[thread: The Haunted Cold] - Tumblr Posts

Watching this made Bryn's entire body crawl with utter hatred for those who stood next to him.

The Garlean uniform he wore felt as suffocating as the gas that filled the chamber the blue Miqo'te was trapped in, his silver eyes gleaming with anger and utter distaste as the gas filled the chamber, the thin, malnourished, and weak cat girl weakly beating against the glass. It was cruel, unusual, and it made the Hyur male feel gross. Like something was clinging to him he could never get rid of.

She collapsed back against the back wall as Bryn shifted, his boots thumping against the floor, turning towards the lead scientist, his eyes harsh as he reached up and shifted his Garlean soldier's hat, his short cropped black hair itching with his discomfort, but he couldn't show it. He had to stay his anger, and his disgust, had to play along. His mouth opened, about to ask something, anything, to try and figure out what was going on, when that horrible screech of nails on glass, his hands clenching as his eyes flicked back to the tube like container, his teeth grinding at the sound as he finally turned back towards the other two men with him, this time, to the Commander.

"All of this, just to make them more...obedient?" The last word stuck in his throat, nearly growled out, but he kept his expression neutral, reactions to her, not to the Commander or scientist, the smartly dressed leader of the Castrum eyeing Bryn for a moment before answering.

"No, not just obedience. Listen, Sergeant, and you might learn something." Like always, the Commander was dismissive, uninterested, more focused on the experiment, the future of the Garlean army, than his subordinate. And for once, the Sergeant was pleased that he did. Turning back, his six fulm frame strained his Garlean coat as he crossed his arms, staring at the poor Miqo'te as she struggled, and the scientist began to speak.

Cellular structure. It was more, it was way more than just obedience. It was so much more than anything he had expected, had received warnings about. No, this far surpassed that and left him shuddering with concern. The implications...the gas, if used outside of the Castrum, as a weapon... This could be worse than anything the Garlean's had thought to use against Eorzea. There was no way he could explain the pure relief that they had thought to use it like this, rather than as an agent on the field. Perhaps it wasn't possible to do that, the concentration of the gas too light in an open area, or some other reason, but the fact that it was only used here...

A blessing in disguise.

And he hated the fact that he had to think that way.

He saw the lead scientist looking over, and he could only manage a terse nod, before he focused back on Cyra and--

She was choking. She couldn't breath. His eyes went wide, taking a step forward, and then forcing himself to stop. He couldn't, Twelve damnit all! He could not do a single thing, it would help neither of them, and likely get them both killed. But watching her choke, claw at her throat, the way the scientist and the Commander both looked pleased at the way she suffered, he could feel his own throat closing up, his own body struggling, and his breath coming in a little faster, on the verge of feeling sick enough to be sick. She was turning into something else, into something feral, angry, full of rage as she went through whatever torture the gas caused, and he shifted on his feet again. And his mind...it began to wander.

To anything but here.

To anything but he convulsing woman in a tube that he had to watch in order to keep his cover. Fangs growing, body writhing, everything working to make her even more deadly as he shivered again, but this time, for a totally different reason. Phantom fur stood up on his body, his eyes glowed, and his hands clenched tight, the feeling of becoming something you didn't want, that you feared, that was dangerous and deadly all too familiar as he whispered out, "What have you done...?"

He didn't want an answer. He didn't get one. Instead he was greeted with the sight of Cyra clawing through her neck, his eyes going wide as blood poured from the wound, and he let out a cry of concern. It only grew worse, the Miqo'te clawing at her arms, blood running down her arms, painting the confined tube with it, as he started after the scientist, and then whipped around to the Commander.

He was pale. The Commander was pale with shock. He was staring at the Miqo'te, shaking, his lips whispering something over and over, something like "no", as Bryn grabbed him by his coat and shook him. "Shut it down!" His voice was a roar, of anger, of disbelief, of fear. And the Commander could only stare back and stammer incoherently back.

"I-I can't!"

"What do you mean you can't?!" He shook the man again, easily, the burly sniper's eyes flaring with utter rage, and the Commander looked fearful for a new reason.

"I only a-approved it! After it was approved, it's all in his hands!" The finger was pointed towards the lead scientist, the same scientist who was shouting at the glass and doing nothing, Bryn dropping the Commander and whipping around towards him.

"SHUT IT DOWN!" He knew, just like they did, that if she died, it would be an issue, for them all, especially for them. And if he didn't shut it down right now and get her to a medic, Bryn was going to kill them both. Personally and slowly. Mission be damned.

