Chapter Text
Low giggles float around enclosed room as wide eyes watch enraptured by video of small cats making chaos on the television. It was a pleasant distraction, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling a bit too loud otherwise. Laying on the bed for a nap wasn't fun nor restful, and reading at the desk was painful.
The spine could only withstand so much when everything was made of concrete. But on the floor in front of the tv, sitting atop a blanket and pillow and folded foam mat, back straight and arms wound around tight? That was a delight.
Dark eyes flicker away from the image of kittens when noises sound at the other side of the reinforced steel door. It was not being unlocked, there was no heavy clang of moving mechanisms. That wretched sound wasn't echoing around the cell, not yet. Was it time to play outside already? Lunch hadn't been that long ago, though time was difficult to grasp through the lone, slim window in the ceiling.
Scooting off of the makeshift pile of bed, mask covered nose leans in to push the power button to the tv. With hands restrained by a jacket, one learned to get creative with handling things, like remaking the bed. And soon that familiar chime of heavy locks being undone rings out.
It was a routine, the same twenty three hours of isolation a day gifted with one hour of restricted fresh air. That cage outside was waiting, and the escort was likely on time. Who could tell?
Standing tall to stretch, dark hair brushes against the ceiling, most cells not made for bodies so unique. Not even after nine years was a plan put into place for a cell a bit more roomy than seven feet high. But it didn't matter, the recreational cage had space.
As the door to his cell opens, a platoon of fully equipped guards step in, stunguns at the ready and aimed up at his head. He stands still, gaze level as two bodies move behind him, and two flank his sides, and all corral him out of the room. Due process, nothing new.
Then his afternoon is ruined, by nothing less than the poor quality voice of a shoulder mounted intercom mic of a guard behind him.
"Z̵e̴d̶ ̶A̷n̶g̴e̶l̴o̴v̴ ̸i̶s̵ ̴s̶e̴c̵u̷r̸e̶d̴.̷ ̵B̷r̴i̶n̴g̷i̴n̷g̸ ̵i̷n̷m̵a̸t̷e̸ ̵0̴3̴1̸3̷ ̵t̸o̶ ̸p̸s̸y̵c̷h̸o̷l̵o̶g̷i̷c̸a̶l̶ ̶e̴v̶a̴l̸u̶a̴t̷i̴o̷n̸.̷ "
All it took was for one noise, and the entire platoon gets tense. Their faces stay stone and neutral behind visored helmets, their march to Zed's destination remains in sync and steady, but the grips on their tasers tighten. It is silent aside from the echos of booted footsteps.
Down white concrete halls they go. Far from the path taken to play outside, past the cells of other inmates. Turn after turn leads Zed here; a cage in order to enjoy the tranquil view of sterile concrete painted white and a desk.
The room at large becomes leagues less tense once high grade locks finally hiss shut on the cage door. One of the guards speaks into their mic, "I̵n̴m̸a̶t̵e̷ ̴0̷3̸1̸3̶ ̶h̶a̵s̷ ̷b̸e̴e̵n̵ ̴s̸u̸c̴c̴e̴s̸s̴f̷u̴l̵l̴y̶ ̶t̴r̴a̸n̴s̷f̶e̸r̶r̵e̶d̶ ̶t̸o̸ ̷p̴s̵y̵c̶h̶-̴w̴a̵r̵d̵.̸ ̸P̴r̶o̵c̴e̵e̶d̴i̷n̸g̸ ̸w̶i̶t̸h̸ ̵e̴v̴a̵l̸u̷a̴t̵i̶o̶n̶ ̵p̶r̷o̷t̶o̸c̵o̵l̷.̷"
With that, every single guard floods out of the room, locks set into place as the door shuts behind them.
Zed is left with little security, dark eyes wandering over the metal bars and falling upon the only other person left in the room with him. A man in a blue button up, sitting unremarkably at the desk across from him.
The man busies himself with reviewing paperwork on his clipboard before finally acknowledging Zed's presence with a glance and the click of a tape recorder.
"Good afternoon, inmate 0313. I am Doctor Hydell. For the legal purposes of this psychological evaluation, please confirm your name, date of birth, and age."
A new doctor. Same attitude, different face. Though stuffier than the last, expression more dull. Less likely to be driven to suicide by weighted words and looming dread. It was as if every doctor came back to haunt him with no hindsight from lives past.
"... ...Hello Dr. Hydell..." Zed leans over as far as he can in the cage, nearly dropping to his knees to look under the man's desk. Ah, so they did learn from last time. This man had no gun. One less doctor with a bullet through their skull.
Had it really been so long already? Evaluations were a once-a-year process for all inmates, each of them scored and reshuffled depending on their stability. It should have been known by now that he, amongst several of the most violent inmates, were never going to 'get better' as was desired.
But he could play the part. Act nice, act sweet, act fucking saccharine for each new doctor—
"...I am Зид Йосифович Ангелов... or Zed... ... the middle name is Iosifovich, not Joseph... ... do get that right... ... ...and I am...thirty...six-?" So long without really knowing the time made it difficult to recall, but his twenties were long behind him. That much was true.
Sticking his face right against the cage, Zed purposefully drools down his mask and onto the center reinforcement bar, chuckling a little as saliva drips down flaking white paint. "...tell me, doctor... ...why am I here...? Where is my sunlight... ...~?" Eyes watch as spit reflects the terrible humming light of the fluorescent bulbs above them, but the shine was not satisfying.
He fidgets and adjusts and paces lightly around the small perimeter of the cage, Zed giving the man little direct attention. It was not his television screen of cats, nor his brief time to see the sky. Why was he here?!
"It is required for you to be evaluated yearly, Mr. Angelov," the response to Zed's question is swift, leaving no room to argue or interpret differently. A psychiatrist's favorite tool to let any inmate know to shut up. "I'll give you a summary of what we'll be doing while we're here, what to expect, and how long we will be in this room."
The ball point pen the doctor holds clicks irritatingly loud, the point scratching paper with the intensity of someone who didn't want to be there. There's a glance, scratching to paper, another glance, more scratching, notes taking up precious paper and precious time they both had stuck in the silence of no speech.
And finally —a mercy upon Zed that must've been granted from the heavens— the writing stops. "I will be asking you a few questions in the time that you are allowed outside of your cell. Your likes, thoughts, memories, motivations. I ask, you answer. Very simple."
Like talking to a child. Simple.
"After I've gained all the information I need, I will score you on a scale from one to twelve. Considering from past records consistently listing you as a twelve, this should be straightforward." Exhaling a breath of finality, he flips to a new page, "With that being said, this will take up all of your roaming time, no matter how you answer."
No sunlight today. Just his wonderful face and his wonderful company. Wonderful.
"We will start off plainly. Why do you think you are here right now?"
Wide grin hidden behind the slatted mask is quick to fade, any breath of humor immediately dried and leaving the air barren. And with nothing to fill the space, all noise rapidly turns into pain. Hum of the lights, scratch of pen to paper, the drone of stale circulation from the lone vent, all of it melding into a sharp white noise. A ringing pitch so high that static crackled at the edges of his vision.
Zed couldn't hear him—
That mouth so condescending was moving, but in one ear was the harsh ring and the other was a permanent muffle, eardrum too damaged to listen.
"...I ... can't..." I can't hear you. "...I can't... hear..." Zed shakes his head as distress sets in, trying to dislodge the unrelenting ringing. He couldn't hear! He couldn't hear! Please, wait until he could! There were only so many senses he could bear to lose at once.
In an act of panic, Zed swings the left side of his head into the cage with as much momentum as he could manage. There's an echoing clang as metal meets skull, empty room filled with the reverb.
