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toyybox · 7 months

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Spiderwebs #17: Conviction

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, injection, paralysis, starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Why would you think I’m lying?” Jackie laughed as he said this, a nervous laugh, a guilty laugh. “Why would I lie about this?”

“I can see it on your face. You’re a terrible liar. I’ll give you one more chance. Where did you put the notebook?”

“Why do you even want it?” The rising panic clouded his expression like smoke. “You gave it to me. It’s my notebook. It’s my property.”

“I don’t care.” She stepped forward. “Hand it over.”

Instead of following her command, he simply sat there and stared, eyes wide and wary. What an idiot. She had no idea why he was so caught up over this simple request. What was he putting in that book that was so important?

“Where is it?” she growled again. “I don’t like to repeat myself. Say it.”

Before he could form a clever reply, or even an apology, the air was pushed from his lungs. She shoved him backwards until he fell off the chair. It collapsed along with him, shrieking against the floor. He lay just a few inches away from that fallen comrade, chest still heaving from the blow, legs sprawled.

“Wh—wait, Heather—“ As if on instinct, his arms came up in front of his face. “The drug. The, uh, opioid. It’s worn off.”

“That’s even better.” She began to roll her sleeves up. “Pain is a great motivator."

He coiled inwards, as a pillbug does when touched. “Stop. I’ll tell you. It’s—I hid it under the mattress, okay?”

Her sleeves fell back down. “The mattress? Why?”

“…So you wouldn’t find it?”

“Why would that be a problem? Why are you hiding things from me?”

A puzzled look crossed his face. He lifted an arm away, just enough to stare up at her with a single eye.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the most trustworthy person in this scenario. Maybe someone who was being held captive had reason to lie. But not over a fucking notebook! If Jackie was dishonest about something as small as that, if he couldn’t be trusted to comply over the tiniest things, how would she ever get these experiments to run smoothly? A large part of her findings were based on his word, at the end of the day. This would be an issue. One she had to correct.

Once she reached his bed, she lifted his mattress up and away from the frame, leaving it leaning against the wall. There was, indeed, the notebook, along with a shard of shattered plate and a pair of scissors.

“What,” she began to say as she swiveled around to him, “is this?”

He didn’t say a word. The answer was clear, however. Heather could put two and two together. Scissor blades and sharp edges were better weapons than a table leg could ever be.

She picked the scissors up, gingerly, like it was a dead rat. “Where did you even get these from?”

“You dropped them. Don’t remember exactly when. Recently.”

“I assume you weren’t planning to make arts and crafts.” She gathered the rest of the items, dropped them into her bag. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Yes.”

She turned to him. A blank expression painted over his stare. Not steeled, not defiant. Not scared. Blank. Waiting, watching. An animal in the tall grass.

She spoke, at last. “You won’t like what happens next.”

“I guess not.”

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

When she fetched the syringe from her bag, sure enough, he hadn’t moved from the floor. His gaze followed the needle warily. He sat up as she approached, cautious and slow.

The problem with the selective paralyzing agent was that it just wasn’t selective enough. She managed to restrict the majority of the effects to the limbs, but it took a toll on all muscles from the shoulders down. Unfortunately, the heart was a muscle. It wasn’t enough to kill the subject—in small doses, at least—but they didn’t stay awake for long. If Heather wanted to put rats to sleep, she’d give them Nyquil. There wasn’t any point unless the subject was conscious.

Now, as far as Heather knew, Jackie’s heart would not falter easily. His body would stay awake for as long as possible. Perhaps an unpleasant experience for himself, but convenient for her. She pushed his sleeve up and placed the needle above the side of his shoulder.

“Am I getting a flu shot?” Jackie didn’t recoil or flinch, but he didn’t sound happy. “Morphine? What is this?”

“We’ll see.” She injected the agent. The needle pushed past the skin. The fluid drained. Jackie blinked.

At first, nothing happened. Nothing happened for several minutes. The serum would need to travel the bloodstream first, to reach the spine and disable all the attached nerves.

Then, Jackie blinked again. He remained silent, but his expression said it all.

“Move your hand for me, please,” Heather said.

“I can’t.”

“Your legs?”