Preestablished plot and story starter for @musesofawolf (Bryn)

The chemical that filtered into the tank had burned her throat, her lungs, and left her with a choking cough. She curled her hand into a fist, weakly raising to strike the glass only to smack it with a gentle thud. She knew it was useless, but the fear that shocked her brain forced her to do anything to return to untainted air. The second growl had a bit more volume to it as her chest heaved with the effort. Tilting her head back had her falling into the opposite side of the tank with a metallic thump as her head slapped the surface. She winced, feeling the pain radiate from the point of contact as her vision filled with an explosion of color. One clawed hand clutched at her throat as the gas continued to filter into her sealed space.

The panic writ on her face had been clear even if she couldn't keep her sight focused on the group that stood before the containment unit. With quivering limbs that required so much work just to move, she leaned herself back into the glass with another thud as her head struck it again. Rather than beat at it with her fist, she tried digging her sharpened fingers into the hard surface. All it had done was create an insufferable screech that left her reeling. Her eyes began to burn as the chemical mist had filled most of the bottom of the tank where she had sat.

"This is the second step. I'll spare you the proper terminology," the man held his hands (and clipboard) behind his back as he answered. "This, gas, is what we use to alter the cellular structure of the subject. The compound in the bag was designed to allow the body to more willingly accept the changes that happen over the course of the next ten minutes. The speed at which the change happens can be painful, and without the liquid compound...the gas would kill the subject." He hummed.

The man rocked on his heels ever so slightly as he turned his eye just enough to see the two men standing at his side, appreciating his work. He grinned as he watched the creature in the tube succumb to the pain of the chemical that had nearly filled the tank entirely.

Cyra could see spots in her vision as the lower oxygen had put her dangerously close to passing out. The burning and choking air had her pulling on the skin of her neck with those pointed fingers nearly breaking the surface of the skin around her throat. She let out a louder scream, another wordless cry for the agony to end before she could feel the growing ache in her bones as their poison began to permeate her body. She closed her eyes tight as the gas had begun to burn in her blurred vision. That was when the unquenchable fear had rippled through her. The instinct to survive had begun to win out over all other emotions, and trade that fear for anger and wrath. The bristling of her fur had the Garlean scientist humming with delight.

Oh how he adored watching that primal need take over all rational thought in his many previous attempts to secure her survival. The way his subjects writhed, and lashed out at the container had always sent a pleasured chill down his spine. But to see it happening to his magnum opus was beyond being just a treat. He unwrapped his arms from behind his back, pulling the clipboard securely into his arm, and taking the pen from his pocket to begin scribbling notes.

The Miqo'te's gasping breaths had now been laced with low rumbles as the monster they were making her become began clawing its way to the surface. Her last moments of rational thought had been filled with the hope that if she squeezed her own throat hard enough, that the burning air would stop. Anything to stop the harsh air from covering her in the shroud of anguish that came with every breath.

She gagged, feeling the pressure of her hand on her own neck tighten as the chemical hiss ceased, and sealed the vents to the tube. Every minute, they would reopen to allow for a short flow of oxygen before cycling in more of the transformative gas. Pain pulsed through her skin. She felt it radiate out from her chest as every single fiber of her being began shifting. She felt the bones in her face shift and change to further alter the shape of those already dangerous fangs that lined her jaw. Strangled cries escaped between the suffocating gasps as her body convulsed in response to the overwhelming sting that flitted across her body. No longer did her movements feel weak or hindered by that sedative. With the pain of that invisible chemical, her reactions were nothing more than an animalistic need to survive.

"Centrus lux Primus...you have certainly outdone yourself this time." The scientist whispered to himself in awe as he watched the writhing body in the container. He glanced at his watch with a grin before turning his attention back to the show.

Cyra felt her ribcage tremble with each slowing gasp, tears spilling from her closed eyes as the searing heat under her skin rose with every painful shift of her limbs. In that fear of death, her body shook with a nearly electric reaction. The sharpened fingers around her throat jerked with that tremor, digging the growing point of her finger into the flesh on the back of her neck. Her shoulders flexed, dragging that natural knife around to the front, splitting skin and muscle alike as it sliced with ease. The girl hadn't even realized that the warmth that washed over her left side had been the blood that now poured freely from the vicious wound.

In another quaking convulsion, her bloodied claws caught the flesh on the outside of her other arm, dragging seeping paths through her flesh as the pained flailing body painted the interior of the container with red. The scientist, Centrus, felt his face grow pale as the life of his subject began pooling inside the airtight unit. He knew the risk this experiment posed. At the same time, he knew what would happen to him if it failed.

"No, no-no!" He shouted as he slammed his hands on the exterior of the glass. "What are you doing?!"

He continued to yell in shock and anger at the woman behind the glass. Her movements had begun to still.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

After that initial shuddered gasp of air, hazy vision had once again returned to her. Though the scene had been too blurred to recognize one shape from another, she felt that her eyelids had been resting open for the entirety of the time she had been dead. She still could not move her limbs, or respond to those muffled questions that frantically passed between the bodies gathered around her. After a painful amount of seconds had passed, she took a second trembling breath and closed her eyes. Cyra coughed, spitting out the blood that had pooled into her lungs from the gaping wound around her neck. She would live, but just barely.

