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He shouldn’t have agreed to that.
He shouldn’t have agreed to that.
He shouldn’t have agreed to that.
Norton thought this is a simple, one of those easy-cash things that the upper-classes like to do on a whim.
He vividly remembered when he was sitting in the pub, having once-in-a-while drinking as he obtained a little bit more money than usual, wanting to spend more time in the pub just so he could hear the conversations happening in the place. People are expectedly (and most of the time are) more lenient when they are drunk, allowing him to overhear conversations that were usually discreet.
He was drinking his second glass of the cold, foamy beer when he felt a tap against his shoulder. The man looked nearly the same as Norton in terms of appearance, but those small trinkets in the man’s body wouldn’t lie—
— that all of them are simply a lie. He isn’t from this place, nor is he a miner just like the others.
“What do you want?” Norton asked, glaring at the mysterious figure.
An offer. A really enticing one.
Norton is offered to join an experiment in another place, held by a nobleman, with the reward being much more than his usual weekly wage. Hell, even he could just laze around in a month or two without working and it would be fine—and all he has to do is to agreed to the offering party’s invitation, letting himself get picked up and then finishing everything he had to do, before finishing the entire stages and then being able to get the promised reward.
(To hell with laze around, he would definitely use those funds to explore around, finding places and caves with a promising prospect. He will be able to obtain more than what he already had here, and probably, one day, he will be able to leave this hellhole and live a peaceful life .)
Of course he will take the offer.
Finally nodding his head towards the offering party after thinking for his choice for a moment, he lets himself be taken in the car, riding to a place Norton had never visited before. Letting him to imagine things— where is he going? Is it a nobleman’s residence? What kind of experiment do they mean? Are they going to just have him as a spectacle, or a toy to tinker around with?
(Oh, he had heard about how some of those sick-headed riches are up to weird things. Purposefully taking lower-classes to make them a spectacle, showing how different they are just for a laughing stock, but Norton would do anything, if it could turn his life to a better direction.)
But the roads they are treading on aren’t getting any smoother. There’s no change of scenery, the ones Norton would usually hear about from some of his fellow miners when they described their experience coming across their place.
After moments of the ride, Norton didn’t know how long time has passed, but he spotted something on the far side of the road, the one they were riding to.
Whatever that place is, there is one thing he could be sure of : that’s not a nobleman’s residence.
An alarm gets triggered in his system. Something isn’t right here—he couldn’t pinpoint it out, but his instinct tells him that everything feels wrong. He started to scan his surroundings, making sure that there is a possibility to escape out of the car. His fingers are slowly reaching towards the car door’s handle, trying to make it as unnoticeable by the man beside him so he could make his escape—
—a blindfold suddenly blocks his vision, followed by a damp fabric— was it a handkerchief? —making the man hardly able to breathe, his hand flailing around to reach anything he could, if not immediately held by the man beside him. He tried to shout for help, a futile attempt knowing that the windows are closed this whole time but attempting for it anyway, as long as there is something he could do to escape this now-fishy prospect—
—and then he could slowly feel his consciousness dissolving away as he kept breathing in the damp handkerchief.
.
.
.
Norton flinched as his head twitched in pain, taking him out of his unconsciousness. He tried to rub his eyes but wasn't able to do so. Barely able to see his surroundings, much less comprehending his situation, he focused his blurry eyes to look what made him couldn’t move his hands, only for him to realize he was handcuffed, with a chain extending to the walls, letting him move for a couple meters.
He blinked a few times, trying to regain his focus before looking around. A barely empty room, with nothing inside but a thin bed and a toilet. The entire room is pure white—unconsciously made Norton furrowed his brows in dislike, as he isn’t adjusted to the odd place—
—and then he looked downwards, only to realize his usual clothes had been replaced with a pair of white pajamas.
What the hell is all of this?
In panic he tried to move, chains rattling in the dead silent room as Norton tried to reach as far as he could to look at the slit on the door to scan his surroundings—only for him to be separated a few inches from the said slit, unable to reach them.
Fuckin’ hell—
“What are you guys doing?! Let me out!”
Things are way, way too different from what he had imagined. This is none of those freak shows-kind of type….
… this is an actual experiment.
Norton screamed, hoping his voice would reach at least anyone, letting whoever heard him to reply, to at least let him know that he wasn't alone—but as he could feel his throat getting sore, his voice turned hoarse yet there was no response for the past moment, Norton had known that he had no one on his back.
The miner looked at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath and letting his throat finally rest. Wondering who had done such a bizarre thing, and why must it be him, out of all people. Hell, if this happens to one of his ‘seniors’ he wouldn’t bat an eyelid, he’d just shrug it off!
Tap.
Tap tap tap.
Norton blinked. Shaking his head, trying to make sure of what he had heard.
The footsteps get closer. Multiple footsteps, to be exact.
And then they stopped right in front of Norton’s door.
“It’s time.” One of them calmly said.
—
[Oletus Project Laboratorium Log : Experiment No. 1 (Subject 0-0-9)]
[Subject 0-0-9 is safely contained and taken to the White Sand Street Asylum with full consciousness before the subject gets sedated as he shows signs of aggression once realizing the true goal behind the ‘deal’.]
[First 6 hours of containment to the first injection attempt, the subject had shown an incredible amount of aggression towards the researchers and caretakers to the point additional restraint is forced onto the subject, by the help of several personnels, as the subject wouldn’t normally comply.]
[Once the drug is registered and the subject gets observed for visible changes, it is known that signs of getting dizzy, nausea, fuzzy visions and hearing are the first symptoms that we could obtain from subject 0-0-9.]
[These effects have been observed to take effect in quite a time, and only last for a short time, and more applications will be needed in the span of 1-1.5 hours to keep the subject in a constant state of incapacitation.]
[Future observations and investigations will be conducted about more details on the effects of the drug, and hoped to be improved in terms of efficiency and potential before the next injection attempt happens.]
—
Norton started to believe that hell is not black and red, a fury place with a sense of brutalism.
If hell does actually exist, it would be this place he is confined onto right now.
He thought it was bad to not be confined alone, not being able to hear anyone around him—that is, until he heard what the place, an asylum, actually sounds like.
Turns out he is not alone. Based on the voice he had heard, he knows there are more than 4 people in the place he is in. He didn’t know if they are also dragged in without their volition, being used as a subject or they are the actual patients of the asylum—but that is not one of his main problems.
Blood-curdling screams, repeated shouts and cries, which none of the people around him bothered to tone their voices down. He heard them every single day, with only a short window of time he could hear ‘peace’ when nobody’s voices drove him insane, which usually lasts only a short while before someone screams their lungs out again, begging to be released, to be freed.
He could hear the footsteps of the people outside the rooms, patrolling, observing him or coming in for another experiment attempt. He could hear their carts strolling around, echoing and joining in the symphony of the inhabitant’s agony, with him not being able to rest, thinking of what is coming—is it going to be just a meal for him? Is it going to be another drug?
It’s a never-ending anticipation, and he could never rest as the fear looms over him.