And it was a blessing.
Zed gently slides down the bars and sits on the floor, letting out a breath of relief. Much better. A needed reset. Now, what had Dr. Hydell been saying? Why were they here?
Why was he—
He. He? "... I am..." She. Yes. That felt better too.
"...I am here because of squad of guards... ...or do you mean legally...? Then I am here because I killed people...~ Not because I ate them... ...did you know that eating people is allowed by law~?" Zed scoots away from the bars and to the center of the cage floor, high spirits returning after knocking everything repaired. Like a tv with a screwy image.
"...So if you're here to ask about cannibalism... that is not really problem...~"
"....not the least of them, clearly."
Barely a few minutes in and already there was such a display of the horrible mind behind the skull just slammed to metal. Two hours they would be interacting. Two hours he would be stuck with her, learning nothing new about her mind through the many years of notes taken from doctors before him.
"I was asking why you think you were incarcerated and put into maximum security," Hydell clarifies flatly, "Not on the semantics of your arrival."
"...Ah, you—" Should have been more specific then.
But the moment already passed. A scribble of notes, a dismissive look that could be missed if she blinked, and a continuation without a hint of care. He wasn't really here for a fair evaluation, just like the rest of the doctors past. She was merely a number, someone insane and not worth the effort of chatter.
Another few notes for good measure. Inmate 0313 is already showing signs of erratic behavior and irrational thoughts. Proceeded to slam cranium into cage bars without warning.
"With your confirmation out of the way, let's say we get to know each other a bit, hm?" The falsehood of friendliness is barely present in his voice, seemingly the idea of the idea of warmth in his tone. The sparkling water of approachability. "Why don't we talk a bit about your childhood?"
A common question. An easy question. One she had heard a thousand times. "What were your parents like, Mr. Angelov? How did they treat you?"
Was she not fascinating? The story of why she was here was an intriguing one. How she was here of her own free will, using the prison as a home away from home. Being subjected to these idle torments was a vacation.
Zed heaves a sigh before laying herself down on the concrete floor, cold of the ground feeling nice against her skin. This doctor was no fun. Even the previous one could be talked to death. "... ...please, doctor Hydell... spare me... ...your notes surely have this written out well enough..." Even trying to be as dry and monotonous as he was impossible. Her voice still held a bite of sarcasm.
"...they were my first victims... ...and they deserved it..." It was a time Zed didn't want to think back on, how the insatiable hunger began. Though not the worst point in her life, it was a stepping stone to her namesake.
But if he was to ignore her statements, she'd do the same to him. That was enough. Next question—
With a low groan, Zed rolls on to her other side, facing where her saliva slid down the bars. Did she really have to be here? With a man as enrapturing as a stale saltine cracker forgotten in the corner of the prison kitchen.
Now, if she could shake this discomfort some further discussion would be easier. "...if possible... ...may I be called Miss...? Mister leaves me feeling unwell..." From the floor her eyes drift to under the table, watching the man's feet remain perfectly still. Not even an anxious leg bounce or tap of the heel.
"Mm."
There's a pause in the writing, looking over notes of appointments past. There were brief snippets of this development, mentions of gender confusion. Another addition to the plethora of delusions Zed Angelov had suffered. The ridiculous thought that she was a woman. He almost chuckles.
Inmate 0313 is displaying previously reported gender confusion as a result of a possible concussion.
"It doesn't say in your files that you're a Miss. I'm required to refer to you by your classification and nothing else." A lie, but not technically. Though he was required to refer to her by the classification in her files, nothing in it would punish a shift in pronouns. There was nothing stopping him. Alas. "Perhaps when you are classified as a woman."
It's the simple hatreds that were the worst. Things that seemed almost reasonable to the one not being at the receiving end of it. Dismissed as if denying a child candy, as if comfort and identity were such trivial things.
They were to Hydell.
But Zed fails to see it, glued to the implication of that reassurance. Perhaps when you are classified as a woman.
Had a classification change been considered? Did the notes of doctors’ past finally reach the desk of the Warden? Had they listened?
Zed glances up from the glistening metal, flicker of hope behind her eyes. Does that mean her request finally went through?! Was a skirt finally made for her form after all these years? So many denials for an alteration in her uniform, each time a flimsy excuse given. It had been disheartening to wait so long, but now she could—
"Next question, Mr. Angelov. Why do you think your parents deserved to die?"
—Next question.
Just as hope flickered anew, it faded away, any remaining spark of joy merely soot and smoke now. The grey of Zed's eyes grows hollow as she returns her head to the floor, gaze cold as she looks to Hydell's body. A flimsy excuse of a man, so devoid of purpose here that even he ignored his job.
He sat down without a second thought of his patient. Did not consider the depth of repercussions. Did not understand his mistake.
Her gaze lingers at his belly, soft flesh under blue shirt slowly lifting and lowering a keycard as he breathes. "... ...Doctor... Victor Hydell..." That name would be the first of his being to be in her mouth. "...Mister Angelov is unavailable right now... ...any further questions on his past should be saved for later..."
Her voice falls flat as she speaks over the concrete floor, eyes never leaving the man's lanyard. "... ...Tell me about your parents, Victor... did they love you...? Were you ever hugged... or shown praise... ..." Arms within her straight jacket twitch, trapped wrapped around her own form for hours at a time. Wrists twist behind her back, taking hold of the buckles attached to binding straps.
It was selfish. Shame on her, really. Maybe giving the man a little love would change his mind. A little persuasion towards showing some respect.
There's a tremble in that neutral face of his. Doctor Hydell pauses in his writing and reading for it, shifting to accommodate for the amount of space emotion took up in his body. The extra click of his pen, moving to lean on one side, head propped up by the hand not holding his pen.
There is a micro expression. Subtle, but no less there. Annoyance.
"You're not unavailable until the end of the session," Inmate 0313 is referring to himself in third person now. "You're avoiding the question," Requesting further evaluation on possible unidentified mental illnesses.
If he wasn't visibly thrown in the first portion, it may be clear now. With how his eyebrow twitches, how he places down the files, how he attempts to hold in a glare. A sore spot. A weakness. An advantage.
"This session isn't about my own past, it is about yours," Hydell snaps defensively. It's short lived. He's quick to pick back up the papers, his pen, and put back on that neutral mask. There was nothing Zed could coax from him.
Wasn't there? "Please, answer the provided question, Mr. Angelov. Why do you think your parents deserved to die?"
There it was. A break in that stagnant demeanor. Just one bounce of the leg, just a faint shift in weight, it was enough of a betrayal. The doctor offered the smallest of ground to advance upon, and the tendrils of her will would steal a mile.
But she couldn't be too hasty. Fear would ruin her reach.
"... ...ah... there it is again... that Mister..." Pinching at the belt clasp, Zed gently maneuvers the pin out of place, easing the now open strap down so the metal doesn't clatter. "...how about compromise...~? Professionalism has made both of us... tense..." Zed eases her body upright, still careful the undone buckle doesn't make a noise as she sits.
"...let us set aside mister and misses... ...and doctors..." Titles be damned in this room not monitored by camera nor guard. There would be no witnesses to a casual conversation. "...I will be Zed... you, Victor... hm...~? I feel much more comfortable telling story of my parents to Victor as man than superior..."
As much as Hydell tries to hide it, irritation slips past his eyes. The notion that there was a change to be made in behavior. In speech. That he in some way was incorrect. That a compromise was to be made.
Fine. Fine. It was more than clear that Angelov wouldn't cooperate otherwise.
"So long as you tell me, M..." A pause. A deep breath follows, "...Zed. I am here to listen." And listen he does. He had to do that much, after all.
