The copper scent is in his nose again. It's quiet, safe for the faint echo of footsteps. They're not his but he can't see who they belong to.
He doesn't want to know.
Doc steps into a room and rifles around in the drawers until he finds a handful of tools. He's not going in there unarmed this time. The knife is larger than a scalpel and the blade is coated in rust, but it'll work for what he wants.
He's going to find that Doctor and he's going to stop this.
footsteps closer
no time to hide
no time to run
run doc
The hand covers his mouth and he can't even shout. He can't breathe. His nose stings and his eyes water from the chemical and he tries to swing the knife around, but his strength sags as he has to inhale. His brain shuts down and the knife clatters to the floor.
and it echoes
like silent screams
that will never be heard
help me
He wakes up and can't move his arms and legs. His eyes burn and so does his nose. There's blood on his lips and he feels like he's been hit in the head with a brick.
Doc doesn't recognize anything.
There's a tank...
teja said tank
paul drowned
fire flickers
let me out
let me out
let me out
"Let me out..."
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It was darker here but the lights that hung low over the dingy sort of dirty operation room that the Doctor called his own personal lab. Where Doc laid was in the center of the room on a dirty and bloodstained table. Rust even resided in a few of the corners that had collected over the past years.
To his right are two vats where a different patient is floating almost lifeless in it, wraped in bandages from head to toe keeping the sex of the thing unknown. It twitches in the water every once and a while in little jerking motions. To Doc's left men and even women lay out with their heads towards him- each with their skulls cut off exposing someimes empty cavaties. Needless to say the jars along the back wall are full with various organs and body parts..
Gottreich is working on gathering tools that look like they had not been washed in over one hundred years. They probably haven't. "Ahh," the older man says when Doc speaks, "I see our new patient has voken up, Paul. You have him restrained vell then, yes?"
"Of course," the kid says where he is picking at his nails with a scaplep. "We don't want this one to get away."
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His stomach twists at the sight of open skulls to his left. Some dried blood still resides on the edges along with rotting tissue and brain matter.
A wave of nausea rolls over him but he manages to keep from vomiting, instead turning his head away and closing his eyes. A deep breath merely makes him want to gag even more.
He can taste the smell.
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Taste it.
Feel it.
It's the grime of over a hundred years of death and malpractice. The feeling of no hope or discovering your life were to be about gone. Those few fleeting seconds left before the soul is riped from the body...it's what the Doctor thrives on.
Leaning close to Doc's ear the ancient man with the brown rotting teeth seems to purr to him. "Ve are already there." He raises his hand, running bloody fingers back through Josiah's hair causing the golden strands to stick together. "Such pretty hair," the old man croons. "I almost hate to cut it all off."
Paul sorted from where he rested against the desk. "Tick, tock, tick, tock, another looney for the Doc."
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He spits -- also in the direction of the doctor -- and then yanks his head away.
"They're coming for you," he drawls. "They're building an army and they're coming for you and they're gonna kill you and make you stop this."
Something slams his head back against the table hard and the stars blur across his vision.
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Pausing, he reaches out pressing the dull scalpel against Doc's adam's apple. "Unless you think that little Mary would bring you here? Zee little one is lost..confused. She needs more treatments."
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you need more treatments you son of a bitch
Doc won't say it with the scalpel against his throat. His head is slowly starting to throb with the pain of the blow and now the missing chunk of hair.
"Doesn't matter how we do it but we will do it, both of you. I know what you did." He swallows and feels the dull blade pressing against his throat once more, closer. "I know what you did and you can't stop us..."
Everything is fuzzy. He blinks to try and clear his vision but it's not working. Must be the anaesthetic...he tugs again at the bindings but can't move enough to get a hand free. Paul was good at this apparently...
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Paul said not a word but snorted slightly, watching the Doctor work and waiting for his turn to be of assistance.
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The snips are jagged and some of his hair catches in the dulled blades and pulls against his scalp, causing him to twitch from the pain. His scalp has always been sensitive and this is no exception.
"...a fraud...this isn't medicine...you ain't helping a damn thing by hurting them."
Doc swallows at a particularly sharp tug and snip.
"Why didn't you let them out of the rooms during the fire?"
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Setting the scissors down he reached for the scalpel again as he reached out that bloody hand of his again to turn Doc's head left and right studying the nut for a few seconds before nodding. "As you can tell, Paul, all patients are stubborn and do not know vhat is best for them."
Somewhere along the line of the dead something shifts, moans, cries.