He could feel the drugs are slowly turning him into someone different. He could feel his legs, the very same one he usually used to walk around the mine, going to the depths of the underground, are turning into jelly, making it hard for him to move a lot. His memory feels like a blur, or like chopped-off films, with the similar scenery and routine all the time makes it harder for him to distinguish how long time had actually passed.
How long has it actually been? It doesn’t feel long, but it doesn’t feel short either. Time moves in a different flow in this place.
He could occasionally feel eyes staring at him from the slits on the door, with him not knowing who they are other than hearing snippets of their conversations, trying to gather pieces of those dialogues amidst his wavering consciousness—but there’s one thing he could be sure of about those people, and that’s of how they didn’t look at him in the same way they looked at themselves.
Norton Campbell is never deemed as a human in this place, only as subject 0-0-9.
Was it because he is from the lower class, not having enough knowledge to comprehend what all is this about? Is it because he isn’t worthy enough to live, to be able to taste freedom just like what the other does?
None of those questions will be answered.
It might be the third time already. Those white-coated people would inject their drugs on him, watching for minutes (or was it hours? he didn’t really count) on what kind of changes happened to him, of how he behaved, treating him as if he is a laboratory rat (oh, they probably already saw him as one) and jotting all the results down in a logbook, leaving him shaking with a slowly, but surely withering body before the caretaker comes to maintain him.
Aside from opening his room to register those drugs in, there’s only one other person that would get into Norton’s room.
A tall man with his lean figure slipped through the gap—he opened the door as small as he could, before closing it in a swift movement. Seeing Norton in his cuffs, eyes blankly staring at the new presence in his room, confirmed with the things he had brought in his cart— the caretaker.
“Aah, look at you, you poor thing.” The tall man whispered.
The caretaker takes a portion of the meal out of the cart, feeding it by spoon to make sure Norton consumes the whole meal, before cleaning up both his sweat-covered body with wet wipes and cleaning the entire area without commenting any word despite Norton had dirtied a part of the place with his vomits out of the drug reaction.
The caretaker is the only person he didn’t react harshly to, even though he had behaved aggressively towards the man at first—tried to bite the man and wanting to slam his cuff-restrained hands to the back of the man’s head, only for him to realize that the caretaker is far more stronger than him.
Norton, later seeing how the caretaker are simply here to help him, maintaining him so he doesn’t starve or die (because, hey, he had sullied the place by his own hands) feeling that the caretaker is the only person that is there to see him suffer—and so he stopped reacting harshly, and letting the man to do whatever he is onto.
“Is there anything else you need?” The caretaker asked, pointing to the cart. Norton squinted, trying to adjust and focus on his vision so he could see what kind of things the man meant, and then his eye saw more food and some water on the cart.
“Um- no, thanks.” Norton forced an awkward smile, not knowing what to do (or how should he react). He knows that no one in this place is up to something good, but the fact that someone is doing something for him is…comforting, in a weird way (as if the situation he is in isn’t weird either).
“Getting real friendly with someone else, aren’t you?” A voice—not his own or the caretaker’s—removed his smile, made Norton turn his head in a wary sense, only for his gaze to lock with someone else on the slit on the door, looking really smug even without Norton being able to see the man’s whole expression.
The researcher is here, and that never resulted in something in Norton’s favor.
“Don’t be so stiff to me, you know,” He commented once again, a rattle outside the door as he looked for the key to open Norton’s door, “You just gotta… relax and accept all of this. ”
And then all Norton could see is black.
—
[Oletus Project Laboratorium Log : Experiment No. 4 (Subject 0-0-9)]
[After the 4th attempt of injection using the refined sedation from the previous log inputs, the subject had shown alterations in terms of physique and mental, which difference could be seen in file attachment 4.1.1 and 4.1.2 below showing decrease in subject 0-0-9’s physique and mental strength at the subject’s first day state and current state.]
[Subject’s 0-0-9’s state, which had been stated as incapacitated, had shown the sedation solution’s success, and will be improved for further efficiency along with the sedation current result report to the project owner.]
[The sedation will still be operated on subject 0-0-9 for the constant state of strength decrease, in a controlled amount.]
[Upcoming experiments for subject 0-0-9 will be focused on the sedation’s development with more testing of another drug developed under the same project, Siren’s Song.]
[Future observations and investigations will be conducted about more details on the effects of Siren’s Song combined with the sedation’s controlled dose.]
—
A hustle and bustle he is already used to. People are walking in hurry to each other’s stations and destinations, with them having their own business to be done, before doing another one and another one.
That’s just how life as a miner is—nonstop work from the very first second you stepped your foot into, and it wouldn’t end until you finally reached the end of your shift.
Oh, how almost every single miner knows who Norton Campbell is—the young miner, being helpful to those who need it while being a hardworking person, usually being spotted as the one who arrives first to the mine and being the last who walks out. Being such a good worker to the point those employers who lost him will audibly express their regret.
(Only if they knew what the young man’s actual aim is—but isn’t it the facade, the side that the public sees that matters? None of them will know.)
But the others who had seen the facade, even though it’s only a facade, didn't like it. Being a good worker amidst the bitter and resentful ones, being a hopeful person amidst the ones who already lost their spark—
—it would result in the others wanting to put that spark of hope out.
Because they simply didn’t like to see one having a small light of hope in their lives.
“Oh, come get it if you want it!”
Norton tried his best to get up after being shoved away, hands trying to reach the gold coin he had hardly obtained—after hours of work, after having his breath getting heavier, getting worse only to get a small part of riches any upper-classes could easily get in the blink of their eye—only to have his own hand being trampled on with such force, resulting in his scream echoing.
He could feel stares directed towards him, some of them having a sense of pity contained but isn’t brave enough to intervene and offer help for the young miner, knowing the rest of them might be looked down upon as well.
Dirt smeared all over his clothes—at this point he feel like this dirtied his clothes worse than working in the depths itself—but he finally got up, trying to take a deep breath without shaking in fury, holding himself to not seethe, to not made those people happy as they succeeded in driving him mad.
The old miners whistled in awe, seeing Norton had enough strength to get on his feet once again, couldn’t help trembling a bit as he did so. The desire to break those tough determination grows even stronger—and today definitely wouldn’t be their last attempt.
Having this workfield without any supervisors—as they are abandoning their jobs to spend some time in the pub for a while—makes this whole place a lawless one, and it disadvantages Norton the most. Making the entire persecution to be carried without the fear of being caught by the management.
“There’s no one outside, right?” One of the senior miners asked, asking towards his friend who stands on the other side of the field, nearby the supervisor’s station. Once answered with a headshake, meaning there’s no staff other than him…
…then it means it’s time for them to play around.
There’s nothing Norton could do than trying to salvage what he had possessed, even if it means that he has to dance along with their wishes. Getting stomped over, passed and toyed around to their heart’s content before they finally left the young, ‘pathetic’ miner as they laughed him off.