He had grabbed the scientist, the rage palpable on his face, his eyes dancing with so much anger that they glowed a dangerous silver, sparing no bit of strength as he shook the light, un-warred man, the blasted Garlean barely seeming to understand at first until it clicked, and he was moving, Bryn dropping him and striding towards the tube that trapped Cyra, kept her from help, left her alone, weak, and bleeding.

He was there just in time to see her reach out and claw at the glass, his hand pressing against it, as if trying to reach her through the glass, his eyes on hers as he growled out under his breath, hoping she could read his lips. "Hang on. Almost there. Just hang on!"

And her answer was for blood to bubble out of her lips.

Her arms were torn to shreds, her neck just as bad, that life giving substance pouring from the wounds, leaving her weaker and weaker as he slammed a fist against the glass in anger. What went wrong? What the hell happened!? She had done it, yes, but no one willingly tried to claw out their throat and arms. Not someone with fire in their belly, ready to fight. No, this was a reaction, to the gas, the pain, something in it had drove her to this! And the person who had authorized it...who had given him the mission to teach her, protect her, and now was taking it away.

He could see her life bleeding from her eyes, see the way she was fading, fast, drip drip down the drain, We bleed a lot, don't be afraid to use that. No she was dying dying dying, right in front of them, heartbeat slowing and arms weak, barely leaning against the glass as he blue fur was covered in red, his fist slamming against the glass again and--

He spun, and is if he took a step and then just teleported the rest of the way, he was at the Commander's throat, a hand around it, slamming him back against a wall, the Commander squirming in his grasp, choking, until that icy, steel cold voice slid over his ears, Bryn's entire visage dripping danger. "You better hope, Commander, start praying, that she lives. Because if she does not, if I am unable to finish my mission, I will personally request the honor to execute you." He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, as he hissed out, "You put her in my care, and I take that seriously, sir. And you hurting her--"

He heard the click, the hiss, the opening of the chamber, and he dropped the Commander and was there in a second, clawing at the door, trying to swing it open and--a burst of energy, of aether, of *something*, surprising him, jolting back, then back at it again, swinging it open as he yelled, "Bandages! NOW!" He didn't have to wait long, one of those scared helpers shoving them at him, the Commander behind them coughing, grasping his throat, as Bryn pressed the bandages to her neck, her arms...

She wasn't bleeding...he had missed her eyes closing, her body going slack, the lack of breath and blood, but suddenly, he was acutely aware of it, that signs of life had left her. The bleeding gone, somehow, someway, his hands darted to her chest, ripping through the pitiful rags she wore, one hand darting to her neck, holding two fingers there, feeling...

No pulse.

His hands were over her chest, overlapping, and with his palms, he began. Short, sharp presses down against her chest, over her heart, her ribs cracking under the force he used, wincing at the sound, but not stopping. Forcing her heart to beat. And confirming, that somehow, she wasn't bleeding. But he couldn't stop to wonder how. Couldn't slow. Going, going, going, under his breath whispering, "No you don't, you don't get to die. You don't get to die here."

27.

28.

29.

30-

She gasped, she breathed, she sucked in a gasp of air and the dread that had built up turned in relief, and he let out a gasp of his own. She was alive. She was alive.

His hands lifted from her chest, shaking, bloodied, sticky. Wiping them on his uniform, he looked up and growled at one of the assistants, his voice that deadly calm that left no questioning it. "She needs water, a cloth to clean her with, and clothes. Get them. Now."

She was alive. How many had not returned? How many had failed to recover? Succumbed to their wounds? How many had bled out under the very hands still coated with her blood?

At least this way, you will have a fighting chance. To save yourself. Or save someone else.

He slung off his coat, his Garlean uniform, and drapes it over her, hiding her bloodied and broken body, rising slowly, hands still shaking slightly, blaming the chill of the Castrum now that he just had an undershirt on his top half, shuddering softly as he glanced at the Commander, and Centrus, and the assistants, lifting his head slightly, before he spoke firmly to the man still on his hands and knees, recovering from Bryn's hand around his throat, "If you want her to live, to actually learn anything, never do this again."

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Centrus stepped back to give the medics room to work. With this new information on the reaction to the gas, he had already begun formulating theories and conceptual design ideas to the enginneers for an apparatus to secure her deadly fingers for the next round. A sickening grin painted his features as he wrote.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Centrus had made a critical error in judging Bryn.

He was no Garlean soldier.

His preservation of Cyra was not to protect the commander or lead scientist, it was for his own, personal reasons. Reasons that involved his mind wrapping around pages of reports he would have to write, smuggle out, and get back to Eorzea. Reasons like finding out how to get Cyra out of this mess alive without getting them both killed. Reasons like his eyes flicking to the scientist, noticing that look, the questions behind too sharp eyes, and he forced himself to control those emotions within him. Forcing his face back to neutral. Stilling that snarling thing within him that begged for the chance to feel blood on its tongue.