Letting out a breathy sigh, Zed reclines her head back against the wall, back arching just enough for her to reach the next buckle. "...I killed my parents because I was not child in their eyes... ...I wasn't even pet..." Fingers hook into the next metal loop, dark gaze lifting to meet the stoic stare of the doctor.
"...I was... ... chair…~"
Zed cants her head to the side, long hair draping over her shoulder to hide the shifting of her arm. Damn these fucking straps! "...I had arms... legs... ...but they saw me as furniture... piece best left in the corner of room... ..." As she shifts so does her head, Zed making sure her hair kept all intentions coated in black.
The neutral demeanor is back at full force. As much as Hydell can push it. As much as he can force himself to reveal nothing as his notes take on his flow of thought, the white noise of pen scratch.
Inmate 0313 has a past of trauma relating to his parents, as noted before in previous accounts. Treated no more than unwanted furniture. Violence is possible cry for attention from parents that never paid attention, no matter what he did to deserve—
"... ...I became neglected... and dusty... ...beyond repair..." Propping herself up onto her knees, Zed leans in, mask pressed to the bars of her cage as she gives Hydell a soft look. "...what about you, Victor...? Did your parents think you were best left in corner...~?"
Hydell stops writing.
"This isn't—" About me. Doctor Hydell bites his tongue, desperately trying to cling to high ground, looking to the strangely soft eyes of someone he didn't want any common ground with. No. No. He shared nothing, there wasn't a single thing about him that this session was about. There was nothing he could share with this cannibal.
Not the trauma, and certainly not that lack of approval.
Hydell's mouth goes dry. "...this...isn't about me. We are moving onto the next question, Zed." There is hesitation now in the flip of his papers, "What was the tipping point with your parents?"
Such was the tragedy of the human condition. How two very different people so vastly apart in life, could meet and see so closely eye to eye. The greater tragedy, however, was that one of them was more a villain than the other, denying humanity to those that needed it most.
And it wasn't the one in a straight jacket—
Another buckle undone, light jingle of metal easily smothered by the clacking of her mask over cage bars. Zed idly leaning side to side, giddy with every angle she can see the poor doctor begin to crumble. But her smile would betray nothing behind her slatted mask.
"...No...no... not about you... ...but in your own words, Victor... let's say we get to know each other, hm...~?" She would be here to listen, just as he was. This would be mutual, a friendly agreement upon his demise. They could stand on common ground, let out that breath of relief while toe to toe. "...it is not crime to want to know you, is it... ...~?"
And just as Zed offers him that olive branch, she keeps it out of reach, reclining back to the far wall of her cage. Dark eyes were pulled away as well, idly following flecks of dust in the air. "...but if you insist... ..." Hydell didn't need that attention anyways.
"...my breaking point..." It hurts, how Zed contorts her arms as far as they can reach, fingers barely reaching the last clasp. Her muscles felt ready to tear. "...was elation...~"
Any pain in her unfocused eyes fades, thumb hooked onto metal pin and slowly pulling down. "... ...I realized their death meant freedom... ... no matter what I did, or where I was..."
Thin metal bends under the tension of Zed's pulling, buckle failing and strap slipping free with just a little jostling. "...taking their lives brought me joy..." Zed looks back to Hydell, but does not lean forward, doesn't shift to offer him a clear view.
"...being here means I escaped... ...seeing you, Victor... It makes me...happy...~" That first step out from under that rotten home, that leap into a life of her own. It was an insatiable drive.
"...Are you happy to see me too...~?"
Such a horrible thing. The admission to a love and need for patricide, that Hydell could hear the smile in Zed's voice. A departure from the living meant the departure from all connection, her parents from her. His parents from him. It was evil in every sense. Vile and cruel and unforgiving to do such a thing to the ones responsible from one's own existence.
Such a horrible thing, jealousy of a beast.
"..." For once, he isn't sure what to say. How to reply. Hydell's demeanor cracks under the weight of trauma unspoken. Years of work, doing everything in his power, above and beyond to achieve greatness from his craft. All for what? Parents who couldn't care less than they already did. Disapproval wherever he went, whatever he did, it was never enough.
And their disapproval could die with them. If he had the nerve.
"...I can't say," He shakes his pen between his fingers, cold sweat leaving a sheen on his forehead. What was it about this inmate that got everyone to this point? To reveal the rawest part of one's self; skinned from surface morals and stripped from the faces everyone shows to be normal. Stripped from the lie that life was great and parents are loving. It hurts to be skinned so thoroughly, nude to one's anger and resentment and regrets. All those feelings boil over.
Why. Why? Why!?
Nervous fiddling sends the pen flying. Dropping to the foot of the cage that kept the cannibal at bay. Hydell looks to it with an uncanny dread, eyes flickering between the utensil and the face seen between the bars.
That was his only pen.
The clatter of plastic upon the floor catches her attention, Zed briefly flicking her gaze to the pen within her reach. But she doesn't move, doesn't dare flinch as the doctor stands to retrieve it. A single twitch of a muscle and he would run. That fine line of fear was so close to snapping, and she was so—
He assures himself as he stands, leaving the safety of his desk. Zed was restrained by a cage and a straight jacket, unable to eat him if she tried muzzled like that. His steps are unconfident the whole way there, slow as he gets close enough to reach it. Naked fear as he has it and freezes from the gaze of those storm filled eyes. Stuck in place as his body tries to convince him to run.
A bug caught in a venus flytrap.
—close.
Just as the line breaks, Zed lunges forward and snags the loose end, fingers holding blue shirt in a vice grip. The buckles of her straight jacket hang useless at her sides, sleeves free from restraint. "...can't find words, Victor...~?"
Hydell in her grasp, Zed yanks forward until the man's shocked expression is pressed right to the retinal scanner on the cage's lock. Her other hand reaches past the bars and eases up his keycard, soft beep of full clearance sounding as deadbolts pull back.
"...no need to be shy...~" Briefly she lets go of him, arms maneuvering around metal until she's untangled. And then she steps free, cage door wide open and useless to hold the beast.
How does a fly feel when caught in a venus flytrap?
Not a question many are likely to think on their own, but all things considered, this wasn't an isolated case. His limbs won't cooperate when pulled flush to the scanner, when electric hinges free the beast, when the flytrap snaps shut. Panic is building behind blue eyes. He processed her words. Why this was happening. Why he was going to die.
Zed peels her frozen dinner from the lock and directly to her chest, hug almost warm as if to defrost him. And holding the poor man there was easy, the strength of a desk jockey pitiful up against her own. "...I know you're happy...—”
In one swift motion Zed spares an arm to rip off the mask guarding her face, wicked teeth prominent as she leans down to the doctor's height. "...now that we can really see eye to eye...~" Pale fingers comb through the man's hair and settle to grasp at his neck. The gesture was gentle, but her figure imposed over him and allowed for no escape.
Her thumb rubs over his jugular, lightly pressing in to cut off some of his air, and Zed watches with delight as his gaze grows foggy. "... ...I am glad we met, Victor..." Keeping hold of his throat, Zed tilts Hydell's head so she can nuzzle at his cheek and nibble his jaw.
"...because you've given me something... ..." Zed uses her weight to forcefully buckle Hydell's knees and send them both to the floor, hand at his neck firmly pinning him to the concrete. As she looms above, she offers him a smile, one with wobbly lips just a bit too kind.
Again, how does a fly feel when caught in a venus flytrap?
They say the next twenty seconds of the fly's choices are crucial to its survival. Hydell's limbs finally connect to his mind, the sight of Zed's teeth so close fight and flight rush in at once. Kicking his legs, trying to hit her, thrashing and trying to wiggle to safety.