“What did you do to me?“

There was such an abject look of horror on him that Heather felt a little guilty. The concept did have something unnerving to it. Perhaps this was a step too far. Then again, it was only temporary. Probably. If all else failed, she could always light him on fire again.

“It’s a paralytic.” She put the used needle into a plastic bag, then placed that into her bookbag. “Are you going to apologize now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. Make it stop.” The corners of his mouth went tense. “Please.”

“I can’t just make it stop. You’re going to have to wait.”

“How long?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

That answer did not make him look any happier. Heather didn’t want to sit there and wait for it to wear off either—there were better things to waste an afternoon on—but she needed these results. Drugs weren’t easy to procure, so she’d rather get it right the first time and be done with it.

“Well, then.” She stood up. “I can’t leave you on the floor, so—“

“No. Absolutely not. Don’t touch me.” Those fighting words were betrayed by his petrified expression.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” She placed her arms around him.

He made a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat. “Please don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Christ above, can you go five minutes without apologizing?” She let go. “You need to have more confidence in yourself, you know. Nobody is going to respect you unless you respect yourself. Do you think Albert Einstein went around using sorry as punctuation? Do you think Winston Churchill apologized to the Luftwaffe?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to be Winston Churchill.”

“That was just an example. My point is, you’re going to be fine.”

“If you even come close to me—“

“What? You’ll annoy me to death?”

“I’ll—I’ll bite you!”

Heather had no reply for this other than an exasperated exhale. Once again, she placed her hands around his waist. He did not bite her, in fact. Wasn’t that much of an idiot. He did not whimper again, or say anything at all, but the bitter bile in his glare was response enough.

She continued anyway. It wasn’t hard to pick him up—he was a scrawny thing, and she was in good shape—so there he remained, in her arms, as limp as a kitten held by the scruff. It was a sort of bridal carry, however ungraceful it seemed to Heather: an arm to hold up his legs, and an arm to support his back, until she was sure he would not fall.

A sharp intake of breath filled his chest. His heart thumped in irregular spasms, the only part of his body that betrayed life. A slight shiver passed over his dead weight. She did not blame him. He had lost all autonomy, even the freedom of movement. The complete erosion of self. But, she had to admit, it was nice to have him docile for once.

There was no point in dragging the affair out. Heather propped him up on the bed. She shifted his arms to a more comfortable position, then stepped away.

“See?” She met his unending glare with a similar expression. “Was that so bad?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately.

“Oh? Is that all you have to say?” Heather was uncertain from where this anger originated. He had the right to an opinion, the ability to dislike her. It bubbled up all the same, bringing a sour taste to her tongue. “I could do anything to you right now, you know.”

“Okay? What else is new?”

“You insufferable little—“

“Alright, miss Annie Wilkes.” He rolled his eyes. “I get it. You’re so big and scary. Gonna blow my house down with a huff and a puff. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and bring out the blowtorch. I’m waiting. Clock’s ticking. Not that I have a clock, ‘cause you won’t give me one.”

“You don’t deserve a clock.” She brought out the notebook. “You aren’t getting this back either, by the way.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?"

She opened it to the first page. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"What do you mean, find out?" He watched with wary eyes as she sat beside him on the bed. Before his helpless sight, she bent that book open to its vulnerable manilla-white insides, a vivisection of stationery and binding-stitches, a dissection of wood pulp and ink.

"Stop,” he snapped. “Don’t look at that. It’s my private—hey! Are you even listening to me?”

Heather ignored him and angled the first page to the light. It was empty except for a small drawing. A furry, fluffy body, conveyed by a few light strokes. Four legs. A tail. Two pointed, angled ears. Whiskers. Hungry, slitted pupils. The hint of fangs poking out from a wry mouth. It was a cat.

Okay, that was only the first page. She’d find something worth hiding on page five or ten, Heather was sure. Something that would justify this whole setup, as well as whatever she decided to do with him afterwards.

Page two. Another cat. Curled up, wide eyes replaced by two curved lines, caught in a gentle expression of deep sleep. The lines of ink were distorted by a few small circles, where water—or tears, perhaps—had fallen and dried.

Well. On to the next page.

Page three, a cat running. Page four, a cat sitting on its haunches. Page five, an attempt at a dog scratched out beside a cat ready to pounce. Page six came and went, featuring yet another cat. The edge of the paper was smudged with an ink-stain.