Not yet, not yet, not yet.

The request for a medical team saw the soldier stalking towards the Commander, grabbing him, hoisting him off the ground by the collar of his jacket, and the man spluttering indignantly as the helpers ran off to get aid, and Bryn smoothed down his collar, brushed off the black jacket, and set his commanding officer right, even as that already red and bruising throat spat out vile words.

"Unhand my you bastard! You do not lay your hands on your commander like...like...like some animal who forgot the sting of the whip! I could have your head for--"

"You would not be able to make those threats, sir, without my intervention." That icy, cold, dread inducing growl of a voice stopped him cold, and the Commander cowered. He was right, he knew he was right, and...

"You will be punished!" The hiss of words, and Bryn only nodded.

"Fine, sir." His patted the Commander's shoulder, silver eyes holding his gaze as a bloody smear was left there, and the shorter man shuddered and stepped away, the flicker of fear on his face more than enough to tell Bryn that his punishment would be light, but likely annoying. There were little things worse than an unruly subordinate who had the ability to make your life hell too.

The scientist was already speaking when Bryn turned back to him, alrighty writing away with that damn grin, and red coated fists balled up at his sides as he slowly began to walk towards the man, his eyes blazing with a fire from within. This is not my work, he thought. If only you knew... His steps were slow, steady, the total opposite of the turmoil within. They would try again...and again. They would subject her to worse, and his right hand nails dug into flesh as he lifted his jacket to look at Cyra's chest, his eyes flaring with distaste and disgust. He was within a few steps of the disgusting man when the medical team arrived, a few steps from putting someone else higher on the medical team's response, his hand lifting, reaching, grasping...

He squeezed the scientist's shoulder, not hard, almost friendly, as his head turned, and he forced himself to spit, spit at the limp Miqo'te beside them on the ground, his voice calm and collected as he spoke.

"She is weak, to succumb so easily. But she is stronger than most... We-you, I mean, can make it better. Otherwise...what happens when we try to use it and half the Garlean army dies from self inflicted wounds?"

The Commander grunted, as if in agreement, approaching the duo as well, his arms crossed, eyeing Bryn like a dangerous snake about to strike. "He's...right... We can't report this. It's too unfinished. Dangerous. We need a better solution..."

Don't say it...do not say it Bryn... It is not your place--

"Perhaps..." Bryn's voice was quiet, his eyes dead, his body rigid. "Perhaps Commander, as my punishment...I will be the first to test the finished product? After of course our prisoner undergoes the final phase and is trained?"

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Cyra still turned her head to snap at the hands that came close to the ties that held the garment closed at her shoulder. Their words had become nothing but gibberish in her drugged state. She answered them with her own spat curses. It wasn't until one of the guards had enough of the primal display, stepping forward with the bite guard he had been instructed to keep on his person by the lead scientist. Grabbing a fistful of her hair and one of her ears, he pulled her head up, handing the mask to the medicus at his side. She hadn't much energy to fight other than shaking her head as best as she could. With the muzzle now secured over her chomping teeth, the man began peeling the bloody garment off of her, and then the bandage. She let out another yell, prompting the guard at her side to release her hair to cover his ears. Cyra would not relinquish herself to their touch without a fight.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn did not sleep that evening.

It was already late when he finished his report, and when he laid down...sleep didn't come. It hovered, on the edge of his conscious mind, his body aching as the events of the day washed over him, and he kept replaying it, over and over and over.

He had attacked a commanding officer, someone who outranked him, had nearly blown his cover over her. Her. Cyra. He couldn't tell why seeing her like that had seen such a guttural reaction from him, scratching his head as he tried to think through it, giving up on sleep as he thought through his...feelings. Protective feelings. Not completely odd, given she was Eorzean, and as was he. But it was more than that. There were other slaves here and he had walked past them, with sadness, yes, with pain for their plight, but not...not the same reaction as with Cyra.

He had spent more time with her. Seen how she reacted to his words, his help, his concern, his little ways to try and help, and he had seen how she feared him, feared his help, feared his touch, his words, his threats. She didn't understand what he was, what he was trying to do. He was just trying to protect her, protect them. And he couldn't protect them by being kind, by making her feel all warm and fuzzy. He had to play his part, his role, the man who would punish her for no reason, would make her fear his clenched fist while offering his open palm with the other hand. He could only hope that she understood, that she got the message. Today though, that would be ten...fifteen...twenty steps back.

By the time the sun rose, he was calmer, controlled, back to his normal stony face as he rose with the sun and slowly moved to dress--he had never undressed, still in his clothes from the day before, reaching down and brushing out his shirt, grabbing the one spare jacket he had, the other with Cyra, or whoever had taken if off her, and finally brushing down his pants before he clicked his boots together and muttered, "Well...at least I am still presentable."