Soft grin pulls wide as she stares him down, any shine within dark gaze fading as both hands shift to clamp down on the sides of his head, "...reassurance that none of you wretched doctors will ever see me as human... ...ever offer barest shreds of respect to humanity I have left...-! I cling... so desperately to be seen as more than monster or number... ...and yet, all I get is you... You, man that puts professionalism and paper above me—!"
Saliva drips from her cleft with each hate soaked word, mixing with the sweat upon Hydell's brow as her teeth hover over wide-eyes. "...pray that Miss Angelov will be merciful...she's sick of your gaze...—"
"Stop!"
What can a fly do but panic?
Hands lift restrained head towards waiting teeth, incisors pressed to eye socket as tongue glides over soft cornea. A gaze not happy to see her would be one she'd take away. Tongue pushes past resisting eyelids, delving into skull and tasting the optic nerve within.
"HELP!"
Death looms patiently over a prize guaranteed, sampling a taste of her next meal. Hydell felt light headed, sick to his stomach, a more wretched version of getting an eyelash stuck under his lid. His eye tries it's hardest to blink her tongue away, but all effort is futile pinned open so painfully. All effort is. The doors were solid metal, sealed and soundproofed for the purpose of privacy. The emergency button was under the desk. No one would be saving him.
And most unfortunately, when the fly fights for its life, it tells the venus flytrap two things; to start killing it and how vigorously to do so.
It was cruel, how she guided outcomes towards her desires. Why else would she hold his head and not his mouth? Why else would she leave those pitiful arms not pinned beneath her knees? Zed wanted the man to writhe and scream, to feel that panic so close to her body. It was like the strike of a matchstick, how it ignited her frenzy.
A laugh bubbles from her throat, rumbling into the doctor's skull as her tongue pops his eye from the socket. But it was not free, the optic nerve and arteries keeping it attached. Teeth snag the fleshy tendon, but don't clamp tight enough to cut through. It was just enough of a pinch that as Zed slams Hydell's head back into the floor the nerve and veins snap, blood spattering the man's face and pooling within the emptied socket.
She lets go of his head as she sits on his chest, plucking the eye from her mouth to take a look at her now portable key. Retina scanners didn't need a body—
Pocketing the fleshy sphere, Zed too rips off Hydell's lanyard and adds that to her collection.
—And neither did he anymore.
"...miss, please stop... ...ma'am, please help...-" Zed leans back down, running her tongue along the splattered blood upon his face. "...please have mercy, my lady..." Her voice drips with mockery, panicked tone made a joke as she mimics his words in a way she wants to hear, "...please... spare me, mistress..."
But Zed would give him no chance to grovel. He had given up that hope of forgiveness when ruining her hope of comfort. As her frenzy bubbles and boils, Zed grips on to Hydell's jaw, fingers forced into his mouth so nails could dig into his tongue. She wanted to keep laughing, find humor in his death, but anger was clawing its way out.
Zed begins to pull down on his jaw, other hand pressed to the doctor's forehead to anchor him. And as if to make it worse, her ears began to ring again. Those awful buzzing lights and rumble of the vent reaching out to meet her anger half way. "...I...cannot hear... ...I cannot hear... you—"
But she could feel it, the cracking of a bone beginning to fail, and she could see as the corners of his mouth stretch to splitting. Her arm shakes from the effort, but there's soon a sickening snap and gurgle as she cracks lower jaw out of place. "...cannot... hear you... ..." In another motion she tears it off completely, exposing his throat and tongue to open air.
An easy target for her own teeth now that Hydell's were reduced to half. Rage blends into hunger as Zed watches blood pour from ruined mouth, lips parting as she casts aside useless mandible. Her meal was made soft and ready, limbs no longer fighting as she goes for the first bite. His jugular was tender within the teeth of his trap, flesh giving no resistance in death.
Foolish was the fly that baited the beast. Sitting too close to the scent of nectar and dooming itself to being prey. But digesting his insides would not be enough.
Zed tears away a bite of collar bone and muscle, eyes looking to the door that now could not stop her. The insides of many more begged for her teeth. Beginning with the two guards that patiently awaited the evaluation to end.
Outside of the room and in the hall is eerily silent. It becomes like this every year Angelov is evaluated. To be posted here was a fate worse than death row, all doctors who entered a sacrifice to the cold cogs of routine inspection.
It was a wonder— to every guard that was new, at least — why Zed Angelov wasn't executed. But those lucky, or rather unlucky enough to have survived thus far, knew the uncanny reason why this inmate still darkened their doorstep. The same reason weapons and armor and backup made no one feel much safer.
The two guards on each side of the door stand, dreading the answer to the question they both asked in their head; what was going on in there? They weren't permitted to look inside, nor were they supposed to check in until certain intervals of time. It didn't help that the room they stood watch over was essentially cut off from the world.
The tick of the clock fills the white noise of the hall. It has been thirty minutes.
No check in from the doctor.
Both guards look to each other, the walkie talkie, and the door. Neither want to answer, but one hands it off faster than the other can refuse. Click. "The thirty minute interval has passed. Doctor Hydell, please provide status report, over."
Static. Nothing. The guards look at each other again. Click.
"Doctor Hydell, do you copy?"
On the inside, the walkie talkie left on Hydell's desk crackles to life, scratchy sound a courtesy of the guards just outside the door. It was only a matter of time before they entered.
Crunch of bone between her teeth nearly drowns out the crackle of radio whirring to life, especially against the ringing in her ears that wouldn't cease. So many noises were fraying her nerves to the point of agony. Zed sinks her teeth into Hydell's spine, dragging his corpse up by nearly severed neck as she steps over to the table.
"Doctor Hydell, do you copy?"
Shit.
Spitting out the doctor onto the table, Zed grabs the walkie-talkie and looks over the buttons as she brings it to her mouth. She shouldn't eat this, but her voice would trip suspicion. "...Блядь...—" Eyes scan over the room, trying to fight off panic threatening to set in.
Clipboard. Blood. Pen. Lower jaw. Corpse of a man. Audio recording device.
Zed grabs the compact machine with her free hand, hitting the stop button on the still rolling recording. The slaughter had all been captured. She presses rewind before hitting play again, the sound of Hydell screaming 'stop!' and 'help!' ringing throughout the room once more. "...pleasant memories...~" Ah, it was almost erotic to be able to hear that panic so vividly all over again.
Rewind is clicked once more, Zed listening to the reversed jibber until coming across a line that would work. At least with what little context she had. Damn the light for driving her deaf.
Holding the recorder up to the radio, Zed hits the reply button just before hitting play, and Hydell's voice crackles through the comm-line. His recorded tone is hollow and eerie, disembodied in more ways than one as it sounds on the guards' end.
"...W̸h̴y̸ ̶d̶o̶ ̷y̵o̵u̷ ̵t̵h̸i̸n̵k̷ ̸y̴o̵u̵ ̴a̵r̶e̶ ̸h̴e̸r̴e̷ ̸r̴i̷g̴h̶t̶ ̵n̴o̴w̸?̵...—"
With the reply sent, Zed sets down the walkie-talkie and places the device on the table to begin recording again. She too steps on to the table and up on to Hydell's back. Those couple inches of boost given by his rib cage allows Zed to hook her fingers into the grates of the vent.
It was a pain maneuvering small pins inwards to unhook the ventilation cover, white paint digging under her nails. But once swinging loosely on its hinge, Zed pulls herself up into the air shaft and carefully pulls the grate up without clicking it back into place. It was an uncomfortably tight fit, but she didn't have to hide long.
She had no intention to escape after all.