He’d stay at the exact same place, doing his usual job as he had works to be done, before leaving the mine after the sunset when almost everyone else had already left, visiting the old miners—that usually already way too frail to continue their work—giving a bit of care to them before spending the rest of his night at his room, studying ores.
With books in his hand, obtained from those old men, Norton trudged along the road, amidst the darkness of the night. Eyes full of determination as he planned things, of one of a series of events he carefully crafted.
Oh, how he swore he’d be the one who laughed at his senior’s faces one day. He’d wipe their smiles off, leaving them to beg for their lives.
“I’ll kill all of you,” He muttered, knowing no one would be able to hear his deepest pit of his desire.
“I’ll kill all of you. I’ll kill a̶̢̼̲̯̭͙̩̬̗͍͓͐ͅll ̷̛͕̭͙̘̬̖̼̊̏̅͆̉̓̿̔̀̕͝o̵̡̩̩̭̳̠̠̩̲̟̘̲̝̊̏͐͌́̅̄̈́̍͛̇ͅf̶̥̾͂̉̿̿͊̆̈́̓́̄͊͌̈͝ yo̷̧̪̺̼̜̮̘͕͊̃̍͋͌̌͛̽̆̄͌̕u̵͚̪̳̤̼̍́͋̒̄̒̿͑.̵̛͍͙͍̯̹͕̼͇̞͇̞͊͌̄̽̅͒̈́̆̽ ̶̧̬̳̘̪̬̲̥͉̿̒͒́͋͛͗̓͗͛̊̆̿̋͗ I̵̮̼͇̩͎͓̥͍̜̲͍͈̋̒̀̓̿̈́̇̔̽̚'̸̰̠͆̍̍ĺ̸̨̪̻̠͜ͅl̴̢̩̺̳̠͈̦̰̼̯̀̓̔͛̊̉̂̇̚̕͜ͅͅͅ ̴̧̬͉̝͈̝͒̎͒͑̕͠ͅͅk̷̡̛̥͉̫̯͚̣̘͈̘̯͚̹̟̳͒̄͗̀͘͘͝͝i̵̢̛̲̦͉̾̍̔̃̀̕̚͝l̷͈̠̰̾̐̿̏͂̈́̃͜l̸͎̋́̾̋̿̅͋͗͘͘ ̷̧̧̛͔͎̣͍̑̌̅̇̊̊͋̚͠͠e̸̳̙͈͎̼͓̝̊̇̂͑͂̆̚͠v̸̫͍͑̊͒͋̑͒͂̆͝e̵̟͖̯͉̙͕͉͔͍͕̙̩̘̘͗̾͗̄̈́̄͂͒̓̚̕r̷̳͎̘͈̥͓̐̋͑͑̇̾̄̈̒̋̃͌͘y̶̧̢̛̺̜̮̖ ̶̡̨̢͕̯̝͇̬̺͔͓̺̟͖͙̓s̶̬̜͚̰͕͍̖̽̍͊͛̔̚͠ì̸̘̙͓͕͇̜̖̦̦̪͆͒̾̍͘ͅņ̸͖̫̱̬̠͈̙͔̺͉̐́̄g̵̭̃̇̾̋̑̅͝͠͝ḽ̸̨̛̪͎̺̳̪͚̣͚͊͊͗̇̄̓̽̎̑̄̉͋̐̕e̸̡̼̭͔͔̼̗̟̬̬̠̅̎̑ͅ ̸̺͎̟̐̾̇̚ȍ̴͙̱̉̈́̍̀̕͘f̷̦̪̏͛̏̋͘͠ ̴̞̞̩͆̽͛̔y̴̧̡̢̻̝̰̞͖͖̺͔͚̫̩̠͛̒̌̓̀͊͐͌̕ǭ̶̤͎̰͎̻̞̗͎̚u̵̩̠͕͂̈́͒̀͐́̎—̵̧̢̛̤͕͎̬̻͚͗̊̅̀̇͑̐̽̿͝͝”
“—ake up—”
“Ì̷̩̕ ̷̢̛̹̈́̚w̷̰͆̄ĭ̷̼̖̆͜͝l̷͓͍͛͜l̷̡̫̇̕—̸̨͔͖́̃̒”
“ Wake up! ” A hold—almost akin to a shake, judging by how hard it is currently—startled Norton awake, with the man immediately opening his eyes in a concerning speed. The sudden brightness, all-white place overwhelms his vision, making the miner flinch as an involuntary response.
It took him a bit to realize he wasn’t in the darkness of the mine, or amidst the village’s streets—he has been confined in this godforsaken asylum for only-god-knows how long has it been.
“Something happened to you?” The voice lets Norton recognize the blurry figure as the caretaker, “You’ve been screaming like that for the past half an hour, alerting everyone who passed by your room.”
He was trembling, the logical side of his mind trying to regain his composure, trying to tell him that everything that happened is merely a fragment of the past, something he already got over with, but the pain never subsided.
It’s there, haunting him in every chance it could. Living in his head as a reminder of something he had done, and as a proof that he wouldn’t be able to run from his past.
The caretaker completely stayed still as Norton clenched on his clothes, the sheer strength—produced out of fear, unconsciously—might be able to rip the fabrics of his clothes without Norton noticing anything. The tall figure simply stayed, waiting until the man ground himself again, while maintaining the distance as no one would be able to predict what the next step the miner might have plotted in his head.
There was nothing but both of their breaths melting into the silence, as if the outside’s usual chaotic atmosphere got sealed out, leaving only the two of them. The caretaker lets Norton hold his wrist, feeling another person’s presence to calm himself down.
“Thank you.” Norton whispered, enough for the other man in the room to hear him.
Having someone when he is at his most vulnerable part, with zero sense of familiarity as he had been taken to an unfamiliar place, the caretaker helps him in a way the usual him wouldn’t even expect, as he doesn’t really like someone else’s company—as he thought he shouldn’t easily put his trust in someone else.
But in this place, there’s no other option than clinging to the only available hope.
“You know, I haven’t got to know your name until now… “ Norton hung his words, a note of doubt hinted as he didn’t know, “Can I?”
The caretaker blinked. Looking down as he saw he still wore his own ID card, before looking at Norton’s cloudy gaze as he linked the point between the two of them.
Norton couldn’t see that far.
The caretaker lets out a sigh, taking off his lanyard before bringing it close to the shorter man’s vision range and making the said person squint his eyes, trying to form a word amidst the blurred-out letters.
“F…G..old? Gold?”
“Yeah.” An unhelpful response, despite the caretaker knowing that Norton couldn’t fully read his ID card.
A beat.
“Can I just call you Goldie to make things easier?”
Norton swore he could hear a really quick snort, probably out of the unexpected request for the said caretaker.
The latter regained his calm with ease, nodding his head. “Whatever you want, I guess. So be it.”
Another minute of silence follows after the caretaker’s last word, with now the two of them simply existing.
The taller man glanced beside him, wondering why the sudden silence—only for his gaze to meet Norton’s already-asleep figure, his eyes closed as he occasionally mumbled out a combination of ‘Goldie’ and other words he couldn’t catch—not that it is important for him to do so.