She paused her perusing to glance at him.

“Hm?” Jackie glanced back. He had given up on his complaints. His voice found a lower volume to slope on, his lips in a lenient line rather than a snarl.

“What is with the cats?”

“I like cats. And they’re the only thing I know how to draw.”

She continued. Seven, eight, nine, ten. At long last, what lay on page eleven was not a cat. Rather, it was a drawing of a girl. A girl with straight bangs, a freckled face hatched in with dark skin, and a gaze that held all the sweet softness of a dead porcupine.

Heather brought the drawing up to Jackie. “Is this supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes were averted from hers, as if by an opposing magnetic force. His entire face, actually, was tilted slightly up and away.

“Is it? I mean—“ She faced the paper again. “You got the freckles right, at least.” It wasn’t too bad of a sketch, as far as portraits went. Secretly, Heather thought he was better at drawing cats, but he managed to capture something lifelike in those rough lines. He got the soul down, if not the exact shape of her lips and jaw.

“What else am I supposed to draw? You’re the only person I’ve seen in—“ His voice hitched a bit. “In a long time, actually. How long have I been here?”

A good question, but one that Heather wasn’t obligated to answer. With page twelve, his artistic renditions returned to their usual feline forms. Page thirteen, a cat lounging in the sun. Fourteen, a lanky kitten in the motion of a step. Fifteen, a comically long cat. Sixteen, a cat biting into its kill. Page seventeen, however, was missing.

The jagged corners of the torn paper were distorted, as if once wet. It wasn’t an even cut. There was no shape or pattern to it, and no apparent purpose.

Heather brushed her finger along the jagged edge. “Rats got to it first?”

“I did, actually.” The reply was so quiet as to be nearly inaudible. “I was hungry. Paper doesn’t taste that bad.”

Recoiling, Heather dropped the notebook. “Excuse me?”

His shame was palpable. It burned straight through his face, flushed his skin, suffocated his voice to the dullest murmur. “I don’t know. You wanted me to be honest. There you go.”

“Is this your way of asking for food, or do you just… eat paper?”

“I don’t just eat paper. It was a last resort.” He paused, giving his haughty stare time to sink in. “Yes, I want food. You haven’t given me anything for a week.”

She glanced down at the notebook, now sprawled on the floor, pages bent and twisted. “It’s only been a few days.”

“It felt like a week,” he shot back. “How was I supposed to know, anyway? You didn’t give me a calendar. There’s no windows down here.”

“You don’t need a calendar. Or a window. It would give you ideas.”

“Do you honestly believe I’ll ever want to stay here?” This was a genuine question, or it sounded genuine, at least. “That I’ll forget my home? My entire life?”

The silence went thick, as Heather floundered for an answer. She had her convictions, of course, but there were no words to express it.

People did forget their homes, she wanted to tell him. People could be made to forget anything. Memory was not the most steadfast thing. Animals could be domesticated. What were people, if not just clever animals?

There were worse tortures than sitting in a basement and suffering through various drugs. If she wanted to, or had the guts to, she could break him for good. She could make him happy with that cold, empty life. There were fates worse than death. Fates worse than being bored and alone. There were horrors worse than a few cuts and a couple mean words. If only he had the foresight to keep his mouth shut. If only he realized the depth of her kindness. Really, he ought to be thankful for her lenience.

But Heather doubted he could grasp anything as subtle as that. She instead asked, “Do you like chocolate cake?”

He nodded, somewhat surprised. “How did you know?”

“That’s what you put on the…” She gestured with a few dismissive waves of her hand. “On that list. Chocolate cake. There’s leftovers in my fridge. I could bring you some.”

“Oh. I want cake, yeah.”

“Oh?” she echoed, sweet as raw honey. “What’s the magic word?”

The conflict in his face was visible, seen in the slight clenching of the jaw, but hunger won over. Who was he trying to fool? Hunger always won. “Please.”

“I was kidding.” Heather sat up from the bed with a small, satisfied smile. “But it was nice to hear you say it. Hang in there.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

A moment later, she returned with the plate. The cake slumped over the surface, decadent black on white, frosting dripping all over with drunk grandeur, and a fork next to it. It was certainly not fresh, and the flavor was too sugary for her tastes, but Jackie didn’t seem to care.