It did not take him long to leave his room after that, the magitek rifle over his shoulder, this time going with his weapon for a bit of extra officialness, turning smartly and heading towards his first stop of the day.

And his least favorite.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"You...attacked...A COMMANDING OFFICER!"

Bryn didn't even flinch, his back rigid, his eyes to the front, staring not at the Commander, but just above him, his lips pursed in a tight line as he took the verbal tongue lashing that had so far lasted a solid five minutes. It was much the same thing repeated over and over, that he had defied the chain of command, had committed a crime worthy of death, and had called into question his loyalty to the Garlean Empire. Which, was all fair. What wasn't fair was giving him the same dry threat over and over.

"I should have you executed! In front of the prisoners! As and example!" Bryn had responded the first time, and he didn't the tenth, just staring straight ahead, waiting, and finally, the Commander stopped pacing, sighed with frustration, and sat behind his desk, pounding his fist against it. "That's what I should do... But not what I am going to do."

We both knew that after the first time you said it...and did nothing. Bryn's mind absently refocused, having drifted from the verbal tirade in front of him to more...peaceful thoughts, but now that it was drawing to a close, he was happier to focus fully and listen in. His silver eyes eyed the Commander as he blinked and waited, no surprise when the Commander met his gaze and finally continued, his voice a low angry tone. "While you did attack me, and threatened my life, you showed you were committed to your training of the slave, and making sure she was ready for my...command. Still, I can't let this go unpunished... So I am agreeing to the testing of the serum on you, the moment it is stable."

"Understood, sir." The first words Bryn said, and they were simple, bland, hardly worth the effort of saying as he still stood at attention. What came after confirmed exactly what the Commander felt about the situation.

"And Sergeant...I am going to enjoy watching the fight drain from you when the serum takes hold." It was enough for Bryn to meet the Commander's eyes, the cold, hard, angry eyes of a man belittled and betrayed, as silver eyes flashed with a threat of their own, before it was stifled. But the affect it had was clear, the shrink back, the fear that flickered across the Commander's face, and the slow press of a spineless back against the too large chair.

Bryn didn't even answer, only turned, and left.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It didn't take long to retrieve breakfast, for himself and his charge, before heading towards the cell block, stepping into the cold air that always seemed to seep through the metal corridor with her tray in hand, opening the cell door, and stepping in, eyes on the floor as he trusted his other senses to warn him if she tried to move towards him, rumbling out, "Breakfast. How's the-"

He looked up, and saw...nothing. There was no lashing tail, twitching ears, angry claws, no Cyra, no...anything. Her blanket lay crumpled in the corner where it was left the day before, ages ago, but she wasn't under it.

Had they moved her?

The tray was gripped in his hands, turning about face on his heels, striding from the cell and snapping to head down the row of prisoners trapped in their cold cells. And he stared at every one of them. In the eyes, if they looked up, a few reaching for the food, but he kept going. There was no blue furred Miqo'te. There was no Cyra.

The tray slammed against the ground, and his rifle was off his back, turning and storming towards the very office he had left minutes before, his eyes blazing as he felt a snarl rising to his lips. If she is dead, if she died, my promise to kill him stands, my promise--the infirmary.

He halted, skidded, his boots clanging on the ground, and he blinked, feeling his control return, as he realized there was one more place to go. To check. And as he turned to head back the other way at a brisk pace, his rifle did not leave his hands.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

"Enough! I don't care who does it, but one of you help me! Hold her down so I can finish stitching her back up again." The man turned to look at the commotion by the door. His words had been spat out as venom to halt the conflict and complete the task at hand. Cyra's only response to his added voice in the chaos, was to lurch toward him with a growl. Her tail whipping out to slap at his side while he swatted back at the tufted appendage to keep it from contaminating his tools.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He barely remembered the moments between setting where he was going, and heading there, his heavy boots thumping against the ground and metal, turning away from the exit they had taken the other day, then up a flight of stairs, down the hallway, and rapidly towards a set of white painted double doors, his rifle ready, his eyes gleaming, prepared for anything.

And then he heard her scream.

He was through the door in a flash, the doors flying open and slamming against the walls, the hinges whining in protest, as Bryn saw the soldier turn, yell, and take a step towards him, and then think better of it, the rifle in Bryn's hands half lowered as if ready to bring to bear and shoot, the Garlean man still standing in front of Cyra and the medicus, prepared to stop the supposed threat to the doctor and the Commander's prized possession. Bryn's focus though was on Cyra, on the young woman on the table, blood dripping down her back, squirming in pain and anger, the monitors hooked up to her, the man over her, how she was restrained, arms and legs pulling against the restraints, but unable to move, to pull away, to pull away from the garbed and ready doctor, the silver eyes of the soldier flashing as he felt his teeth grit and he growled out at the soldier in his way, "Step aside. No-"

But he never finished it, the guard turning towards the medicus, his angry yell and order surprising them both, but it was Bryn who reacted quicker, recognizing that it was a mending procedure, the needle, the twine, the classic preparation of a stitching, and he knew that Cyra would be less than pleased about it.