Ah, well. Finished with his duty, Goldie—or by his actual alias, Fool’s Gold, walked out of the room, leaving the now-calmed Norton to drift off to his sleep.
—
[Oletus Project Laboratorium Log : Experiment No. 10 (Subject 0-0-9)]
[The 10th attempt of experiment using subject no. 0-0-9 has shown significant progress in both previous two drugs, Siren’s Song and the newly-developed sedation, which the project owner had given a name as ‘Hypnos’ and will be referred to as so from now on.]
[The combination usage of both Hypnos and Siren’s Song are working efficiently on the current subject. It is unknown whether first-time usage of both of these drugs will also result in the same efficiency, or there are other factors that we haven’t accounted for. Future uses for both Hypnos and Siren’s Song with another subject are completely looked forward to, preferred with various backgrounds or types, will result in a vast range of samples for future uses.]
[Another drug developed under the same umbrella, Dionysus, is currently administered to the subject 0-0-9’s body alongside with the usual dose of Hypnos for the last two attempts—with the said drug’s development will be carried for the future attempts and experiments from now on.. The current result after three injections had shown that subject 0-0-9’s memories are deteriorating, as the subject had shown negative results after an interview was being carried about questioning subject 0-0-9’s background (which will be provided in attachment 10.1) with most of the interviewer questions being answered with subject 0-0-9’s confused scream.]
[As observed with subject 0-0-9, the said subject has shown massive changes after most of the memories are getting wiped out, leaving only some of them that the subject feels attached to the most. Attachment 10.2, containing some of subject 0-0-9’s screams and sleeptalking, may refer to the event subject 0-0-9 had committed in the past, which hypothesis will be explained as an additional attachment.]
[Unaccounted factors on Dionysus’s usage are caused by the subject’s state before the drug is administered, and the subject’s background already implying the existence of several traumas, none of them are actually caused by Dionysus to begin with, but gets severe and more frequent once Dionysus is administered. It is unknown whether similar results will be shown using a different subject, or this current result might be caused by the unadjusted dosage of drugs on the few first experiment attempts. Future observations will be conducted after an adjustment, which might reduce the usage of Hypnos or Siren’s Song to decrease the fatality possibility, and use another combination instead.]
—
Norton feels like a clear, unobstructed vision is a blessing—considering he hadn’t remembered when was the last time he got one.
Everything is nearly blurry, blobs of colors (not that the room he is confined into is full of colors to begin with) and he had to live most of his time with it, being able to see at a more refined detail only at certain lucky times he couldn’t predict.
But he could still catch the people’s conversations out there once they passed by Norton’s room. But trying to comprehend what those pieces of conversations meant, is another different thing.
He had heard of several different names, mentioned by the researchers and observers. Siren’s Song. Hypnos. Dionysus.
The name strikes as something unfamiliar, considering Norton himself never got his hands on Greek mythologies before, but to realize the frequent usage of the terms while they are carrying vials of drugs they’d inject into his body, it doesn’t take further intelligence for him to connect both of the existing dots.
Footsteps outside of the nearly-pure white room echoed in the hallway, blending in with cries and shouts from the outside as Norton’s daily symphony of agony. He could feel the steps getting closer towards him, with the man now attempting to focus his hearing, catching whatever information that might be useful for him.
“—yeah, everythings going on right now is under Oletus Manor’s management for their unknown project. It’s definitely insane, for them to fund all of this—”
Norton could barely catch the rest of the word as the researcher is already way too far for him to reach, nor do he want to scream, grabbing their attention so he could at least attempt to throw them a question—because he knows best to not waste his energy away, to not make his suffering even worse by unable to control his own body in later’s side effects.
Oletus Manor. The name stuck in his mind, as if it’s forcibly etched by the miner on his own head. Provoked a curiosity, a need to figure out the truth—or at the very least, wanting to know who had been pulling their strings all these time and causing his perpetual circle of torment.
He had never heard of the name before, meaning none of them are involved in coal or mine stuff. But there’s one thing that he couldn’t help but to stay in his own pure-white torture while a question gets repeated inside of his head, unable to be answered by himself :
[Why are they doing all of this?]
.
.
.
Committing to work as researchers in the dreaded asylum means one knows how hard it is to stay sane amidst the insane—both metaphorically and literally—workplace. Trying to act as if they weren’t hearing every patient’s screams and shouts, rattles of restraints of their bangs against the door takes a certain amount of sanity itself.
One of the Oletus Project’s researchers—being tasked as an observer for now to take a look at the project’s only subject for data collecting purposes—walked her way towards the innermost room in the place, made with a bit of distance created against the actual asylum patients. None of the actual asylum workers know about this hidden experiment of theirs—as everything must be kept under the radar, away from any possible witness.
The single door, placed on the corner of the alleyway is a telltale for her; she had been there since day 1, from the very first day the subject is taken in, screaming and shouting for his life before he slowly changed as the experiment went on.
Peeking on the slit on the door, her eyes immediately met the subject 0-0-9’s. He looked exhausted, not even begging to be released as he knows every attempt is futile, before asking a question she could barely hear :
“Where…is…Goldie?”
Goldie? She raised one of her eyebrows, confused. None of the researchers had mentioned an item or something related to the name the subject just asked for.
“There is no Goldie here,” The researcher explained, making her tone as calm as she could to not agitate the subject, “Is it something that you have in your hometown?”
In mere seconds she could see his face turned from a surprise to something that resembled disbelief, combined with pity. He reached his hand towards the door- the slit, wanting to reach her. “P-please, I need Goldie. I need things that I have to ask him. Please, help me, I have no one else to rely on!”
The subject’s voice turns louder, enough for other staff to catch on. They rushed their way to the researcher’s voice, asking if she’s okay while distancing her from the pleading man, screaming for something none of them understands—
(—In what seemed to be Norton’s worst nightmare, he could see the caution in the staffs eyes as they immediately opened the door, restrained his mouth so he lets out no words, administering him Hypnos so he calmed down—)
—and as the researcher was shooed away, not able to understand or do what the man wanted, she walked in a hurry towards the office, reporting the condition she just observed previously, before the head researcher nodded in acknowledgement and telling her to just prepare for the last drug to be registered this night.
It’s a pity I couldn’t understand what he wanted, she thought.
After all, there’s a big chance that he won't be able to remember himself anymore after tonight’s experiment is finished.
—
Despite being one of the mine’s most diligent workers, Norton Campbell had never said that he liked the place he spent most of his time on—because if he could be honest about it, he’d tell anyone he could that he despised those dark places to his heart's content. Of how he knows he couldn’t survive on the miserable place alone, hence having to depend on someone else out of necessity—oh, if that isn’t one of the things he secretly hates.
Yet here he is. In the almost-empty mine even though his shift is already finished.
The only reason is that Norton was about to fetch his forgotten books of notes, containing most of his hardly-obtained knowledge and plans. He knows the sun almost sets, and the darker it is the harder it is for him to walk around as the dim lighting couldn’t help him that much—but he couldn’t let anyone get their hands on his book. No one could ever.