His eyes flicked to the plate, which she placed on the nightstand, then back up to her. “Thanks. I’ll eat it when your drug wears off.”

“It hasn’t worn off yet?” She sat back down on the bed with a heavy sigh. Her posture slumped so that she was almost laying down.

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Why were you so upset over that notebook, by the way? It’s just a bunch of drawings. Nothing to get embarrassed about.”

“I like my privacy.”

“That’s fair.” With the back of her hand, she suppressed a yawn. “Did you draw a lot, before all this? When you didn’t live here?”

“Why do you care?”

Her fingers curled inwards with a hint of contempt, still hovering above her lips. “Would you rather sit here in silence?”

“Yes.”

She shifted upright. “Fine.”

There they both waited, not speaking at all. The late-night hush was as eerie as it was strained.

Heather had no idea what to do. Jackie cleared his throat once or twice. It was like a staring contest nobody would ever win. She couldn’t break eye contact if it killed her. And Jackie had a weird way of staring. There was a lightning-bright depth to it, an uncomfortable brilliance. She just couldn’t bring herself to glance away.

Her posture grew tense, like she could throw a punch at any moment. She wouldn’t, obviously. That would look stupid. So she waited. For what, exactly? Who the hell knew. Not Heather. Neither did Jackie, from the looks of it. He’d break out in a sweat if this went on for a minute longer.

The silence got to him first. “So.”

“So.”

“Should we play I Spy?”

“I spy an irritating little insect who doesn’t know how to shut up.”

"That’s easy. Is it my copy of Oliver Twist?" He grinned. "I did read it, by the way. Had nothing else to do. Did you know he also gets kidnapped? He's just like me! Only... younger. And British."

"Very funny, Jackie.” She, on the other hand, scowled. “You should go into stand-up."

“I know. I’m hilarious. We could do a double act, y’know, move to Vegas and get a thing going. We would definitely rake in some cash.”

She stifled a smile by biting the inside of her lip. Heather couldn’t trust herself to reply seriously. While Jackie might have found this funny, she wasn’t done being pissed off. Once more, the atmosphere lapsed into a valley of tension.

Then, Jackie started.

Heather assumed that he lost his nerve before she noticed the movement of his wrist. He shook it out, then his other wrist, and then shifted his legs. As soon as the motion returned in his body, he stumbled off the bed.

“Finally. Fucking hell.” He walked a few paces around the room. “That was horrible. Never do it again.”

A quick glance at her watch proved that it was nearly midnight. “Four hours.”

“Four hours? That felt like ten, at least.” He circled one more lap before stopping a safe distance in front of Heather. “Are you leaving now?”

Petty streaks did not die so quickly. “Why should I?”

“Suit yourself, then. Can you get off my bed?”

Heather decided not to grace him with a reply. She sat up and walked to the writing desk. With her arms crossed, she waited.

Seeing this, Jackie climbed under the covers. “Can you turn the lights out?”

“Turn them out yourself.”

“But you’re already up!” The protest was muffled against his pillow.

“So?”

“Fine. I’ll sleep with the lights on.” He nestled deeper into the fabric. “You’re the one paying the electricity bill.”

That annoying little cockroach. He made a good point. Heather walked over to the lightswitch and flicked it out.

The huddled shadow of Jackie spoke. “Good night.”

"Good night, Jack."

Silence was the only reply. He had already fallen asleep.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

≽^•⩊•^≼

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

#Spiderwebs toyybox #whump #whump writing #lab whump #my writing

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mj-iza-writer · 8 months

Text

Mentions of tongue cutting. You have been warned. -MJ

"You haven't been lying to me, have you Whumpee?", Whumper circled the table where Whumpee was sitting.

"No master", Whumpee looked straight ahead, only catching glimpses of Whumper when they walked in their field of vision.

"Have I ever told you what I'd do if I caught you lying", this time around Whumpee saw a glimpse of something metal.

Whumpee gulped, "no master."

Whumper walked beside Whumpee, grabbed the side of Whumpee's face, and shoved their head to the table.

"Stick your tongue out", Whumper commanded.

Whumpee hurried to do so, concerned for where this was going.

Whumper revealed the metal object, a shiny dagger, and held it in front of Whumpee's face.

They knew there would be no chance of escaping Whumpers' hands, but they wanted to get away.