"Ve vill start with basic protocal for an autopsy. Zee cuts vill not be to deep for I vant you to see and understand the structure of zee veins and muscle tissue. Start vith zee shoulders first."
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but I'm still...
ohgod.
His nose curls at the scent of the blood and grime on the hand that was touching his face and holding him by the jaw. Doc did not want those hands anywhere near him but he knew that he couldn't do a damn thing about it, not with the anaesthetic numbing all of his feeling in his body.
He was already dead.
How many of the patients were alive when he did this to them?
Something moves on the bed to his left and he sees empty skull with live, blood still flowing, a weak struggle for survival, the body trying to live.
help me.
let me out.
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Tearing the shirt away from Doc's chest he pointed to the shoulder tracing along the boneline with bloody fingers. "Cut along here. Not to deep. Layer at a time."
Paul hesitated a moment before speaking up again. "Shouldn't we worry about.."
The Doctor snorted, glaring at the young adult across from him. "Zhere are no such things as germs or disease. It is a problem with zee brain. Ve do not do such things here. Now cut."
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Doc feels the cold fingers against his skin and the chill cuts down through his flesh just like a knife would --
the knife will
-- and he shivers. It's cold. It's so damn cold in here and the voices in his head are getting louder. Wasn't that a sign of being mad? You had voices ringing in your ears.
His heart races in his chest and then he feels dull scalpel against his skin, a slow line being drawn along his shoulder, blood flowing quickly from the opened skin, pooling and dripping to the table.
Doc knows better than to twitch for risking getting stabbed.
But that doesn't stop him from screaming because it hurts.
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Nodding his head, Paul reaches over for a dirty rag and a bottle of ether soaking it in the strong substance before turning back to Doc. As the boy does this Gottreich leans forward placing newly bloodied fingers upon Doc's face. "You see, Josiah," he purrs at his newest patient again. "Noone vill come to help you now." Planting a kiss upon his cheek he smoothed the short strands of hair back. "You look like my own son. A good boy.. a stupid man."
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it hurts it hurts oh fuck
His breath catches hard in his lungs as the wound bubbles and the blood stings with the contact, and he feels as if his heart will burst. He barely registers the touch upon his face, the fingers running through his hair, the kiss on the cheek.
and judas kissed jesus and betrayed him
oh fuck
Doc gasps for air when his throat allows him to force oxygen into his lungs and he screams. And he screams words in English and words in Navajo and words in nonsense until his throat goes raw.
And then he chokes out a sob.
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Picking up a new scalpel Gottreich didn't even wait for him to reply before he started on a y-shaped incession across his chest.
Paul sickered once. "Hail Mary, full of disgrace. The Lord has abandoned you. Where's the litle bitch to help you now, short timer?"
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"You may be in hell but when we get through with..."
His words cut off as the wound opens from the other shoulder to the chest and then down to the stomach. Blood pools on his skin, too pale, so pale.
The stink of ether and banadges that burn.
mary stay away stay away
Doc gasps and struggles to keep his eyes open. It hurts so bad. So fucking bad. He tips his head back and sees the smiles of the dead and the empty brains and the blood --
so much blood all yours you're gonna die here
you're gonna die here
just like them
-- and he screams again.
"ANTUBIS!!!"
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Something dark.
And old.
He rose on his hind legs, and swiped at the restraints holding Doc down. Getting between him and the Doctor and Paul, and showing a mouthful of teeth.
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Paul steps back with his arms up in the air sneering at the creature as he backs away from him. "Come to claim another of the dead, fleabag? For every one of ours you take, we take one of yours."
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Even for just a lick it's still a wound and it still bleeds, not deep enough to do more than a scratch. The restraints are cut and slashed and Doc rolls off the table and into the line of bodies.
Something shifts and moans again and he hits the floor. Everything burns like fire and pain --
flames lick the walls
screams
hands against the doors
let me out
-- he grabs a scalpel off the floor and then has no idea what he's doing, where he's going. How to escape.
wakeupwakeupwakeup
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He came around, and said to Doc, "You're seriously racked up, Doc. I do you a solid, you do me one." He then touched him with his snout.
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wake up
wake up please wake up
Doc just nods his head as rapidly as he can.
"...I'll do you a solid, I swear. Swear it."
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The ground shakes- it heaves and moves sending dead bodies and anything not held down crashing to the floor.
Doors burst open nearly flying off their hinges as he moved forward. He would not let this one get away.
More..he needed more..
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The Doctor might want more, but he would have to do without Doc Scurlock. He was no longer in the Old Kingdom.