Chapter Text
Everything was cold. Rhys felt stiff, like his blood wasn't flowing properly. The cloth that covered him was thin, paper even, medical and just barely enough to count as a set of clothing. His back was pressed firmly against a metallic table, angled upright with his feet on a ledge. All his limbs were attached to this table with metal cuffs. If he wanted to move, he had the joy of wiggling in place for an excuse of exercise.
The worst thing (in the endless list of horrible things Rhys could spout out at this very moment) was the fucking I.V. like needles stabbing his spine through slots in his solid bed. Every second, every beat of his heart made them throb, knowing that every moment that passed he was being poised. Pushed even further to an edge he would never come back from.
If he ever said anything bad about Pandora, he would love to take it back. He would eat his damn words on a plate with a tall glass of Skag piss to wash it down. Hell, even facing a raging goliath would be preferable to this. At least then he would know his death would be quick, albeit bloody.
Instead, he was going to die by the hands of Hyperion. Fucking Hyperion. He didn't care how accurate their pistols were, or perhaps how at one time he felt a tad fond of their black and red color scheme. No, there was no love for a company who was holding him captive and draining him for all he was.
He dared to open his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping, couldn't really. The damn shit they were pumping through him pretty much denying him of any human-like functions. So every couple of hours (or was it days?) he would take minute pleasure of the tactility of his eyes peeling away from each other.
Yep. What a surprise. Rhys was still very much in hell.
The room hummed with electronics, a bubbling sound that was flowing fluid to him and the other ‘guests’. Or so they kept calling them, the other guests being three other sirens. All of which were receiving the same hospitality as himself, constant purple fluid injections and all.
In the center of the room was a man, his head tilted back at the ceiling. His eyes were open but they were not seeing if their glazed over nature was telling. Kneeling on a platform of light, there were dozens of cords plugged into his body and head. He had monitors about him, they buzzed with images of things, so fast you could hardly make sense of it all. Sometimes it was just static. The man had a constant scowl on his face, but the only way Rhys could tell was because of his eyes and above. Any lower on his face was this rather sadistic muzzle. One could even see bolts and swollen puslike skin where it had been drilled into his jaw .
Surrounding this man was the other sirens, their markings glowing at a constant rate. Closet to Rhys on his left was a woman with blue hair. In contrast to himself, and the woman across from him with red hair, her face was always calm. Every once and awhile she would grimace in pain, but it was always forced back. Rhys wondered where she had learned such restraint. The redhead, on the other hand, looked angry at all points in time, though Rhys couldn’t blame her in the slightest. He wished he had the energy to be angry. He wished he had the energy for anything at this point.
The last siren in the room hardly looked an adult and was the most drained out of all of them. He figured she had been their the longest. Her hair was black, but she only had half a full head of it. The other side was hooked to large computers, the ports linking right into her scalp.
From what he could gather, the man in the center of the room was linked to her, and she to the whole room. With every ounce of him being drained, he was sure he and the other two sirens were just energy siphons.
For what? Fuck if he knew.
He had had his daily (or was it weekly…) glance at the room with glassy eyes, hardly remarking that scientists were moving about the room as they seemed like background noise. Sometimes they poked and prodded at him but his skin was made of silicone and had no feeling anymore. It was time to shut his eyes again, maybe this would be the time when he would die.
God he didn't want to die. But he just couldn't fucking bother anymore.
Maybe he would just pretend to sleep for another unaccountable amount of time…
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͓C̳̻̝̝͚̱̹a̼̼͢n̟͈̫͞ ̸͉͓̻͎̘ͅͅy̲̟͚͔͍̩o̸͎̥͔̪u͈̱͎͇ ̰͎̜h͙̮̦̬e͟ạ̛r ̲̲̫̤̠̤͜ṃ̯̰̻̪̲e̷̻.͏ͅ.̟.̹̳͚̥͡.̝?̪
R̴̻̳̖̀ͅ-̦-҉҉̲͉-̨҉͔͈̜̠-̲̪̯̲͕͡-̯̩͎R̰̤h̜̦͍̹̭̮̗̀͟y̷̟̲̬͇̭͇̥̜s͈͍͜͡.̶̡͍̣̱̰̤̺̼͕̮͟.͍̦͟͞?̥̩̯͎͔͖̱͈͢
There was a humming in his temple, it felt warm and buzzed at his skin. He didn't even bother to open his eyes but there was a small joy in feeling some sort of sensation.
R̵̊h͚̫̤̜̹̾̏̀y̱͔̞̼̪͇̲ͨͯ̎̌̓s̸͇̤̝͎̉̌ͨ̊̚̚
It was only a thought, but he responded to the… voice? It wasn't really a voice but more a feeling that was attaching itself to words. The shape of words. God damn he was losing it. It was only a matter of time before his mind would start to eat away.
P͇͓̙le͚ͧ̄̅ͣ̈́a̻̜̹͈ͬ̋̎̉́͐̾s̞̒ͣ͋͌̍̀͘ȩ̘̯͎͍̗̝͚.̯̱͈͔̒͑.͖̱̗̟̺͎͆.̗̿ͫ ͕̲͔͇͉̮̈͡
“ Yeah…?”
“Oh-oh my g--od-d, I-I-I got through!”
The sound (it wasn’t a sound, it felt like running a hand over an old cathode ray television but it was running over his gray matter) was still broken up, but he could have sworn it sounded like a young girl.
“I---d-d-ont have much time. Will-will y-you help me, Rhys?”
Why the hell not is what he thought, and apparently said so to this voice (it wasn’t a goddamn voice ).
“Good. I’ll talk to you soon. Y-you are not a-a-alone Rhys.”
Rhys thought how farther from the truth that could possibly be. He squeezed his hands and was surprised that he even felt the sensation. It was almost like a projection of himself to watch as the real Rhys was on the table, pale and veins popping in an eerie shade of purple.
No, no, no. Rhys was alone.