They accidentally put their tongue back in their mouth.

"Did I tell you to put that back in your mouth", Whumper yelled, "stick it back out."

Whumpee did as they were told, "I, sowry massha", they apologized with their tongue out.

"Hmph", Whumper held up the knife to look at it, then poked Whumpee's tongue with the point.

"If I ever catch you in a lie, I will remove bits of your tongue, then force feed them to you", Whumper smiled as a small bit of blood bubbled up from the tongue, "do I make myself clear."

"Yesh, massha", Whumpee tried to blink away a tear that formed from the poking.

"You can put your tongue back in", Whumper released their grip, "sit up."

Whumpee moved to do so, not wanting to leave them waiting. They looked straight ahead as they had done earlier.

"Do you have any questions?", Whumper twiddled with the knife.

Whumpee whimpered, "do you believe I've been dishonest to you Master, if you have found fault in me, I-I'm sorry sir."

"I haven't found anything out yet. Consider this a maintenance check on your behavior", Whumper sheathed the knife.

"Yes sir", Whumpee looked straight ahead.

Whumper began to circle the table again, this time slowly. Their eyes fixed on Whumpee.

"I will give you one chance to clear your conscience. If you have been dishonest or have kept something from me, I suggest you reveal it now. I'd hate for me to find out down the road", Whumper stopped in front of where Whumpee was looking, "this is your free pass."

Whumpee gulped and eyed the dagger.

They looked back up, their breath was shaky with panic.

"I'm waiting, I can tell there is something", Whumper frowned, "this offer won't be here for long, spill it."

Whumpee looked down, "the other day, you forgot to put the shock collar on me before you left. I snuck onto the back porch and sat for a few minutes for some fresh air. I had considered making a run for it, but I was too afraid to try. I'm sorry Master."

Whumper smirked and sat down in a chair across from Whumpee.

"You caught me slipping", Whumper looked at the petrified Whumpee, "don't look so scared, I gave you a free pass remember."

Whumpee nodded slightly, still feeling uneasy. They knew Whumper wouldn't make that mistake again. They may have lost a chance of escape in the future.

Whumper smiled again, "anything else, this is kind of fun to see where I need to tighten your reigns. You won't be in trouble", Whumper sat up excitedly, "the free pass is still open, confess your sins, or lose some of your tongue when I do eventually find out, and I will find out."

"Master this wasn't something I was hiding from you, I was waiting to catch you when you had a minute", Whumpee kept their eyes straight ahead.

"Go on", Whumper leaned in excitedly.

"I took a spill cleaning the stairs this morning and fell into the wall, I accidentally left a hole in the wall where my elbow hit", Whumpee showed a bruise and scrape, "I tripped over the vacuum and fell into the wall, then down two steps. My back has a bruise forming as well."

Whumper eyed the wounds, and let out a deep sigh, "okay, accidents happen, accidents happen", Whumper groaned, "anything else?"

"N-no sir", Whumpee shook, they had expected a worse reaction and punishment. They were thankful to have that free pass.

Whumper squeezed the bridge of their nose, "where is the hole?"

Whumpee led them to the steps, and pointed at the hole.

"Okay that is not as bad as I was expecting", Whumper sighed, "there is nothing else you can think of that you've been hiding?"

"No sir", Whumpee looked down.

Whumper sighed again, "okay go do more chores or something. I need to figure out this problem."

Whumpee hurried to get away from Whumper, they darted into the bathroom and the mirror. They examined their tongue, glad to see no pieces missing.

"I got off lucky this time", they sighed.

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whumpee #whump #whump scenario #whumper

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kawhump · 1 year

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💗 🔮 and 💧?

--@whumperofworlds

💗 - What inspired you to start a whump blog?

well, I'm still pretty shy about liking whump, so I was nervous about interacting with the whump community on my main, but I went through a phase of reading everything in the Good Omens whump tag, and got frustrated with my self-imposed rule of not interacting with any of the posts. so I made a separate blog where I could show my appreciation and be unhinged in the comfort of an alter-ego.

🔮 - What's a favorite whump trope of yours?

ah, lets see. this is actually a hard question for me because I don't really think about it in terms of tropes when I'm writing or thinking ab whump. honestly what I really love is terror, so near-death experiences are a favorite of mine. some good ol' russian roulette, mock execution, that sort of thing.