And in one moment, the soldier found himself the proud new owner of a rifle, and Bryn was by the blue Miqo'te's side, grabbing her shoulder and holding it tight, so her back was bared to the medicus, and her face was forced to look at him, his eyes narrowed slightly as he nodded to the medicus, voice low and steady. "Quickly. She's stronger than she looks."

It was true, but his grip was stronger, and he had the advantage of looking into her eyes, seeing her anger, fear, and hatred. He knew with where he was standing, restraints or not, that he was now the target, and that was something he could handle, holding her gaze as one hand held her chin, the other on her shoulder, keeping her focused on him as he shook his head at her, warning her not to move. "It's going to hurt, but your wound is too deep to leave untreated. Stay. Still."

It wasn't like she was going to listen to him, but he had to say it anyways, hoping that maybe, she would listen to him, to a familiar face, if she even remembered him. He had no idea what she remembered after such an experience, if she recognized his face, his voice, or how she viewed him after he had just...watched.

But he could at least try.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

"Good, good...Keep it still...I'm almost done." The medicus was swift to comment on the rather cruel method of the soldier to keep her obedient. Despite all her wiggling and writhing, the man was able to work well enough to repair the torn sutures. Though, his job hadn't been quite finished. There was still the damage wrought by a careless hand that left a slow but steady bloom of red from the gash on her neck spilling onto the white fabric of the bed. It wasn't enough to leave her dying, but enough cause for repair. "Good as it can be," he glanced at the other two. "I need to examine the one on her neck. Turn it towards me, and do keep it still. I'm sure I don't need to warn you twice what could happen if you don't."

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He could see the anger in her eyes, in the way she whipped her head around, trying to get her muzzled teeth into his hand, and unable to as he held her firm, kept her from moving too much, letting the doctor finish the necessary work on her back.

It wasn't easy, without hurting her, the pressure he had to apply to her jaw to keep her head steady enough to make his muscles flex and the Hyur to grunt with exertion as he pressed her head down into the pillow. Normally, he would not have grabbed her by the chin, or anyone really, too easy to get bit, to lose his grip, but with her muzzled, he had better control, especially with a hand on her shoulder and arm to keep her from jerking around as stitches were inserted into her shoulders and back.

What concerned him the most though was the lack of recognition in her gaze. There was no pause, no understanding, just pure, feral anger and hate, and his silver eyes hardened with...sadness. That was what he felt. The tightening in his chest and the crinkle of his eyes, it was painful sadness that he was still viewed as a threat, that he had not yet convinced her to trust him. If only he didn't have a role he had to play, if only he could actually show her...

His gaze flicked to the soldier who he had nearly laid out earlier as he approached, his eyes flickering back to a neutral, uninterested gaze as he let out a huff of air at the advice, almost involuntarily flinching as the soldier just grabbed Cyra's ear and yanked it back, pressing her to the pillow. And her little cry almost had his hand jerking to help her, to give her the chance to swipe at the offending arm and elbow, even as the claws came dangerously close to his arm too. Still, the best he could do, was to shift his hand, palming her cheek and neck, pressing her down into the pillow now that she was better situated to be held down, nodding to the soldier and saying, "I've got her now, she won't move her head like this. Thanks."

And then winced, immediately following it, claws sinking into the arm holding her shoulders still, cutting straight through the cloth of the jacket, into his arms, wet, red blood running down his arm as he gritted his teeth and refused to move his hand, letting her take her pound of flesh as he held her tighter, feeling his fingers press into skin harder, tighter, indenting the blue fur as he grunted with mild pain.

It. Not her, not them, just it. Keep it still. And all Bryn could do was do exactly that, with claws in his arm, his hands holding her down, and his mind running a million malms a minute. He wanted to put the medicus on the short list of people he wanted dead, but he was just doing his job. The soldier beside him though...the way he treated her was enough to make his blood boil, enough to warrant a spot on the list, especially because he knew that if those claws had found the soldier and not his arm, the punishment would have been swift and brutal. There would have been no gritting and bearing with it like Bryn was.

He glanced at the medicus as he finished his work, nodding in agreement as the man ordered them to turn her, and he used his arm on her shoulder to turn her carefully, over, onto her other side so the doctor could get a look at her wound, grunting as her claws shifted in his arm until he had her positioned for the medicus to continue his work, muttering, "Hurry up."