He walked around the coal carts, rummaging through the piles or pickaxes, trying to locate where did he had placed his book when he hear a rattling voice of the mine elevator moving upwards, leaving the man’s level—
—and a familiar voice. His senior’s.
“Beg for it, Campbell, and I’ll turn it back on for you!”
Norton walked towards the elevator, pressing down on the button to call the elevator back but it didn’t come—as most likely his seniors just cut off its power source on the ground level, waiting on the upper level until they heard the young miner’s begging voices.
Goddamnit, Norton muttered. Of course he wouldn’t be able to do things in peace in this place without any of those people playing around with him—not even off-work.
“Whatever.” He mumbled once again before ignoring them to return back to his book-searching. The said thing is found near the deeper mine entrances—after quite some time of searching—which made him sigh in relief as he didn’t have to go to the lowest level. With his current energy-deprived state, going to the enclosed place alone is the least thing he’d do.
Finally finished, The black-haired miner once again walks to the elevator—only for the man to see the switch is still off.
These fuckers, he talked to himself.
Norton gathered the remaining of his energy to shout. “Okay, enough with all this crap! Can’t you just turn it back on?”
One.
Two.
Three minutes.
“Oi!”
There’s no answer at all.
They left him alone.
“Fucking hell.” He could feel his breath getting heavier, body begging for rest, but he couldn’t until he managed to safely get himself out.
Aside from calling the elevator and immediately going one level up, there’s only one way to get out of this place—the coal cart tracks, and that’s the way Norton will choose so he could get himself out, regardless of knowing how far the track is to be walked by feet, especially in the man’s current state.
He muttered nothing the whole time, both physically and mentally too tired to do so. Trying his best to gather enough energy to step one foot to another. To prioritize nothing but leave.
And yet, breathing in the little specks of dust for too long provokes his coughing fit as his lungs are already messed up to begin with; leaving the man to gradually lean against the mine’s walls, clenching his chest as pain comes in every cough, with him gasping for air as an involuntary response, and the only thing is makes is attracting more dust to his lungs and caused more pain—
(—he couldn’t speak as his lungs desperately coughed out everything it got in its system and hoped for fresh air, only to be met with more and more contaminated ones. The pain spreads to his head as the pressure is uncontainable, he could feel the sting on his brain worsens by more and more coughs—)
—and the next thing he realized is that everything starts to turn darker and darker…
Is he going to pass out, spending the night in the cold cave, alone? Or maybe it’s something worse… that he couldn’t see the light of the day anymore?
Norton tried to fight through the pain all over his body, retaining the remains of his energy when he heard rustling sounds from the other end of the tunnel, slowly going closer and closer.
Was it the seniors? Norton thought. He didn’t want to hold a hope, but the possibility of those voices weren’t from his seniors are worse than the latter—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Steps echoed in the tunnel, getting closer and closer…
…and without Norton could open his eyes, he knows that the said source of the steps just stopped in front of him. Whoever this person is, he is watching him right now.
“W-who…?”
“I’m here for you.”
The familiar voice made Norton try to open his eyes, struggling to do so as he could feel there’s barely any energy left. He could see a familiar figure kneeling down right in front of him, the white robes the figure donned made him striking out of the mine’s dusty and earthy colors.
“G-Goldie…?” He spoke weakly, words barely formed. “H…elp...”
He let the figure take care of him. He could feel his fear subsided now that he felt the man’s presence near him. His previously tense nerves calmed down, leaving his body in its most vulnerable state, but Norton couldn’t care less about it—
—after all, Goldie would definitely help him.
—
A mutter after Norton easily complied, opening his mouth to be fed by the familiar hand.
“Goldie…?”
A single hum, raised at the end, answered his calling. Sourced from the caretaker who is cleaning the floors out right now.
“You do care for me, right?” Norton asked. A voice sounded so naive, as if a child asking for one’s loyalty. Questioning for reassurance, for a single comfort amidst the confining surroundings.
To think this was the cunning miner-to-prospector, carefully living by two sides—or maybe more—just to survive everyday, just to plot a carefully-crafted plan for no one to notice other than his thrown-away victims…
…and now he couldn’t even see a trace of that person, as the only thing left is the physical body, the shell.
Nothing else.
Look how pathetic you are right now, the caretaker thought, but he said nothing other than giving a rub on the man before continuing his work. Letting Norton to interpret it as he pleases.
—
[Oletus Project Laboratorium Log : Experiment No. 12 (Subject 0-0-9)]
[As the final phase of the experiment, which specifies developments for 4 different drugs : Hypnos, Siren’s Song, Dionysus and Hydra are completed, it is concluded that subject 0-0-9, used from the very first testing for experimental version of Hypnos until this point, has completely altered with the signs of the subject now having a proper memory, leaving the subject as almost an empty shell from his previous state. As Hydra, the 4th developed drug had shown a result in rebuilding the subject’s memories (which could be shown from difference in answers for subject 0-0-9’s interview about his past-related questions, the said archive of questions and answers is provided on attachment 12.1.1 and 12.1.2).]
[All four drugs had shown a successful result in their respective goals.]
[It is still unknown whether these fully deteriorated states are caused by the administration of these drugs for a long term (as applied to subject 0-0-9) or these effects will also apply to new subjects with no testing done on them. It is suggested for these solutions to be adjusted in terms of dosage to prevent severe effects (as shown to subject 0-0-9), however the application itself will be given to Oletus Manor as the rightful project owner to use.]
[The development for the last drug, Orpheus, is currently on the progress of the making with no testings having been carried out. To obtain proper data, unaffected by other causes, a new subject is needed as subject 0-0-9’s status has shown that the subject is no longer fit for any testing, and shall be disposed of immediately to be replaced with another fresh subject.]
[Future new subject data will be updated once the subject has been successfully replaced to account for all possible factors that might alter changes between the old subject and the new subject.]
—
“Finished with your observation just now, pal?”
A question answered by a nod as one of the asylum’s researchers sat herself on his chair, a cup of coffee brought on the way to the office as she just arrived from the last observation of the day—thus concluding her duties, and she is free to just relax in her office until work time ends.
The man sipped on her coffee, letting out a long sigh.
“Tired?” Another question, still thrown by the same coworker, a concerned gaze shot from his eyes as he watched her blankly staring on the ceiling, probably occupied in her own thoughts.
“No, it’s just…” She hung her word, hesitating. “...I couldn’t help but to wince, seeing.. you know. Him. Isn’t it time for us to replace him, now that he is broken?”
Even without the woman elaborating, he knows who she is referring to. As there’s only one subject with the most concerning state—and it’s quite understandable to feel uneasy, knowing how every single changes are caused by their own hands, to alter a perfectly fine human into something that barely thinks anymore.
But it’s not something they could control.
They are simply obeying every command, following every instruction given as they are useful pawns, existing for those who control’s advantage for an exchange of being able to live decently without having to break their bones off.
The other researcher lets out a long sigh.