💧 - What's your favorite type of whumpee?

hmmmmmmm. I like to whump characters that are already fucked up little guys. I think its a neat way to dissect a character. (metaphorically. or literally, sometimes) I think its more interesting when a character is layered and dishonest, both to themselves and to people around them. there's more to peel back that way. not that it can't also be fun to whump really honest characters, but thats more like dissecting... an amoeba or something. there's no layers, and the interest lies in the delight of finding that it really is exactly the same all the way down.

thank you for the ask! I wasn't expecting to get any honestly haha

#asks #whump ask games

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whumpy-writings · 3 years

Text

Inspection

Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

Takes place shortly after Aldon is promoted to general, about three years before he meets Henri.

CW: Vampires, slavery, starvation, dehumanization, fear of death, anxiety, bruises, broken ribs, beating mentioned, sensory overwhelm, partial nudity, stern vampire caretaker, human whumpee, secret whump

The humans were lined up for Aldon’s inspection. Aldon swallowed the bile in his throat. They all seemed so… broken. His first action when he was promoted to general was to put a protocol in place banning mistreatment of the humans in the army’s food supply. He had rationalized it to the other officers as a pragmatic decision. The army would function better if its food source was well taken care of. Aldon hoped that the humans would have marginally better lives now that soldiers weren’t allowed to hurt them.

There were twenty-five humans waiting for his inspection. Aldon took a steadying breath and started with the first one. The man was tall but way too thin. Aldon had been trying to get funding for more food for the humans, but command said that the humans had enough food. They were alive, weren’t they? The bastards in charge didn’t care that the humans were half starved.

About halfway through the line of humans, he paused. The man in front of him was breathing shallowly and his face was coated with a thin layer of sweat.

“Are you ill?” He asked the brown-haired man. The human’s face went even paler than it already was.

“N-no sir,” he choked out, eyes glued on the floor. That was a blatant lie if he had ever heard one. But Aldon could hear the human’s pounding heart. He was terrified. Aldon decided that he would question him in private, hopefully that would be less scary than being questioned while surrounded by all of his fellow humans and a fair amount of vampires. Aldon reached out and grabbed his chin, gently forcing him to meet his eyes. The human had a long scar across his left cheek and his brown eyes were full of fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Aldon said softly. “What’s your designation?”

“486, sir,” the human said. Aldon nodded, then released his chin.

“Take this one back to my tent,” he said over his shoulder to an aide. The vampire nodded and led the shaking man away.

…

Reeve trembled as the aid led him away. The General had seen right through his pathetic attempt at a lie. He was going to be punished for being dishonest. And then he would probably be killed. If not by the General, then by someone else. Reeve’s heart was pounding and every breath burned. The aide had a firm grasp on his elbow and was leading him through the camp. Soldiers were bustling about the tented city, their voices loud. Reeve’s head felt like it would burst. There was so much going on around him and it was overwhelming. He was used to being with the other humans in the large tent that doubled as the mess. He had his quiet little corner where he could curl up when he wasn’t on duty, where he could hide from everything that was too much. But now there wasn’t anywhere to hide, and he was being taken to his death.

They finally reached the tent, the aide leading him inside.

“Wait here,” the aide said before turning and leaving. Reeve knelt on the ground and wrapped his arms around his aching body. He started to cry, which only made his chest hurt more. The one mercy was that inside the tent it was quiet.

…

Aldon quickly finished with the rest of the inspection. All the rest of the humans seemed healthy enough. All except for 486.

Aldon made his way back to his tent. It took longer than he wanted, as he was waylaid about four times by officers asking for his opinion on various things. Aldon hid his irritation. He wanted to get to 486 as soon as possible. He must be terrified.

Finally, Aldon was able to extricate himself from the last question and reached his tent. The crescent moon was low and Aldon sighed. The night never lasted long enough for him to get everything done.

Aldon stepped into the dimly lit tent. The human was kneeling on the floor, head bowed. His arms were wrapped around himself and he was sobbing. Aldon’s heart broke. Shit. He wished he could have gotten here sooner. He approached the man and crouched down before him. The man gave a scream of fright and flinched away from Aldon.

