eighth incision ෴ dream
As the dream starts, it seems to be in a location of empty space. Just floating blackness and nothing more. Like some kind of strange void constructed around a single person.
Stein is sitting on a stitched up wheeled desk chair, his hands pulled behind the back of the chair, and white, frayed scarves hold his wrists together, the same scarves tying his legs to the base of the chair. His head is drooped forward so his hair is in his face, obscuring his expression for the most part. Zooming in, he seems to be fully conscious, sweating and most likely desperately in need of a cigarette. His eyes are narrowed, glaring out into the empty space. He gives a small tug to his bonds, and steadily the stitches on his labcoat and his shirt start to undo themselves until the clothing on his upper body begins to fall off. They sink into the darkness around him.
He’s now sitting there shirtless, but still bound. His body then jerks and he lets out an ungodly agonized scream as his body tenses up and leans against the back of the chair. The self-inflicted sutures on his chest start to slip away and undo as well, giving off the appearance of snakes as they slither off his flesh. The screaming continues as his flesh begins to droop and fall from his chest, giving way to the muscles and tendons beneath the epidermis.
But as the stitches on his stomach give way, and the muscles begin to pulse, organs do not fall free, but rather a small boy of about twelve or thirteen erupts from his chest. He looks almost entirely like Stein, but free of stitches and no bolt through his head. He’s dressed in all white and smiling a bit, twirling a scalpel in his hands as he floats before the man on the chair. It’s clear suddenly, this is Stein. A much younger and rather more disturbed Stein.
“Does it hurt?” he asks as the flesh on Steins body begins to knit itself together again, the snake-like sutures returning to the man’s body. Stein gazes up at his younger self, looking too tired for his own good. He tries to make sense of why he’s looking at his younger self, and then he lets out another scream as his child self drives the scalpel into Stein’s gut, and roughly drags it upwards, tearing open another large hole in his chest. The hole in the man’s chest expands greatly, and globs of organs: intestines, stomach, liver-the works-start to fall from him. All of them dripping blood, steadily coating the younger Stein who seems all too content with the sight.
The scarves holding on to Stein suddenly unwrap his hands and reach out, warping around the younger self and start to constrict and pulse against the child, who’s still smiling. The body starts to crack and quake as blood starts to drip from his body while the scarves continue to tighten. They warp around him more and there’s a red flash, and the child is no more, but instead a figure clad in the scarves, and dark hair with eye-like patterns.
Had his organs not been ripped from his body, Stein would have stood up and ran into the blackness, but he was far too weak and fatigued to try that now. The figure - unmistakably Asura - grabbed Stein with those scarves and lifted the man from the seat, mouth opening hideously wide as he shoved Stein into his mouth. There is the sound of a loud crunch and that’s all Stein could hear as the other's jaw crushed down on his head and his spine. Numbness doesn’t set in as he was devoured and Asura slurped up the organs that were still dragging from Stein’s lifeless body.
He tries to scream, but blackness - and the taste of blood - invaded his mouth and lungs before he gets the chance.
Only a second later, Stein wakes up in the same chair with a slight start, but this time he’s in a dark, dank sort of laboratory. He seems to be slightly sprawled out on the chair, and his head is focusing in on a dim light overhead. He stands up, grabbing a few surgical tools from his desk. He sighs, and heads over to an operating table where a woman was lying, strapped down. She had blonde hair that was obviously short in the back, but twisted into a braid in the front. She has a devilish, serpentine like smile on her face despite her current predicament. She’s lying topless with black lines drawn on her stomach to indicate where Stein was going to cut her.
“I could have sworn you were only leaving for a moment.” She laughs lowly, staring at him through golden eyes. “In the time you were gone, I could have dissected myself a dozen times over.” Her lips curl into a wider sort of smirk. It’s almost a relief to Stein. He was obviously back in Death City, back to his normal-by-his-standards life. He was a bit reeled over the dream he had, but for now, he would blame it on Medusa - the woman on his operating table. The more he was exposed to her, the more she affected his sanity. It was troublesome to say the least.
“Quiet.” He says, voice deadpan. “Or I’m taking your tongue first.” Stein holds out the scalpel, not even bothering to use an anesthetic on her. Revenge. That’s what it was.