One of the guards allows themself the privilege of relief hearing the doctor's voice, content to spend the next half hour in dutiful peace and quiet. The other isn't so lucky. The voice felt like the husk or idea of an answer to a status report. Ill fitting for a status report. Like a call in the woods mimicked by something that only knew how to repeat instead of talk.
"Doctor Hydell," That guard speaks into the walkie talkie again, "Please report your status, over."
Radio silence. Dread fills the air.
They know what they'd rather believe. That Hydell was a stubborn asshole through and through, answering in prickish riddles and leaving them suspicious of his life. That he did in fact answer. That was his voice, after all. Even if much was to be desired from that report, they couldn't doubt that that was Hydell's voice. That part was undeniable.
Another part that was undeniable— and unfortunately so it was — was what they would have to do about this silence.
"Proceeding with inmate security protocol, over."
Upon using their key cards to enter the room, they find what had happened to Hydell. What made that hollow sound in lieu of his voice. How the story ended. Their shoes pad in vivid pools of blood, the horrible fate of Hydell that showed the terror of what happened to flies who struggle. Both guards whip their heads around, nauseous, dazed despite all training and expectations. All preparation couldn't hold up in the face of what Zed could do to anyone.
Zed was nowhere in sight.
One of the guards pulls out their own walkie talkie, signal connected to every other guard in max. "Inmate 0313 has breached containment! Proceed with emer—!"
Bloodied fingers take hold of waiting head as she drops out of the vent, a swift twist cutting off the call of emergency as she snaps the guard's neck. And with his head still in her hands, Zed swings the man's corpse in front of her as two taser bolts embed into body armor.
Guns were not permitted within the walls of the facility without high-level exception. Murderous and unstable inmates couldn't be given the chance to steal them away from staff. But, if a guard couldn't physically out match a prisoner, they would be fated with death.
As the sound of electricity fades, Zed keeps the corpse of the first in her grasp like a meat shield. She can feel the body take the impact of other weaponry, eyes catching the glint of a combat knife being pulled.
The guard wanted to kill her—
There's a stirring in the air of the halls of maximum security. The inmates knew it by taste, in their bones. That one of their own spilt blood and would leave no survivors in their wake. They knew it before red lights blared and sirens roared to life. The signal of a lock down. Some were giddy in their cells, hoping for specific guards’ demise. Others knew better than to feel glee, for they knew what time of year it was.
"... ...not using your baton...~? How naughty... ...-" She retreats back as slices become more aggressive, even as a blow lands against her upper arm, Zed bites back the wince. "...come on... ...kill me~!"
"Shut up, inmate-!"
The next swing embeds into the dead guard's neck, Zed barely able to pull the corpse up quick enough to guard her own throat. But that was enough play time. She drops the corpse with the knife still stuck in place, watching as the other is pulled off balance.
There's a brief glance shared between them, the knowing look of a fateful misstep between predator and prey. Even as the second guard regains his stance, Zed has the knife of the first stuck into the other's ribs, just under the arm, and above the protection of kevlar.
Blood gushes from the puncture wound, second guard collapsing to the floor as he tries to reach for the blade. Pale fingers wrap over armored gloves, Zed kneeling over her new kill-in-waiting. He'd die soon, lungs drowning in his own blood. And she wanted to savor it.
Zed can see as the guard's attention wavers, how those shielded eyes lose focus. "...ah ah... ...don't go yet...~" With her free hand she holds his chin, making him look up at her figure haloed in awful fluorescent light.
She helps pull the knife from his ribs, setting it next to the one still stuck in his friend. "...I want to make sure you know... ...if you had called the emergency before stepping in here... I wouldn't have any weapons~" The fingers at his chin move to pull off his helmet, exposing the earpiece she is quick to take and tuck it into her good ear.
Zed pats the guard's head as he fades before stripping him of his gear. The kevlar vest is worn under her jacket, utility belt and leg holsters strapped into place to carry both knives. Zed keeps a baton as well, but discards the pepper spray and tasers of both men. Neither were fatal in a fight.
She takes a final glance at the carnage wrought within the evaluation room, smiling as she pulls Hydell's eye and keycard from her pocket to unlock the door. "...sleep well, boys..." As Zed steps out of the room, the sound of alarms finally reaches her ears. Lock down had been initiated and security would be closing in soon.
More bodies for the party.
Turning down the hallway, Zed begins her hunt towards the medical wing.
•
"Inmate 0313 has breached containment! Proceed with emer—!"
A snap. Radio silence. Warden Vulgora and surrounding guards heard it clear as day through the building wide intercom, what had happened. What they had to do. While the guards stand in shock, Vulgora takes initiative, pressing the button on the control panel to the facility.
"WHAT ARE YOU BOZOS DOING JUST STANDING THERE!?" Vulgora barks to the frozen guards, "WE HAVE A CANNIBAL ON THE LOOSE! SURROUND THE EVALUATION HALL AND DETAIN INMATE 0313! NOW NOW NOW!"
The guards quickly shift into high gear at Vulgora's command, batons at the ready. Marching loud as thunder. But by the time they reach the hall, Zed is long gone. Her carnage being the only sign she was there.
"Inmate 0313 is no longer in evaluation hall room six," The lead guard speaks into the mic, "Proceeding with site wide search."
Rooms in the medical hall seal completely in lockdown, only accessible by key. And even still, there is a process. Medical staff hide themselves beneath desks and in empty cabinets. Similar to scared school children. By all means they're the safest.
But no relief comes when the key reader clicks.
A squad of four guards storm into the main lab once the locks pull back, tasers at the ready as they scout among the hiding staff. Three break off and search around the room, some offering reassuring pats to shoulders as they pass. Angelov wasn't present.
One guard remaining by the door relocks the entry and grabs the radio at his shoulder, calling in, "This is squad six, scouting the main lab of the medical wing. No signs of inmate 0313. Over."
Within another ceiling vent, Zed listens in as a new voice chimes in over the radio. It was so hard to hold in her laughter.
"No motion on the cameras. Does perimeter team have any sightings of the inmate? Over."
“Negative. Inmate is still within the facility. Over."
Tapping on her earpiece, Zed lets out a soft chuckle before dropping out of her hiding spot, "...play time..." She strolls up to the door, holding Hydell's eye and keycard to the scanner, smile wide as locks move once again. And that was the last she would need them. Dropping both to the floor as the door opens, Zed crushes blue iris under foot as she strides in with knives drawn.
Both blades dig into the lone guard's unprotected neck, Zed twisting them until the fool's head nearly comes off. But not quite, messily held in place by cut bone and remaining tendons. "...hold door for me...~" She shoves the body into place as heavy deadbolts pin the man's corpse and snap his skull off the rest of the way, splintering bone jamming the mechanism.
As she turns back to the buffet waiting in the lab, a pair of taser bolts hits her square in the chest, sound of an electric charge dispersing around her. Zed waits a few seconds before pulling the wires and yanking the weapon away from the courageous guard. "...ah ah ah... ...don't be rude..." Sticking the taser bolts into the keycard sensor, Zed short circuits the system before making her way forward.
"This is squad six in the main lab-!! Inmate 0313 is in the main lab! We have a man down and a taser was ineffective! Immediate back up! Repeat, Immediate back up—!"
Grabbing the stolen radio at her own shoulder, Zed chimes in as well. "... ...you heard man... better come quickly...~" She dives for a cowering scientist trying to scramble out from under a desk, driving a knife into their leg so they can't flee.
"...I'll try to leave couple bodies in one piece... ..."
It's a horrible thing, being the unlucky few that happen to be working in this lab. The main lab had most of them, all of whom smell death with terror in their eyes. Knowing the end was near and a horrible one at that. Flies, the lot of them.