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Just as he explained, the Miqo'te began to fully relax. Her heaving breaths calmed, her writhing slowed, but her eyes remained locked open. Pupils still fixed into animal-like slits as her body would not let go of the fear and fury that coursed through her. She blinked slowly, and infrequently as she continued to fight the chemical calm that washed over her. Her bloody fingers fell nearly limp from Bryn's arm, but the force of her grip had left them fairly deep-set in his flesh. "Dangerous business being her Warden. I don't envy you, sir", the medicus let out an amused huff through his nostrils as he tucked bandages into his pocket. "By the time they're done with this one, you'll be covered in scars at this rate."

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a rough few minutes, with claws shifting in his arm, blood dripping down the sleeves of his coat, another one ruined, as he grunted and bore it, the pain, the blood, the shame of getting injured by a tied down and drugged medical patient. But bear it he did, breathing slow, and deep, and after those few minutes, he felt it begin.

A tingling, in his arm, around where her claws were buried, and a warmth spreading up and down his arm. He knew what it meant, what was happening, as he felt aether trying to stitch up broken skin, heal bloodied wounds, staunch the bleeding and patch up his wounds. But there was no way for it to actually complete the task, since her claws were still in there, still keeping the wound active and painful.

It was an unfortunate stroke of observance that the medicus noticed his wound, frowning up at him as he looked up, shaking his head as he muttered, "It's a light wound, hardly worth your time. I can stitch it myself if it needs it." Although he did wonder when, or if, she would let go. He shook his arm lightly, and got a tightening of her claws into his arm in response, scowling at her as he felt the wound deepen, and realized trying to tear his arm away would result in a wound that would definitely need stitches. He glanced down over the still thrashing Miqo'te and slowly realized that things were a bit...different.

In all the commotion up until now, he had not taken a great look at her, but now that he had a moment with her holding his arm, he could observe her in her weakened state. She had always had a light covering of blueish fur, but now, it seemed more evident. Like he would be able to run his hands through it and feel the fur tickling his palm. Not to mention, from what he could see of her neck and back, her dark blue stripes stuck out even more. As she growled and bared her fangs, he noted the way they were sharper, longer, more animalistic, like her behavior. And as he glanced down at her restrained legs, he had to do a double take. That is not a normal mortal's feet. They had shrunk, not as long, claws instead of nails, and her pinky toe seemed...almost gone, hardly there, like it was half fused with the rest of her foot. It was the same for them both, and for a long long moment, he swore he recognized the look of it, that it was--

Her cry jolted him back to the present, and he looked up at the medicus as he took the syringe and slowly began to inject Cyra. He was both appalled and a bit relieved, knowing she would at least stop struggling and no longer be a danger to herself or him, but to use the medicine like that, so readily. He didn't show his displeasure, just holding her as she slowly grew weaker and weaker, her slitted eyes still full of fury until she went under, her claws dropping from his arm and leaving the wounds to spurt blood for a moment before he removed his other hand from her shoulder and pressed his coat into the wounds, frowning at the wound, then Cyra, and finally the medicus, displeased with how deep the wounds were and sighing in annoyance.

"Maybe I do need the stitches. Don't worry about an anesthesia, just stitch it up quick." At least with stitches put in, they would be less likely to ask how or why he healed up so quickly. They would keep scrutiny off him, and if he pulled out the stitches at the right time, it would look like an actual healing wound. He had to be careful, always careful, no matter how much he wanted to help her.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Of course, the man had no idea he was operating on a limited window. Despite the heavy dose they had used to calm her, she was already feeling control over her body returning. She felt how the stitches tugged on her skin as she tried to move. They itched as she weakly shifted and pulled against the cuffs on her wrists. She growled--well, she tried to growl. What came out of her instead was a whispered grunt as her slitted gaze searched blindly for something. "I'll be back in a few minutes," the man sighed as he left the room.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Bryn hadn't denied the anesthetics to be tough, or show off. It was simply because the pain numbing medication would not work in the dosage offered. He held out his arm so the medicus could work on the gash, barely flinching at the prick of the needle, no words needed as the man worked his skilled hands up his arm, until the wound was sealed up, threaded together, and the soldier tested his motion by flexing his arm. It worked, barely pulled on the stitches, and left him with a full range of motion. He had to admit, it was nice and clean, and well stitched, a soft grunt at the words the thanks the medicus got, especially with the more or less order to watch Cyra following right after. "I can watch her..." he rumbled out, approaching the guard he had shoved his gun to, and taking it back, moving back towards the table with a soft sigh as he took a seat near it, but far enough away that he wouldn't have to worry about her claws.

As the medicus left, leaving just Bryn and the other few guards there to watch the wild charge, he couldn't help but look at her laying there on the table and wonder what she was feeling right then and there. Was she hurting? Did she even feel the stitches? Had she meant to nearly kill herself? All questions he couldn't ask an injured and unconscious subject. So he was just left with his thoughts, staring at her as she stirred slightly, and he silently mused over everything that had happened.