“You seem tense.” She says quietly to him, almost comfortingly. “Bad dream?”
“I said be quiet.” Stein says again, now hesitating as he held the scalpel to her flesh, hand unmoving.
“You know it wasn’t real.” She says, practically whispering to him now. “It was all in your head. Always coming up with fantasies and fallacies, aren’t you?” Stein doesn’t look at her as she spoke, but she certainly had a sinister look on her face that he could hear just through her tone. “Like the facility, right? It’s all made up, you know this.”
Stein starts to press the scalpel into her flesh now, causing the woman to wince.
“Hmm, do you really think you've finally been able to escape the confines of your sanity by being here?” Medusa then asks. “In this lab, I mean.” No response from Stein again. “Do you think you've managed to escape? Do you find yourself trying convincing yourself that you've now come into your same old life?”
Another press of the scalpel and her flesh began to split, Stein still refusing to look at her.
“Perhaps someone should enlighten you on your predicament. This isn’t reality. This is not your same old life. Although, you are still the same, handsome deranged man you have always been.” She laughs a bit, still tense from the slice on her stomach, ebony blood surfacing instead of the typical red. “This place is not going to change you for the better; it’s going to make it worse. That dream of yours? You know full well it’s not real, as much as you want to deny it.”
Suddenly, she is no longer on the operating table, but instead Stein is. He’s strapped down by what appears to be flat, narrow arrows, keeping the man still. A snake was curling around his neck, hissing and constricting around him. Medusa is now leaning over the top of the table, and the top of Stein’s head seems to be missing, his brain visible, pulsing slightly as the blood drips on to the table.
There are slender hands sliding along the ripples of the brain, and Stein’s eyes roll back a bit, though whether it’s from pain or not isn’t exactly clear.
“And I'll still be here.” She whispers, her lips incredibly close to his brain. “Right up here, laughing.” Medusa lightly taps the man’s brain with a small giggle. “Watching you struggle to come to grips with your own self-doubt. And when you finally break again: You'll be thinking of me. And how right I am."
She stops for a moment. And then, her light hands touch the sides of the bolt that is still protruding from his head. Medusa laughs, gripping the edge of the bolt-and yanks it from his brain, and drowning the scene in blackness.
Stein is sitting on a stitched up wheeled desk chair, his hands pulled behind the back of the chair, and white, frayed scarves hold his wrists together, the same scarves tying his legs to the base of the chair. His head is drooped forward so his hair is in his face, obscuring his expression for the most part. Zooming in, he seems to be fully conscious, sweating and most likely desperately in need of a cigarette. His eyes are narrowed, glaring out into the empty space. He gives a small tug to his bonds, and steadily the stitches on his labcoat and his shirt start to undo themselves until the clothing on his upper body begins to fall off. They sink into the darkness around him.
He’s now sitting there shirtless, but still bound. His body then jerks and he lets out an ungodly agonized scream as his body tenses up and leans against the back of the chair. The self-inflicted sutures on his chest start to slip away and undo as well, giving off the appearance of snakes as they slither off his flesh. The screaming continues as his flesh begins to droop and fall from his chest, giving way to the muscles and tendons beneath the epidermis.
But as the stitches on his stomach give way, and the muscles begin to pulse, organs do not fall free, but rather a small boy of about twelve or thirteen erupts from his chest. He looks almost entirely like Stein, but free of stitches and no bolt through his head. He’s dressed in all white and smiling a bit, twirling a scalpel in his hands as he floats before the man on the chair. It’s clear suddenly, this is Stein. A much younger and rather more disturbed Stein.
“Does it hurt?” he asks as the flesh on Steins body begins to knit itself together again, the snake-like sutures returning to the man’s body. Stein gazes up at his younger self, looking too tired for his own good. He tries to make sense of why he’s looking at his younger self, and then he lets out another scream as his child self drives the scalpel into Stein’s gut, and roughly drags it upwards, tearing open another large hole in his chest. The hole in the man’s chest expands greatly, and globs of organs: intestines, stomach, liver-the works-start to fall from him. All of them dripping blood, steadily coating the younger Stein who seems all too content with the sight.