Some are frozen, scared to draw attention to themselves. Some cover the mouths of their sobbing companions. And a particular jumpy bunch try to flee the area, red lockdown light illuminating desperate clawing at the door as if to highlight their doom. Attempting to abandon their still living coworker even as they cry for the group's help. All trying to be saved with their screams of terror, piled on like rats trying to flee from an underground flood.
That's the worst the guards can hear from around the door as they regroup outside the main lab; a massive plea for salvation.
Vulgora takes to the door, key card reader smokey and malfunctioning from the tasers abuse. They point to the closest guards.
"YOU! SQUAD FIVE! GO GET BLOWTORCHES, WE NEED THE METAL LOCKS MELTED!" And once they gratefully run off to do so, Vulgora shouts to the staff at large, loud enough to rival the sirens, "THE REST OF YOU, FIND SOMETHING WE CAN USE TO PRY THE DOOR OPEN. A DESK, A GURNEE, ANYTHING YOU CAN CARRY AS A GROUP! WE NEED THIS DOOR OPEN NOW!"
None of them dared step back towards the cannibal, even with the Warden bellowing orders into their face. It's no use trying to have them reason. The guard's mangled body prevented the door from sealing even though steel deadbolts slid back into place. The flies could see their escape, see the hallway just past those few inches of gap. But there was no wriggling free from enclosed teeth.
There's a sputtering grunt as Zed staggers backwards, clutching at her nose after being struck in the face with a baton. That same baton impaled through a guard's mouth in retaliation, helmet shield only low enough to protect the eyes. She didn't need any more of those.
Allowing herself to stagger, Zed feints dizziness as the remaining guards draw near, collapsing to her side as she's bludgeoned across the shoulders. It stung, but it brought her close enough to her knife, Zed ripping it from the leg of the crying scientist and driving it up under the vest of the closest guard.
Yanking the metal tears clear through flesh and muscle, horrific smell of acid and rot permeating the room as guts spill to the tile floor. Zed is not bothered by the scent as she stands, making quick work of the final guard with her knife jammed through the back of his neck, spurt of blood decorating the pile of organs before them. Pitiful were those that couldn't stand the sight of her lunch.
"... ...now..." She turns to the door, sniffing back blood as it drips from her nose. "...clear way for rescue... ...torch burns are nasty...~" Teeth sink into the back of a desperate researcher's neck, no body armor or kevlar to get in the way as Zed crunches down until there's a snap. The sickening sound alerts the other staff to her presence, but Zed is quick to lunge at all of them in turn.
Desperate hands grasp for freedom, it being just out of reach. The gap was large enough to see salvation, too thin to achieve it, any hopes for escape clogged by hands and arms and the poor body of a colleague trampled further into his grave. Their panic makes them a stampede. The minds of flies only knowing flight and not fight.
Flesh is torn off in chunks, consumed from each body trying to flee, some before even being able to fall dead. And blade dripping red is painted further with each vein sliced. Zed piles them against the guard jammed within the mechanism, even cramming a severed limb into the thin gap with middle finger jauntily lifted towards the Warden.
Offering Vulgora a wave and a smile, Zed sinks back into the flashing red lights, bloodied form almost hidden as she rushes after scientists cowering towards the back of the lab. Screams cut short are able to reach the hallway, and nothing else. No more hands clamor for the walls outside, no more pleading gazes meet the rescue teams' own. Even the scent of blood seems too scared to reach for freedom.
Such a sight from the other side is horrible. Only Vulgora is equipped to watch, let it burn into their memory. Bloodied hands wear skin like loose sleeves, barely draping off of bone, the nails of other hand catching onto flesh and ripping further. Their red handprints may be the last of what most of them leave behind.
Most pray they would never see nor hear the very end of this kind of agony.
Most.
Vulgora stares with hatred at what Zed had left for them, nose wrinkling at the rude gesture made with a dismembered limb. They're about to return the favor until their lackeys return. They carry exactly what is needed.
Torches. Tranquilizer. Something to use as leverage.
"START MELTING THE LOCKS. IGNORE ANY ARM IN YOUR WAY!"
Sore and torn flesh burns upon touching hot metal, some wise enough to back from the fire. Some are too afraid of the burns of the hell they're trapped in being more fatal. Zed had bitten them. Killed some, left them maimed, took pleasure from their misery. They thank whatever deity there was that Death sought other prey.
For once, relief isn't short lived. The barriers between the damned and safety were finally broken, guards all flooding in after the sickening sound of the locks dislodging from their coworker’s body with a pop. And as the reinforced door is forced open, Zed stands tall upon a gurney moved to the center of the room.
Below her were a handful of still living medical staff; a few interns, a few junior researchers. All of them tremble as they're made to keep her make-shift altar steady.
They had met Death, saw what her wrath would bring, and wouldn't dare be disobedient.
Forming a wall in front of the broken employees, guards shoot at the ravenous prisoner, and Zed remains still as darts begin to fly, arms held wide as if to welcome the attack as an offering.
She was soaked in blood from head to toe, hair dripping red and sticking to her form. Gore and flesh clung to her teeth and hung from her nails, the human body so easy to tear apart when met with her hunger. It was the cost of depriving her of her sunlight and stripping her of her humanities.
Every life that stole from her, she'd steal right back—
Needles strike against the kevlar vest under her straight jacket, Zed's split smile unwavering as the first doses of tranquilizer fail to reach her skin. But there is more, too many to avoid if she even wanted to. And she didn't, Zed wanted nothing more than to rest after her rampage.
Several darts pierce her arms and legs, the sensation of numbing quickly spreading through her limbs. Zed lets out a deep laugh as her knees buckle and black encroaches upon her vision, eyes towards the ceiling as she falls back upon the gurney.
The awful sound of the emergency alarm fades, as does the whine of the fluorescent lights as consciousness begins to slip away. No more ringing in her ears. No more questions or evaluations.
It was truly the best part of this time of year.
Silence.
The incident runs rampant as a ghost story all surviving parties tell, one that the easily replaceable won't ever forget and one that higher ups would do well to erase. At least, in any way that would make it seem that it was their lack of competency that caused this. Recordings of the event as evidence to Zed Angelov's crimes would be sent to court. Public knowledge for those looking. The venus flytrap of maximum security. The Spine Eater.
Those looking were intrigued. Invested, even. Much to those at maximum's dismay.
Within a month of the public knowing, the proctor and anyone involved start reviewing emails. A man by the name of Julian Devorak made his name among all forms of security as the stubborn fool that wanted nothing more than to talk to the Spine Eater. Knowing the risk, the consequences, knowing none before him lived to warn him of the experience. This man was determined to use inmate 0313 for an ongoing investigation. Nothing could stop him, not even being ignored.
Not for lack of trying.
Eventually, Julian is given a chance by his superior contacting them for his sake. Given the grueling training that came with preparations for an encounter this deadly. Papers upon papers upon papers to fill in and read, research on the inmate in question, notes from evaluations before.
And in due stubborn time, he was finally ready. Julian is allowed through legally sworn secrecy to interview Zed. Sat at a desk in front of bullet proof glass, given a high grade taser, and many more ways to call for help.
The guards prepare to never hear from Julian again.
They never learned. How was it that nothing she did ever got the point across?!
With each rampage she grew more violent, more bodies added to the pile with every evaluation failed. And the last one she had made sure every single qualified individual that could have possibly interviewed her was torn to pieces! Where could another doctor have been found?!
Why could they not understand that she wanted to enjoy her little concrete paradise alone, in peace! Again she was looking forward to that one hour of time outside in the sun, and once more she was brought down the wrong hall.