“There are things beyond our control.” He muttered.
A reply. “I know.”
“Good to know if you know, then,” He forced himself a smile, patting her shoulder once as a gesture of comfort, “It’s hard, but maintain your sanity as it’s the only thing you have here.”
Silence fills the room with both of the researchers now diverting their focus to the papers containing next day’s work. Distant shouts and screams could be faintly heard even though the office is not too far from the patient's room, thanks to sound-proof rooms.
One drug after another. A cycle of trial-and-error, with them trying to refine the drugs they have to work on to its most potential based on the trial results. Yet if she could question from the deepest part of her heart, letting her to reconnect with the abandoned sense of humanity—something she had ditched ever since she worked at this godforsaken place, there is one big question that she wants to ask to whoever actually asked for this whole thing.
[Why are you doing all of this?]
She examined the paper, one last thing the whole project will develop—probably before they moved into another. A drug humanity would never expect before.
[Orpheus]. There’s no specifications other than the ingredients and how to make them, and a grave warning written in big, bold red letters.
Avoid overdose, coma.
It’s something more risky she had ever developed—out of all things she had done back then. It feels like it’s something humanity should’ve kept their hands off from, untouched forever.
“You know, there’s something we could do before that subject left.”
The man’s voice beside her table took her out of her thoughts.
The very same source now points at Orpheus’s papers and a certain subject’s papers, letting the woman connect both of the dots.
No. No way—
“Are you insane, testing that out on him?!” She tried her best to whisper it out not to alert other people in the office, “It’s barely developed and he is already unfit for a subject, we should’ve tested it on another subject!”
“But wouldn’t it be better to test it out on a broken one, before using the more refined one on the new subject? They would be definitely more than satisfied if we could progress quickly—and wrap up the entire project sooner.”
A beat of silence.
She knows that it’s beyond cruel. That they should’ve given him a break before the disposal— or the eternal rest happens. That oh, only god knows what kind of karma he would bestow on her for all her doings.
To hell with all of that.
After all, everyone is simply dancing on [their] hands, obeying every single command as it’s the only option available.
“We have to prepare them now, then.” She spoke under her breath, “Go for it before the disposal starts.’”
—
He could hear footsteps in the dead of the night, an unusual time for those researchers to get out of their places to the hallways. Wondering what it could be, the man isn’t even surprised when those footsteps came closer and closer, before stopping in front of his door.
A clang in his door as it gets opened would always mean one thing; another experiment.
But there is something Norton didn’t understand.
He could feel something is different, Their demeanor, the way they acted, it seemed out of place—as he always internally remarked on how everyone in this place is as cold as ice—but he could feel a difference on how hastily they moved.
He locked his gaze with both of the researchers, with only one of them—he recognized the eyes as the very same person who got shooed away when he tried to reach for Goldie—and threw a questioning look at her as he couldn’t talk with his mouth being restrained.
And then that’s when she whispered something only for the man to hear.
“...I’m sorry.”
And she pulls out a vial, containing a striking purple color liquid inside of it, one Norton had never seen before.
What is this? What is happening? Why are you saying something like that? He knows he has questions in his head, he knows that his thirst is unable to be quenched as he saw a regret in her eyes, leaving him with an intuition of what might happen to him.
That everything he had in his mind would be left unsaid forever.
Yet there is nothing Norton could do unless to watch how she took a syringe, injecting the mysterious drug alongside the ones he already used to. Administering every single of them before backing off, watching the man through the slit on the door.
It was slow, unnoticeable at first as Norton couldn’t comprehend what was different from the usual drug they always administer—
—before his heart thumped loudly, chest twinged as if his ribcage was smashed by an unseen force.
Norton screamed, wriggling against his own will—pulling on the chains as the pain grew all over his body, stabbing to the very essence of his being. It burns, as if his skin gets hovered over the hot coals, vision barely working as he could see the sight in front of him melts into a blur.
He could feel his body contorted into a ball, trying to suppress the pain as much as he could yet it’s barely working, with both of the researchers watching his whole suffering without wanting to dirtying themselves.
The anger inside of him rose and set ablaze amidst the pain, he wanted to yank them in, to get him the help he urgently needed to get the pain away. He gather some of his energy to raise his head up, to shout for help—
And the faces that met his eyes weren't human anymore.
Norton screamed in shock and fear (despite nothing coming out but muffled-out screams) as he could see figures in contorted postures, things the rational mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend—standing right in front of him, separated by a door as they loomed over the man’s room entrance.
“G-get away from me, monsters!” He shouted out, once again coming out muffled.
Where are they? Where are the guards? The staffs? The researchers?
He didn’t even know how long he had screamed, the pain was unbearable, yet he couldn’t pass out—even though, oh, that is the thing he wanted the most. Seconds and minutes passed, to the point Norton couldn’t mentally count how long it was happening, but the pain didn't show any signs that it would subside.
— it hurts so bad, I can feel every single inch on my body screaming for something, Norton couldn’t even think as he could feel himself shaking within the agonizing pain that slowly consumes him, leaving him into a shaking mess in the corner of the room.
Help me, please! He wanted to shout, to desperately reach his hands out, beg to anyone he could meet his eyes with.
But no guards or staff replied to his voice. They all left. No one is around—but probably the hallucination outside his room, which he didn’t even know what it is.
All of his struggles are in vain, to scream and beg for help.
Norton could feel tears welling up on the corner of his eyes. In a disbelief that all of this suffering is caused by something he didn’t even know—and he was simply treated and used as a replaceable canary in the mine, thrown out when he no longer serves purpose…
Rattles of the cuffs echoed in the alleyway, enough to erase out his gagged-out noises to the outside. Norton could feel his hand getting sore, red circles formed on his wrist as it gets ruthlessly pulled for the last minutes when he lost his balance, falling on the cold ground with a loud thud—
—but he could feel a weird, weird sensation just now. As the fire, the burning sensation inside of him is qualled slightly, a small pleasure wavers inside of him before it turns into the flaring pain again.
…Huh.
He could feel the weird sensation spread throughout his body, burning as it screamed to be satiated in the way Norton just accidentally did. Shaky breaths escaped out of his mouth restraints, mixed with clatterings as he struggled in his handcuffs to find a position. The heat wavers as he, despite being confused of what was happening with himself, rubbed himself to the walls, giving Norton a small sense of relief.
The man knows how he always complained about his pajamas, hoping it to be thicker so it could serve its purpose, sealing his warmth against the cold of the night better, but how he wished that it’s much thinner now, near to non-existent instead—
—as the friction of the fabrics itself sent him into a spiral of frustration as he knows the pleasure is there, only to be separated by a thin layer of clothes he couldn’t take off. He wiggled around, somehow conscious that the normal him would be embarrassed of his actions right now but he couldn’t care anymore as everything is justifiable as long as the heat goes away.
I don’t care—anything is okay. Please, just make this pain go away—
“Need a help?”