The scarves holding on to Stein suddenly unwrap his hands and reach out, warping around the younger self and start to constrict and pulse against the child, who’s still smiling. The body starts to crack and quake as blood starts to drip from his body while the scarves continue to tighten. They warp around him more and there’s a red flash, and the child is no more, but instead a figure clad in the scarves, and dark hair with eye-like patterns.
Had his organs not been ripped from his body, Stein would have stood up and ran into the blackness, but he was far too weak and fatigued to try that now. The figure - unmistakably Asura - grabbed Stein with those scarves and lifted the man from the seat, mouth opening hideously wide as he shoved Stein into his mouth. There is the sound of a loud crunch and that’s all Stein could hear as the other's jaw crushed down on his head and his spine. Numbness doesn’t set in as he was devoured and Asura slurped up the organs that were still dragging from Stein’s lifeless body.
He tries to scream, but blackness - and the taste of blood - invaded his mouth and lungs before he gets the chance.
Only a second later, Stein wakes up in the same chair with a slight start, but this time he’s in a dark, dank sort of laboratory. He seems to be slightly sprawled out on the chair, and his head is focusing in on a dim light overhead. He stands up, grabbing a few surgical tools from his desk. He sighs, and heads over to an operating table where a woman was lying, strapped down. She had blonde hair that was obviously short in the back, but twisted into a braid in the front. She has a devilish, serpentine like smile on her face despite her current predicament. She’s lying topless with black lines drawn on her stomach to indicate where Stein was going to cut her.
“I could have sworn you were only leaving for a moment.” She laughs lowly, staring at him through golden eyes. “In the time you were gone, I could have dissected myself a dozen times over.” Her lips curl into a wider sort of smirk. It’s almost a relief to Stein. He was obviously back in Death City, back to his normal-by-his-standards life. He was a bit reeled over the dream he had, but for now, he would blame it on Medusa - the woman on his operating table. The more he was exposed to her, the more she affected his sanity. It was troublesome to say the least.
“Quiet.” He says, voice deadpan. “Or I’m taking your tongue first.” Stein holds out the scalpel, not even bothering to use an anesthetic on her. Revenge. That’s what it was.
“You seem tense.” She says quietly to him, almost comfortingly. “Bad dream?”
“I said be quiet.” Stein says again, now hesitating as he held the scalpel to her flesh, hand unmoving.
“You know it wasn’t real.” She says, practically whispering to him now. “It was all in your head. Always coming up with fantasies and fallacies, aren’t you?” Stein doesn’t look at her as she spoke, but she certainly had a sinister look on her face that he could hear just through her tone. “Like the facility, right? It’s all made up, you know this.”
Stein starts to press the scalpel into her flesh now, causing the woman to wince.
“Hmm, do you really think you've finally been able to escape the confines of your sanity by being here?” Medusa then asks. “In this lab, I mean.” No response from Stein again. “Do you think you've managed to escape? Do you find yourself trying convincing yourself that you've now come into your same old life?”
Another press of the scalpel and her flesh began to split, Stein still refusing to look at her.
“Perhaps someone should enlighten you on your predicament. This isn’t reality. This is not your same old life. Although, you are still the same, handsome deranged man you have always been.” She laughs a bit, still tense from the slice on her stomach, ebony blood surfacing instead of the typical red. “This place is not going to change you for the better; it’s going to make it worse. That dream of yours? You know full well it’s not real, as much as you want to deny it.”
Suddenly, she is no longer on the operating table, but instead Stein is. He’s strapped down by what appears to be flat, narrow arrows, keeping the man still. A snake was curling around his neck, hissing and constricting around him. Medusa is now leaning over the top of the table, and the top of Stein’s head seems to be missing, his brain visible, pulsing slightly as the blood drips on to the table.
There are slender hands sliding along the ripples of the brain, and Stein’s eyes roll back a bit, though whether it’s from pain or not isn’t exactly clear.
“And I'll still be here.” She whispers, her lips incredibly close to his brain. “Right up here, laughing.” Medusa lightly taps the man’s brain with a small giggle. “Watching you struggle to come to grips with your own self-doubt. And when you finally break again: You'll be thinking of me. And how right I am."
She stops for a moment. And then, her light hands touch the sides of the bolt that is still protruding from his head. Medusa laughs, gripping the edge of the bolt-and yanks it from his brain, and drowning the scene in blackness.