Nightshift 46: Morgue
Breath came first. It was a sudden gasp, the air raw in his throat, though he was too numb to notice it at first. His body tried to follow the rush of thoughts that came tumbling through his mind and only managed to make a few jerky motions in response, his head falling back to the metal beneath with a dull thud.
He was sure he'd died. This wasn't like Oto, when Seishirou had torn apart some virtual version of him. He'd felt the final strike, felt the blood leave his body and the grit of the sand under his cheek when he fell. Was this some kind of afterlife? Was this where patients went when they were released? He couldn't be sure if he was even dead or alive anymore.
There was nothing but darkness around him, so it did little good for his numb hands and fingers to do anything but feel the area around his neck where that fatal wound had struck. He drew back sharply when his fingers encountered a deep gash near the base. It wasn't bleeding profusely as before, but it was still there. How was that possible?
As he jerked his hand away, it hit a wall to his right, hard and with a sound like metal. His breathing still came raggedly as he ran his numbed hands along the walls, ceiling, and base of the metal box, a sense of panic rising in him as he realized there was no way out. He couldn't feel much, but his heart pounding loudly in his chest was hard to ignore, and seemed to speed up with each moment that passed in the tiny enclosed space. At least in other prisons he could see the sky or move his body freely, but this place felt like it was closing in, slowly suffocating him.
The pain grew with each passing moment from a dull throb to a pulsing ache, but there was nothing he could do. After several moments, he calmed enough to notice that the wall behind his head was smaller and the only one that seemed to give at all. His attention was focused upon it in an instant and he pressed the bulk of his weight on the door, but pushing against it only made the tray he was on move back further until it hit what he assumed was a wall near his feet.
Yuuhi forced his hands into fists, ignoring how they ached as he pounded on the metal panel in an almost frantic call for release. Panic started to bubble up once more when the only door refused to give. He might be able to open it, but not unless he could apply more force. He tried using his feet to push off from the far end, ramming the tray into the only part that seemed likely to give, but it only rattled noisily and made an loud bang when it hit. The door wobbled more when he pressed his hand to it though, so he backed up to try again.
It wasn't until he'd given it several noisy tries that the door finally gave and he fell from the metal tray onto a hard, tiled floor. He sat up, dizzy and shaking, but no longer confined in the box as before. There was time now to think, to try to understand where he was and why without feeling like he was suffocating.
There was a slow trickle of blood running down the wound at his neck now, a result of his panic and increased heart rate. The gash wasn't an immediate threat to his life, but it was enough to make him light-headed and weak. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, staring into the darkness as he tried to piece things back together. What'd happened to Yue and Sakura and the others? Had the fight ended? Or were they still made to suffer? Why was he alive?
His body started to shiver and shake as it remembered how to feel and realized how cold it was. The pain began to return as well, and his breathing, though ragged and quick, still came a breath at a time. There was something about his vision that bothered him too. Even in darkness, there were varying degrees that the human eye could perceive. Tiny blobs of light and color when they closed too. But his left side felt strangely off. Much darker. Unable to percieve even the small variations in darkness that told him a distant shape might be a table or a wall.
The same slippery wetness that had been around his throat was pooled around his left eye as well. Thicker than tears and as he touched fingers to his tongue, he instantly recognized it as blood. Was he part of one of their mad experiments now? A monster? Even the shape of his eye felt wrong. Where there should have been a round protrusion, there was nothing but an indentation. And when he was sure the eye was open, his fingers felt only a hollow emptiness, still slick with blood. As the realization of what had been done to him hit, the shaking returned and he retched on the tile, despite his empty stomach.
He pulled his knees in close to his chest, unable to force himself to keep going. Where would he go? Where was he now? He didn't even know for sure where he'd woken up. If he was still at the institute, it wasn't as if there was anywhere to run to. He'd already died. What more could they do to him?
He was sure he'd died. This wasn't like Oto, when Seishirou had torn apart some virtual version of him. He'd felt the final strike, felt the blood leave his body and the grit of the sand under his cheek when he fell. Was this some kind of afterlife? Was this where patients went when they were released? He couldn't be sure if he was even dead or alive anymore.
There was nothing but darkness around him, so it did little good for his numb hands and fingers to do anything but feel the area around his neck where that fatal wound had struck. He drew back sharply when his fingers encountered a deep gash near the base. It wasn't bleeding profusely as before, but it was still there. How was that possible?
As he jerked his hand away, it hit a wall to his right, hard and with a sound like metal. His breathing still came raggedly as he ran his numbed hands along the walls, ceiling, and base of the metal box, a sense of panic rising in him as he realized there was no way out. He couldn't feel much, but his heart pounding loudly in his chest was hard to ignore, and seemed to speed up with each moment that passed in the tiny enclosed space. At least in other prisons he could see the sky or move his body freely, but this place felt like it was closing in, slowly suffocating him.
The pain grew with each passing moment from a dull throb to a pulsing ache, but there was nothing he could do. After several moments, he calmed enough to notice that the wall behind his head was smaller and the only one that seemed to give at all. His attention was focused upon it in an instant and he pressed the bulk of his weight on the door, but pushing against it only made the tray he was on move back further until it hit what he assumed was a wall near his feet.
Yuuhi forced his hands into fists, ignoring how they ached as he pounded on the metal panel in an almost frantic call for release. Panic started to bubble up once more when the only door refused to give. He might be able to open it, but not unless he could apply more force. He tried using his feet to push off from the far end, ramming the tray into the only part that seemed likely to give, but it only rattled noisily and made an loud bang when it hit. The door wobbled more when he pressed his hand to it though, so he backed up to try again.
It wasn't until he'd given it several noisy tries that the door finally gave and he fell from the metal tray onto a hard, tiled floor. He sat up, dizzy and shaking, but no longer confined in the box as before. There was time now to think, to try to understand where he was and why without feeling like he was suffocating.
There was a slow trickle of blood running down the wound at his neck now, a result of his panic and increased heart rate. The gash wasn't an immediate threat to his life, but it was enough to make him light-headed and weak. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, staring into the darkness as he tried to piece things back together. What'd happened to Yue and Sakura and the others? Had the fight ended? Or were they still made to suffer? Why was he alive?
His body started to shiver and shake as it remembered how to feel and realized how cold it was. The pain began to return as well, and his breathing, though ragged and quick, still came a breath at a time. There was something about his vision that bothered him too. Even in darkness, there were varying degrees that the human eye could perceive. Tiny blobs of light and color when they closed too. But his left side felt strangely off. Much darker. Unable to percieve even the small variations in darkness that told him a distant shape might be a table or a wall.
The same slippery wetness that had been around his throat was pooled around his left eye as well. Thicker than tears and as he touched fingers to his tongue, he instantly recognized it as blood. Was he part of one of their mad experiments now? A monster? Even the shape of his eye felt wrong. Where there should have been a round protrusion, there was nothing but an indentation. And when he was sure the eye was open, his fingers felt only a hollow emptiness, still slick with blood. As the realization of what had been done to him hit, the shaking returned and he retched on the tile, despite his empty stomach.
He pulled his knees in close to his chest, unable to force himself to keep going. Where would he go? Where was he now? He didn't even know for sure where he'd woken up. If he was still at the institute, it wasn't as if there was anywhere to run to. He'd already died. What more could they do to him?