A voice distracted him, making the man jolted as he expected no presence at all. An unusually tall figure stood in the door; wrapped in the usual caretaker’s outfit, yet his body deformed, limbs disfigured as the figure stands in a weird stance—but Norton’s focus were stuck in the being(?)’s face, which a part of them is badly burned with a pure-white eye on it, instead of the normal one.
And the door is already fully opened.
“N-No, get away from me! Go away!”
(He had forgotten that no one would be able to decipher his words, thanks to the restriction).
He could feel his body frozen, fear strikes over him, taking over to heighten every single sense on his body. Run, his mind screamed, but any struggle wouldn’t be able to magically let Norton get out of his handcuffs.
But the being’s finger’s starts to wander around his body, and aah—
—Norton could feel his mind dissolving away just by the touches.
It was careful, the way the fingers worked on his mouth restraint, taking it out meticulously as if examining a precious gem taken out of the caves of a mine. An emotionless voice, impassive face despite seeing Norton in this pitiable state, but the mindful hands reminds the man of someone else—
“G-Goldie…?”
A single hum, raised at the end, answered his calling. Sourced from the being who is merely inches away from him.
“I-Is it you, Goldie…?”
“Yes?”
The sight served right in front of Norton’s eyes is a disfigured, contorted figure which he could barely deem as a human—yet the touches, and stern voice isn’t something that the man felt as a foreign one.
“I-I don’t understand—” The man muttered under his breath, “I couldn’t see you. T-the one I see right in front of my eyes is not Goldie…”
(The mysterious, distinct purple liquid inside the vial flashed in his mind.)
Oh.
Ooh.
“Is this…the drug effect?” Norton asked.
“It seems like that’s the case?” The caretaker(?) (which Norton had to keep reminding himself that this is someone he knew) nodded, “I immediately rushed my way once I heard your screams and shouts. Which part hurts the most?”
Norton sheepishly looked towards the lower half of his body.
The caretaker’s hand moved towards his stomach, reaching his hips to gently squeeze it. Sending shivers against Norton’s spine, a gasp coming out of his mouth as back arched against his will, every nerve on his body reached to the smallest amount of touch.
“W-wait, what is happening—”
It seemed like the caretaker had taken over the charge of his whole body, who knew better on how to properly handle him. Pants gets lowered down and ditched away without any hesitation, sending a sense of shame as he realizes Goldie watches how his body went out of his control—but the pain finally slowly flamed down, replaced by odd pleasure which he’d rather choose than the pain itself. He winced as his phallus, previously restrained down by his pants, now springing out eagerly, waiting to be pleased.
Goldie started with a touch, gently rubbing on the tip of his cock. Evenly spreading the smeared pre-cum from his tip to the shaft, making his rubber gloved hands to be able to stroke him easier.
Norton bit his lips, a stifled moan could be faintly heard as Goldie traced the man’s rock-hard shaft before wrapping his hand around, applying a bit of pressure to elicit a surprised gasp out of the subject—
(—his body trembled, he wanted to shout, cried out in bliss, but the caretaker’s fingers had taken the mouth restraint he previously ditched away, installing it back again to muffle out his scream.)
A grin formed in the taller man's face as he saw his subject’s responses, unnoticed by the latter as he was overwhelmed by the pleasure.
“Oh, dear, look how pathetic you are.” He whispered, too faint for the man to hear.
The caretaker positioned himself so Norton leaned on his chest with the taller man resting his jaw against the smaller one’s shoulder, making his access to play around on the latter to be easier. He could exhale a bit of air against the smaller man’s ears, making him jolt in the unexpected move before he quivered as the hand in his cock started to make its move again.
It feels ticklish yet good when some parts of his body get caressed, touched, loved— but oh, Norton doesn’t hate it at all.
The pleasure melted his thoughts out, leaving him with no coherent thoughts or words coming out of his mouth except for a repeated mumble of ‘Goldie’, mixed with gasps and whines, which all of them gagged out into an incomprehensible mess.
Norton’s intensifying wriggle, quickening breath and heartbeat is enough for the caretaker to detect what will happen in a moment—so he stroked him even faster, only for Norton to immediately reach his climax with a long, slurred moan as his shaft spurted out thick, translucent excretion to the caretaker’s gloved hand.
The subject blankly stared, eyes cloudy in a heavy lust as the foreign, newly-introduced pleasure is too much for him to handle for the first time. The taller man’s gloves are stained with Norton’s cum, yet he mumbled no complaint and did nothing…
…except the said hand is starting to move, reaching something lower than his shaft.
“H-hn—” A move cuts off his words as the caretaker pushes his finger inside of Norton’s entrance, his own cum serves as the lubrication to soothe the way in.
The subject yelped as the caretaker moved his finger, circling and poking around his inner walls, as if finding something inside of Norton.
A touch managed to reach something deep inside of Norton—a course of pleasure, felt like electricity rushed over his body—made the man jolted, letting out a yelp just after the point was being nudged from the inside.
Gotcha.
The caretaker poked around the exact same spot again and again, knowing that every touch could bring Norton into a confused yet blissed-out mess. The former bucked his hips, poking a bulging object to Norton’s back.
“You are stretched enough, so it will be easy.”
There are no choices given for Norton, not even for him to realize what was coming as the next second he could feel a phallic object nudged once again, pushing against his hole—
—before slamming almost the entire object inside of him without any hesitance.
The pain; of a foreign object being suddenly inserted inside of him, the size difference between a couple of fingers to a cock overwhelms him, made his body shaky in feeling and realizing how full he is inside.
And Goldie hasn’t even started.
He didn’t bother to begin with slow movements as he felt Norton was already wet enough for him to move. He slammed his hips against Norton’s, groaned once the latter’s entrance tensing up, tightening in the presence of the new object.
The room’s previous silence—which is quite an usual thing to experience, considering the screams from a certain distance—are now filled by skin-slapping sounds, and Norton’s muffled-out groans.
Not stimulating enough, the caretaker thought. He reached for Norton’s restraints, nimble fingers tinkering around the contraption to take it out of the subject’s mouth.
“Don’t scream. If you make too much noise, I will gag you again.”
But it’s hard to hold out–! He wanted to complain. The way he could feel the caretaker’s shaft pushing against his insides, stretching him into oblivion. Pulling out, leaving only half of it before slamming it all the way in, elicited a moan that he had to desperately bite his lips to hold it out.
He could feel every single touch, as if his whole body was rebuilt, specially being made to feel all the stimulations the caretaker had given him. For a sickening sensation of horror-laced ecstasy as he could see no human in his visions, but being pleasured to his heart’s content.
“Fu-ahn—” A move prompted Norton to look back, only for his lips to be claimed by the caretaker, muffling out all the moans that previously escaped.
The caretaker doesn't show any sign of hesitation, immediately ravaging Norton’s mouth, going on every corner before pulling the latter’s to explore each other, heavy breaths mixed with the smell of sex, the sweat rolling down their bodies and the sound of body parts slapping against each other—making the small room feels even heavier because of the arousing atmosphere.