“Easy, easy you’re okay,” Aldon said, holding his hands out in a calming gesture.

“Please sir, please have mercy,” 486 said. His voice broke.

Aldon sat down, cross legged, trying to make himself as least threatening as possible. “I will, you’re safe with me 486. I didn’t separate you to punish you. I could tell that you weren’t well. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

486 shook his head, arms wrapped around his stomach. Aldon sighed, putting his hands to his temples. He didn’t have the mental energy to deal with this right now, but the human was clearly in pain and needed help. And Aldon couldn’t help the human if he didn’t know what was hurting him. Then his hearing was drawn to the shaky breaths. They didn’t sound quite like an illness, more like an injury. His blood froze as the pieces fell into place. He decided to change tactics.

“What’s your name? I know you have one, and I don’t want to keep calling you 486,” he asked softly.

The human looked at him in surprise before replying. “R-Reeve sir. My name is Reeve.”

“Did someone hurt you, Reeve?” Aldon asked.

The human stopped breathing for a second before shaking his head furiously. He was looking at the ground.

“Look at me Reeve,” Aldon said. The human raised his head so that he met Aldon’s gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“You’re lying, aren’t you? I promise you won’t be punished for whatever you tell me, but I need you to tell me the truth. Did one of the soldiers hurt you?”

The human was breathing too fast, his thin body quivering.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Aldon nodded. Just as he thought. “Can you show me?” He asked gently. Reeve hesitated before pulling up the hem of his shirt. Aldon suppressed a gasp. His entire torso was littered with bruises, some a sickly green and other a fresh purple. No wonder the man was having trouble breathing. He was sure to have some broken ribs.

“Who did this to you?” Aldon asked, voice hard.

“Please sir, please don’t make me tell you. He-he said that he would kill me if I told anyone,” the human said quietly, his voice choked by tears. Aldon reached out his hands, taking Reeve’s hands in his own. He stilled at the contact.

“Reeve, I promise you that he won’t hurt you ever again. I’ll make sure that you’re protected. What he did to you was wrong, and he threatened you because he knew that he would get in trouble for it. Please, can you tell me who hurt you?”

Reeve’s eyes were focused on his hands, still clasped in Aldon’s.

“It was Major Braughtman, sir,” he whispered. Braughtman. Of course. The major had been giving him trouble since day one, rejecting Aldon’s authority.

“Okay, I’ll see that he is dealt with. How long has he been hurting you?”

Reeve hesitated. “Two months.”

Aldon pushed down his rage. He had put the statute prohibiting mistreatment of humans in place over four months ago.

“Do you know if he has been hurting anyone else? Or if any other soldiers have been hurting humans?’

He shook his head. “I haven’t heard of anybody else being hurt.”

Aldon breathed out. At least that was a relief.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Reeve. Is it okay if I take your shirt off? I want to check over your injuries.” Reeve nodded, and Aldon gently pulled the shirt over the human’s head. Reeve gasped in pain.

“Sorry,” Aldon murmured. The human’s torso looked horrendous. The bruises were all over his chest, stomach, and back. His breaths sounded painful. Thankfully, the skin wasn’t broken anywhere, so infection wasn’t a concern.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Aldon asked softly.

“No sir. But-but I think I have a couple broken ribs. He beat me two days ago and I felt something crack in my chest.”

“Where?”

“My upper right side.” Aldon looked at the spot. The bruising was a deep purple. Unfortunately there wasn’t much that could be done about broken ribs, besides rest. Reeve had dark circles under his eyes. He probably hadn’t been able to sleep well since his ribs were broken. The only thing he could do was offer him a little bit of relief.

“You must be in a lot of pain. Would you like some venom?”

The human’s eyes were wide. “You can feed as you wish, sir. You don’t have to ask me.”

Aldon’s heart clenched. “No, I don’t want to feed. I just want to help you so you can rest. Can I give you venom?”

“Y-yes sir,” Reeve said, clearly confused.

Aldon gently took his arm, biting down to deliver a large dose of venom. Reeve slumped against Aldon and he caught him before he fell over.

“There you go. Get some rest Reeve,” he said, running a hand through the human’s hair.

“Thank you sir,” Reeve whispered before he fell asleep. Aldon carefully picked Reeve up, carrying him over to the cot and pulling the blankets over him.

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