Back to the evaluation room—
Dark eyes cast a venomous glare to the new fool waiting at the concrete table as she steps past the door, but she makes no immediate attempt at violence. Security surrounding her had been increased, and the guards were already paranoid.
The cage she was in before had been fitted with bullet proof glass, making it impossible for her to reach through the bars. There were air holes so she didn't suffocate, but even those were too small to reach through.
Not that Zed even knew how to get out of the new straight jacket she'd been put in. A prototype, fully wired with dull metal nodes against her back and torso. It was a glorified shock collar, a personal electric chair she was made to wear. The facility could no longer afford to execute her after numerous failed deaths, so this was the best they had.
Once the cage is closed and the guards gratefully leave the room with the heavy door locking behind them, Zed leans her forehead against the glass cutting her off from her new prey. This man would die too. "...my name is Zed Angelov... ...I am probably thirty seven now... no, I will not explain why I am here... ...I will not elaborate on my parents... and you will not leave this room alive, doctor...-"
It was always the same questions, always the same condescending tone, the same degrading notes written by the noisiest fucking pen—
"...Иди на хуй..."
"...well, that's quite a sharp attitude for a first greeting. Are you hungry? Did they not feed you breakfast before you got here?"
Not even a minute in, and Zed had already decided he was dead. How interesting!
Julian had been giddy from the get go. Planning this out for a special someone, traversing heroic depths to make the impossible happen. As it seems, he always chose the hard way. Life was the hard way. As it was with roundabout dedications of love, getting a murderous cannibal to help catch another would seem to be rather difficult. Especially with how this one already sought to murder him.
Oh well. It wasn't as if he feared death, anyways.
"I would have offered you the turkey sandwich I had brought for lunch but, ah...they confiscated that~" Julian grins goofily, laughing to offset the terrible mood with a certain attitude of his own, "Plus, though I know your preference is human flesh, I'm not sure if you would much like turkey. Maybe ham or chicken would taste better to you, hm~?"
Standing, the good doctor holds his hand out to greet Zed, only to awkwardly put it away when he realizes a handshake wasn't possible. His smile never dies, "Well, since you did me the kindness of an introduction first, I may as well let you know me before you kill me, hm? My name is Julian Devorak, though you're free to call me Ilya if that's more comfortable for you. I am also thirty seven! It's very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr Angelov~"
What—?
Zed casts a perplexed look down to the doctor, brows raising further as the idiot even stands from his table to greet her. That was against protocol. What was he doing? Was the man smiling? Did the fool actually bring a personality into the room? How the hell did a sense of humor survive—
"... ...Ilya..." The name slips past her lips and out the slats of her mask, Zed no less confused as she leans back from the glass a little to get a better look at him. This one was tall like her, though his stature was still dwarfed in comparison. Did administration try to hire someone that could size her up? Was that their plot now? Intimidation when weapons failed?
It was working, kind of. This man radiated an excited joy, it almost made her uncomfortable. Such expression was so out of place. "... ...ahhm..." Well, it wouldn't have to be a problem! These evaluations were hers’ to control, and any slip of his tongue to deny her humanity would right the situation. She just needed a weak point.
"...Miss... ...Miss Angelov...-" It wasn't a surprise that the facility still hadn't properly updated her records. She used both he and she interchangeably at will, and was never respected for it. And surely that wouldn't change now. Though, since this Doctor Devorak was being nice so far, Zed offers him a shallow bow in greeting.
While leaned down, Zed gives the other a once over, eyes narrowing as if to analyze her new psychologist. He still hadn't moved to sit back down. Would he actually speak to her face to face? "...or Madame Angelov... ...if that is more comfortable for you..."
Give her something to loathe. Anything—
"Miss?" Miss?
There it was. The questioning, the beginning of denial. He was—
Julian takes a moment to flip through his notes, biting back the clear panic on his tongue. Oh gods, how could he miss something so important? It was essential to any transgender patient's mental and emotional health to get something like this right! The panic stops and drops off into disgust as he finds the mention he had glazed over; gender confusion due to head trauma. Hydell's notes leave a bad taste in his mouth.
"...Miss! Miss Angelov. Though, I do like the sound of Madame Angelov. Very fancy, you have good taste~"
—He was going to agree with her.
Standing back up straight, he brings the notes with him as Julian seats himself on the desk. A way to be comfortable while also remaining at Zed's eye level. He props his clipboard on top of his crossed legs and quickly crosses out the rude comments previously written. No wonder the last one had perished.
"Do forgive me for the mishap. Your identity wasn't properly noted. No worries though, I will fix that for you~"
Zed can feel her eyes water as she watches the doctor scribble out previous comments written about her.
I̶n̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶0̶3̶1̶3̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶w̶s̶ ̶s̶i̶g̶n̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶e̶r̶r̶a̶t̶i̶c̶ ̶b̶e̶h̶a̶v̶i̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶i̶r̶r̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶a̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶.̶
I̶n̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶0̶3̶1̶3̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶v̶i̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶p̶o̶r̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶g̶e̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶f̶u̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶d̶u̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶t̶r̶a̶u̶m̶a̶.̶
P̶r̶o̶n̶o̶u̶n̶ ̶r̶e̶q̶u̶e̶s̶t̶s̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶I̶n̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ ̶0̶3̶1̶3̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶s̶r̶e̶g̶a̶r̶d̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶I̶d̶e̶n̶t̶i̶f̶i̶c̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶a̶l̶e̶ ̶c̶l̶a̶s̶s̶i̶f̶i̶c̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶r̶e̶q̶u̶i̶r̶e̶d̶.̶
"Now, since this wasn't written down, I hope you don't mind me asking about your identity and writing it for future reference. Do you prefer feminine terms at all points in time, or does it switch every now and again? Are there multiple pronouns you use? Do you have a name you would rather I call you? Please don't be afraid to tell me any of it, I'm not going to judge~"
Years of previous records about her, all ignored with a few flicks of the wrist and some black ink. It had always been that easy. It should have always been that easy, and no one ever tried.
Tears well up and drip on to the edge of her mask, pooling along the plastic held tight to her skin. "...It... it s-switches... ...between he... ...and she-" She can hear her voice crack, sound of relief and misery barely muffled by the slatted mask barring her mouth. "... ...though... I haven't f-felt change... ...in few months now..." Normally she would swap more regularly between he and she, but things felt stagnant as of late.
Her sense of time and sense of self had been ruined by the endless shocks. It almost felt like she was being shocked now, but that tightness in her chest wasn't from electricity, nor was the weakness in her knees.
Zed slides to the floor as her body begins to shake, smile behind her mask wide even as tears drip down her nose and over her lips. "... ...please... please just... call me Zed...~" She tries to hold back her crying, but it mixes with hoarse laughter as she leans against the glass.
It's an uncanny noise, sounds of sniffling mixed with sobs of elation. No one had bothered to understand her, not since day one in this place. Though, even now, Doctor Devorak could be toying with her like Doctor Hydell had. But it didn't feel that way. Her body finally felt relief.
The man wasn't lying to her.
He cared.
Oh, where did they find a perfect fool like him?
To see the Spine Eater, so grand in all her descriptions like a true maiden of Death, shrink to be so small. To see her eyes fill with tears and her covered maw admit to vulnerability. To see her in such a way so similar to himself.
Julian knew, to see that was to find affection. Even in the strangest of places.
How horribly had they treated her that Zed's reaction to respect was to crumble? Julian thinks on that as he quickly approaches the cage. He knows it's dangerous to come too close to her, any approach was against protocol for good reason. Yet here he was, pulling tissues from his pockets and trying to push them through the holes in the glass. Literally sticking his fingers in the cage of one known to bite them off.