Every thrust sent stars on Norton’s vision, the way Goldie reached the spots—ones that made his body quivered in pleasure just by using his cock—easily, letting the latter to hold or stimulate Norton using his unoccupied hands. Leaving the man’s cock to be untouched, helplessly bobbing against the stomach as he rocked his hips to get the caretaker even deeper inside of him.
(—he wanted to be touched, to be stroked out just like previously. Even without looking he could feel how hard it is already, and pre-cum leaking out once again as it is too much to bear. But he knows. That Goldie is avoiding direct stimulation on purpose. To leave him begging to be ravaged.)
“G-Goldie—ph-lease—”
“Please?” An entertained tone. “What for? What should I do?”
Words stuttered, repeatedly cut off as he gets slammed ruthlessly. All Norton wanted is just for all him to be satiated, so all the pain would be gone, so everything would be over—
“P-please, touch me, do me all you want—”
“Sure thing,” Hands creeping on his waist, pulling him so his cock gets buried deeper, “It’s nice of you to say it politely.”
Norton doesn’t even listen to his words anymore. Mind already gone, nothing left but over pouring carnal desire. Letting Goldie use him, treat him like a toy, with him crying out of bliss as all the stimulations felt like heaven.
It wouldn’t take long for him to reach his climax once again, and he could feel the man’s shaft impatiently twitched inside of him, wanting to fill him up.
The caretaker lets out a few last thrusts, slamming all the way inside of Norton before spurting the hot excretion inside of the man’s insides, filling him up until it’s way too full to contain. The remains leaked out of his gaped hole, leaving Norton as an unconscious sticky mess.
Seeing the subject’s frail figure lit an idea inside of the caretaker’s mind.
—
Fool’s Gold’s steps are light, almost unnoticeable.
His presence was sudden for the ones who weren’t paying attention—as by a second passed, the door was already wide open and the said person was already inside of the researcher’s office after spending some time in the subject’s room for a certain reason.
“You spent quite a long time in the subject’s room.” One of the researchers commented. It was not a question, but a statement.
“M-hm.” He replied, sitting himself on the couch, eyes fixated on the ceiling as his mind wandered around.
Based on the only two researchers—the remaining personnels who worked in this last shift stares, every single one of them definitely knows what he just did to the project’s only subject. After all, it’s not that hard to connect the dots between his disappearance and the moans coming out of the direction of the subject room’s alleyway—
(—but he knows, he is clever enough to connect the dots as well, no words will be uttered out about his doings. Doing an unauthorized inhumane experiment is almost the same sacrilege as the act he just did, and he certainly will keep his lips shut about what they had done to subject 0-0-9, and so it’s an unsaid mutual agreement.)
“So, how was the subject 0-0-9, Fool’s Gold?”
The cheeky grin in one of the researcher’s face made Fool’s Gold couldn’t help but to scoff. This fucker.
“Isn’t it one of my jobs as the caretaker? You know. Professionalism, that’s just how I work.”
(He huffs to the cold air, casually replying to the researcher’s words as if he wasn’t finished banging someone and filling them up to their heart’s content, with him actually enjoying the entire intercourse—but well, it’s not a thought he should say out loud.)
“Yeah sure,” A chuckle slipped, “ Professionalism. ”
Silence fills the room now, leaving the three of them with acknowledgement of the current situation. Leaving no evidence or witnesses but them.
“So, when will the subject’s disposal happen?”
“Probably in a few hours. I already called for assistance and they already dispatched the respective division,” A questioning, combined with uncalled curiosity thrown at Fool’s Gold, “Why? Need some time with him before he gets thrown away?”
The caretaker shrugged. “Do you mind, though? I can take care of everything before placing him on the collection point.”
A nod from them is enough as an answer, prompting Fool’s Gold to rise out of the couch and excuse himself from the office…
… with a smile plastered on his face.
—
A sting, shortly followed by many.
Norton flinched as his head twitched in pain, forcefully taking him out of his unconsciousness—wincing, he tried to rub his eyes but wasn't able to do so.
In the slightly blurry vision, which he is already used to at this point, Norton squinted his eyes, hoping to meet the usual slit in the door only to be welcomed by the sight of a normal room, no pure-white surroundings that slowly drives him into insanity—with the exception of his hands and feet being cuffed, as opposed to a normal room.
He blinked a few times, trying to register the fact that this isn’t the subject room he was confined in, but is this what they meant by getting thrown away—
“Oh, already awake!”
A voice sourced from the figure…
…that he recognizes as Goldie, the caretaker, who had been watching him from the corner of the room, waiting for Norton to be conscious.
Huh.
Norton slowly saw how he rose out of the chair, hands trembling in anticipation as he approached his bed to sit beside him with an intrigued look in his eyes as he scanned Norton’s incapacitated state, somehow showing a sense of pride as he looked at him.
He could now see the caretaker’s whole appearance, and is bright enough to figure the intention behind the smile. Saw the ID hanging on his chest, showing a clear writing of ‘Fool’s Gold’ written on it.
It can’t be.
The caretaker could easily tell what question he had in his mind just by seeing his eyes. “Don’t you say you want me to help you?”
He did say it—
(—Norton himself remembered the words he usually uttered amidst his barely-conscious moments, mind and rational thoughts swayed in the trance, leaving him with nothing but the only option to cling to the best option he thought he had—to beg for someone’s help, to the one he thought that might help him—)
— but definitely not in this way.
“I went to great lengths to take you in, you know,” The taller man leaned on his chair, “I have to adjust some part of this room so it suits you, not to mention bringing the things I will need in a daily basis wouldn’t be an easy feat, trying not to get caught for the long-term play…”
And when Norton was about to question what the man had meant, he saw him taking out vials of drugs in his coats, with one of them having a distinct purple color that strikes familiar for a special… side effects.
(The last memory he had before he blacked out flashed in his mind.)
No, no.
He wanted the pain to be over, even if he had to sacrifice his life for it. He begs for mercy, to be released from the mortal torment he is forcibly held onto and being able to freely embrace the peace for a brief last time, even if it’s the very last thing he will be able to know before the darkness consumes his entire consciousness.
Every kindness Norton had in his mind about this man isn’t real—it’s simply a mirage; an illusion.
This is never the help Norton wanted.
“F-Fool’s Gold—”
A finger pressed against his lips. “No, no. Call me just like the usual way you did. Goldie. ”
Norton could feel the horror from the realization had spread to his entire body. A tremble slipped in the question, aimed towards the looming figure on the side of his bed. “...why? Why couldn’t you just let me die already?”
“Because wouldn’t it be fun to have something to play around with? The project already threw you away anyways, so it’s not like I am stealing you away from them.”
No. No. No—
Norton wanted to struggle out, yet Fool’s Gold’s hand was already on top of his body, slowly creeping up towards his chest, neck, and jaw before giving a peck on his cheek. Admiring the twisted beauty out of the miner’s agony.
“Fear not, Norton ,” He whispered in his ears as he takes out a syringe from his coat, “You are safe from their hands—”
“ —as from now on, you won’t be able to depend on anyone but me. ”
.
.
.
— Mirage, END.