Perhaps he did not understand the Garlean way of thinking, their obsession with results over safety. Or maybe he had a soul deep down that did not want to see someone so weak and innocent forced to become something they weren't. It didn't matter. All that did was that he was trapped her just as much as she was, regardless if he could wander the Castrum without chains or collars.

He'd find a way out for them both.

For all of them. Every prisoner subjected to this horror.

voidtouched-blue--[Prior]

Despite the fear that clawed into her heart, the terror of not waking if she were to fall into slumber, she allowed the heaviness to settle into her aching body. She had no power against the weight of exhaustion.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Time was slow, passed at a crawl as he watched her calm, watched exhaustion finally claim her, sleep fill her gaze as she actually looked his way. It was impossible to tell if she actually recognized him, still so drugged he could only imagine her brain was mush, but she did at least seem to calm. To breathe, to recover. Recover, at least, as much as she could.

He didn't remember when he entered that half awake state of a soldier at rest, but he realized after he had. He was still aware of his surroundings, of the other soldier in the room, of the slow rise and fall of Cyra's chest, the shift of his sleeves against his chest in their crossed position, and the tug of the stitches in his arm. His eyes were closed, but his ears, his sense of smell, everything else was still working in overdrive. Which was why he heard the shuffle of boots, the click of wood and metal-

"I didn't realize my gun was so interesting," he rumbled out, and the other guard startled, nearly dropping the rifle, spluttering quickly to his superior.

"Sorry sir! I'm used to a sword, not our guns." The snort that Bryn wanted to let out was held back, calling the hunk of metal and magitek a "gun" enough of a stretch to nearly offend the marksman. Although, he had to hand it to the Garlean Empire. What they lacked in finesse, they made up for in production. Every rifle he had held from their factories were almost identical, fired almost the same way, and required minimal knowledge to handle. To get good with, it took time, but push it into the hands of an untrained soldier, and you had a ranged unit in seconds. It was...terrifyingly impressive.

He opened his eyes, looking at the soldier who he had shoved is rifle at, lifting an eyebrow and grunting back, "Huh, they don't even show you the basics? Interesting. Thought this was common place enough to train everyone." He pointed towards the barrel, which the soldier had pointed up at his face, peering down into it. "That's what you point at the enemy. Never at your face."

The guard rapidly moved it away from his face, as if afraid it would go off right then and there, until Bryn chuckled, rising slowly and stretching, stepping around Cyra and taking back his rifle. "If you want to learn, don't pick it up without knowing what you are getting into." Slinging it onto his shoulder, he returns back to his seat, pausing by Cyra for a moment, checking to make sure she was still asleep, and sat down beside her, waiting for the medicus to return.

A few minutes seemed a rather long time to wait, long enough that he was starting to get antsy, his arms crossed over his chest again as he felt a booted foot begin to tap, staring over Cyra at the door, and trying not to think about how he swore she looked more cat like than she had before.

voidtouched-blue--[Previous]

"A moment before you go, Sergeant. Do you see that?" He leaned in closer, glancing quickly up at the Sergeant beside the other side of the bed and pointing once more at the reddened gash on the back of her shoulder. Glittering specks of aether filtered out of the wound with the gentle glow peaking through from underneath the injured tissues. Even under the subtle light, he could see both sides knitting back together beyond his stitching. It was slow, but faster than normal healing factors. "Yet another item to include in my report." He sighed.

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He barely reacted when the Medicus returned, but he was careful to watch, and see, observe and learn what he could, and he learned that the Medicus was skilled. Very skilled.

While the Garlean Medicus was pleased with the advancements of Garlean medicine, Bryn felt a bit less fond of it, rubbing at his wrapped hand as he frowned at the man stitching up his charge. Certainly, it was needed, but with someone so talented working on a slave, on an...experiment, just how important was Cyra to these people?

The dismissal would have been ignored, if it wouldn't have drawn more questions than Bryn would like to answer, rising from his seat and shouldering his rifle with a grunt, heading for the door before he was called back. Called back to see the fresh stitches already knitting themselves back together, flesh to flesh, far too fast to be normal. And that chilled the soldier to the bone.

He had seen that before, the rapid healing, the way wounds seemed to disappear to soon. No, not exactly what was happening here, but far too similar to be a coincidence, and it proved a struggle to keep his voice calm. "She's...healing herself?" Framed as a question, really a statement of surprise. She was healing herself right in front of them, unconscious and sedated. Which meant whatever drug they were pumping her full of to force these changes.

"Yes," he mumbled out at the mention of the report, another report of his own already writing itself in his head, turning on his heels to head towards the door. "Call if you need me," he said simply, and pushed out of the door, beelining for his room, to add another page to his report.

Someone, anyone, had to know outside of this place.