Such a behavior wasn't so uncommon for Julian, it seemed.
Though her vision was blurry from tears, Zed catches motion out the corner of her eye.
—Tissues?
Eyes watch as a couple thin pieces flutter to the floor within her cage, but her attention soon falls on to the fingers within reach. Julian was reaching through the air holes of the glass, offering his flesh to her with so little thought. She could break them, draw his blood, a swift kick snapping the digits would be easy. It was the most harm she could do with the new securities surrounding her.
But, Zed didn't feel inclined to hurt him. Not yet.
"Are you alright? Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you cry..." Though, such a pitiful state was a sight to behold. It was no wonder why Mars had become so close to him after seeing himself just like this. The sorrowful song of a nightingale was easy to mistake for that of a siren.
Even in not being a fly like the others, Julian was no less trapped. Those stormy eyes of hail snowed him in, "If you'd like, we can just talk about the things you enjoy. No more serious questions for a bit until you're up for it."
Leaning in towards the glass, Zed nudges her face against the tissues still in his hold, passively wiping away the mess of her mask. Her breathing was still a bit shaky, erratic laughter not quite out of her system, but the sobs had slowed. That misery now so easily held and kept away by tissue paper.
"... ...you are forgiven, Doctor... ah, Ilya...~" Zed holds her gaze to Julian's own, pale skin of her cheekbone kept resting against the man's fingers. "...though... making lady cry... leaves very poor first impression... ...~" Her words spoke of criticism, but Zed's tone wasn't violent, it didn't judge. She left the judgment to her eyes, and the allure to her lips.
Dark gaze stays upon that of light grey, taking in how Julian looked upon her. So curious, oddly fearless. A fly that idled along the teeth of their predator, calm in knowing the venus flytrap didn't hunger. How insane.
"...what I enjoy... ...what I enjoy... ..." Dark hair drapes over Julian's fingers as Zed leans her head further against him and the glass. Could they have the evaluation like this? Have him stay here for a while. "...I enjoy... ...color pink... and... fruit... ...like blackberries and oranges...~" She couldn't recall any activities she enjoyed, it had been too long. Far too long rotting in this place.
"...what of you, Ilya...~?"
The feel of her cheekbones brush against Julian's vulnerable fingers wrought the feeling he knew all too well.
What was it about earning affection from people assumed to be cold and intimidating. Had he a type? Did the universe want this for him, or did those personalities draw him closer on their own? Coincidence or fate, he knew not. The feeling he did.
Julian allows his fingers to brush against her cheek. Zed seemed to lack touch not meant to hurt her. "Well, I enjoy many things. My favorite color is mahogany...my favorite fruit is passion fruit..."
That touch manages to dry a tear from the corner of her eye, "...I love coffee, especially the smell of it. And birds! Though, less so on the smell of those~" A kind laugh, a friendly nudge, all he can offer. Something to protect her from the rain.
"Might I say, pink is a lovely color~ Unfortunate that the uniform doesn't share the hue, though," He gives himself a moment to think, eyes casting downward to the ill fitting pants Zed wore. Hm. "...would you say you'd be happier wearing pink?"
This man—
He was enjoying her, wasn't he?
Zed lifts her head as her last tear is wiped away, puffy eyes still locked on Julian's own. He was engaging her so unprofessionally, yet with such poise. It could have been a tactic to keep her calm, a way to save his life. But that gaze, there was someone wrong with this man.
He wasn't really qualified for this job, was he?
There was no doubt of his credentials or education, but anyone that stepped within the same room as her was required to pass a mental fortitude test. For good reason—
Sharing a light laugh at his humor, Zed relaxes her shoulders and cants her gaze upwards. "... ...doctor... I would be so, so happy...~" Her arms may have been bound to her form by a new fancy straight jacket, but that didn't stop her from beginning to dig the nails of her will into his heart. "...I have wanted new uniform for years... ....many years... but my request is always ignored... ..."
Zed's expression softens behind her mask, voice low as she speaks through a hole in the glass. "...A skirt... ...I have been wanting one..." Hydell had made a mockery of her discomfort and paid the price for it, but Julian, he would surely crumble. There was already no resistance.
"...it doesn't have to be pink... ...but maybe you could—" Zed's eyebrows knit together as she casts a sour look to the walkie-talkie left behind at the table. It was crackling to life with a stern voice following right after a sharp beep of signal.
"̵D̸o̴c̶t̷o̴r̸ ̴D̶e̴v̶o̷r̸a̷k̴,̴ ̴t̵h̷i̴s̶ ̴i̴s̵ ̸t̸h̴e̵ ̸f̴i̸r̸s̸t̶ ̸c̵h̴e̵c̴k̶ ̴i̸n̶.̸ ̸R̸e̶p̷o̶r̸t̶ ̴y̵o̷u̵r̴ ̶s̴t̶a̴t̸u̷s̸.̶ ̶O̶v̷e̸r̵-̷"̴
There was something deeply wrong with the man who insisted upon being here of all places, now of all times. Something horrible behind those eyes. A motivation strong enough to bring him here. A sin damnable enough to have that sick and twisted heart of his to let itself beat half for her sake.
Love. Dedication. Depravity.
There's a determined glint to his smile, close to responding to her request in earnest before the first check-in rings true. Has it been fifteen minutes already? "Ah—"
Julian looks to his desk, to Zed, and back again. Seemingly scared to compromise such a delicate moment. His finger gives her cheek a final rub before pulling away from the glass cage. "Give me one moment, Madame Angelov~! I will be back before you know it~"
"... ...by all means...please... take your time...~"
Such a cheerful attitude is brought back to his desk. Moving quickly so as to not gain the suspicion of the guards, putting on a professional posture once the walkie-talkie is in hand. The button clicks loudly under his finger.
"Doctor Devorak checking in! Status is stable, Zed Angelov shows no signs of hostility and is cooperating with questions," A sly wink and a finger to his lips. She was rather snippy earlier, "Proceeding with evaluation, over~"
Her voice is low within the background as Julian calls in to the waiting guards. She holds back a snort as she's given a wink, not wanting to be heard over the radio. Who does he think he is? Being so cheeky! The doctor was lucky her mood had improved from fifteen minutes ago.
The sounds of the guard's voices fade from her consciousness, Zed idly staring at Julian as he carries himself with such jubilance. How odd, the sensation of not wanting to kill.
This had always been the fateful minute for all the doctors that came before him. Where she made the decision to sink her teeth into flesh and tear the light out of their eyes. But this one, she'd wait on eating this one. She'd be patient until the joy he brought wore thin, or the jokes fell hollow and flat. Why not play along for a little while?
As promised, the moment he finishes speaking he returns to her. This time he brings his clip board of notes and a pencil. Writing as he speaks to Zed again. "Now! I'm not sure if they'll immediately allow a change in uniform, given the history of your evaluations, buuuuut I can do well to put good word in for you. Try and get you a skirt if I survive by the end of the session. Does that sound reasonable?"
Zed blinks as Julian returns to stand in front of her, slowly pulling her unimpressed stare from the abandoned radio. Ah, had she gotten lost in thought? He had said something to her.
"...Oh... do not worry..." Looking up to her fool, Zed returns the earlier wink given to her. She could be cheeky too. Play along with her new toy, help guide his strings to make him dance. With each tug she could see how the rotten sunlight shimmered behind those cloudy eyes.
For ten years her time outside had been taken from her. Ten years she had allowed herself to stay within these walls—
"... ...I think I like you, doctor...~"
—maybe it was time to find a new paradise.