When consciousness finally returned to him, Scar could recall little of why he had been asleep. He remembered dinner, but beyond that everything was a blur. Had he fallen asleep again? A small groan escaped his throat before he opened his eyes, something he instantly regretted with the light shining down upon him. He winced slightly before he closed his eyes and turned his head. Perhaps the former lion had wanted to move his arm subconsciously - perhaps in an attempt to shield his vision from the light, who knew? - but, for some reason, his arm was stuck. And, as he soon discovered, his remaining limbs were sharing the same fate.
It was then when his brain caught up with the situation, and his eyes widened at the realization; something wasn't quite right. The grogginess disappeared, making place for alarm and, perhaps, the slightest beginnings of fear. He was already beginning to have an idea of what was going on. The King had been trapped in this place long enough, he had heard the stories. Even for someone with the brain capacity of a warthog's backside, it wouldn't be a difficult connection to make. They must have brought him here for--
N-No...this couldn't be happening. Not to him!
Scar pulled at the restraints, a gesture that was almost both violent and desperate in nature, but they wouldn't release him no matter how hard he pulled. He swallowed, trying to remain calm as he turned his head in every direction, but he couldn't see anything beyond the lighting.
"Who is there?" he called out to the darkness, putting up the sort of front as if he was demanding an answer from a certain trio of mindless pooches. "Release me this instant!!"
It was always entertaining to watch a patient wake up. First, that disorientation that came with awakening from sedation in an unknown area. Second, the fear and panic that came with that realization that they had finally been chosen for this special treatment. Last, the anger that came with the attempt to regain their dignity after the fact.
As if they could really hide their true feelings from him. It was obvious as the stark lighting that was showing every feature on Scar's face, from his dark skin to the namesake over his eye.
Once the patient spoke, the doctor drew a little closer, enough to make it certain that someone was there; to show Scar that yes, he was in fact at someone's mercy. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at the specimen, but he was just as masked from the dark as always.
"Do you really think that's going to do any good? You don't have even a shred of authority in this place, Scar." Nor was he going to use the title the lion had once tried to give himself. One of the things he was going to do here was show him how unfit he'd been to rule.
Deep down, Scar had probably already realized his lack of authority before the words in question had been spoken. He was the rightful heir to the Pride Lands, but such a title held little meaning here, in this world of those humans. But he was stubborn, and it hardly meant he would actually admit it.
However, he did realize that a similar tactic wasn't going to work. Still, he couldn't let this happen. Once again his green eyes searched the darkness, but even though the voice had obviously indicated the presence of someone, he couldn't quite see whoever he was currently in this room with. He didn't quite like that. It unnerved him, it unnerved him greatly, but he still stubbornly continued to cling to his composure.
He swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm as his mind raced for a way to escape all this. There had to be a way, right? He couldn't allow this to happen! So, he tried a different tactic. Perhaps he could talk his way out of this.
"But I'm certain there are far more...suitable patients around here! Surely, you don't necessarily need me?"
So now the patient was trying to talk his way out of this through tactics and manipulation. It was all in the file, of course, but the doctor enjoyed seeing it in action, especially in such a controlled setting. Part of him was tempted to grab a clipboard and start scribbling, but he was certain that he'd remember this entire event with utmost clarity even without the help of paper and pencil.
"We need everyone," he said, his voice silky in that uncomfortable way that could make a person's skin crawl. "It's just difficult to run too many of these experiments at once, so sometimes it takes a while for us to get to someone. I apologize for the delay." It was always fun to get a bit ironic with someone, especially a panicked someone.
"Besides, I thought you realized how important you are, Scar. King of the Pride Lands, wasn't it?" It looked like he'd brought out the title after all, but only in a mocking context. The doctor started to circle slowly around the exam table, his shoes clopping against the ground methodically. "Of course you're worth picking apart."
Of course he was important. He was the King, the rightful King. But that hardly meant he deserved any of this! How dared they? How dared they think of doing something to him! And how dared they mock him? Why had they picked him of all beings?
The man had began to circle him, slowly. Not that Scar was able to see him, but he could hear the footsteps. As if a predator was circling it's prey, a comparison that was anything but reassuring. Neither where the words the man was using. Worth picking apart? What did--
"Now, I would hardly be of any use when picked apart..." Perhaps he'd rather not know what the man had meant by that, anyway.
"Well, that's for us to find out," the doctor said, placing his hand on the patient's shoulder for a moment before sliding it away. He'd do anything that might add to the tension. While he wasn't exactly going to pick the man apart, there was definitely going to be some invasive procedures performed. Messing around in someone's brain counted as that, right? Maybe he was underselling himself.
Not that he wanted to ruin the surprise. Besides, he had something else that needed to be taken care of first. The hallucinogen always had to come before the surgery.
"It's always a treat to play around with people who aren't actually people," he continued as he moved over to the cart and grabbed the needle with the drug in it. "Sometimes it's fun to just pull away at those things that can still remind you of what you once were." How long did someone have to stay in a human body before they became more human and less animal? It was a complex question...
The doctor moved head toward the examination table. "On the other hand, you seem to have certain traits that don't fit a lion at all." The man paused right in front of Scar and stared down at him questioningly. "How smart can they be, really?"
Scar visibly tensed when the man placed a hand on his shoulder, betraying his fear despite it only being a brief gesture. As predicted, it did little to assure the former lion, only adding to his already rising tension, his fear. He had never been a brave one, with good reason as he lacked any sort of strength to back up any foolish decisions.
And though part of him realized that his reaction to the gesture was exactly what the doctor had wanted, it didn't quite help with maintaining his composure. A composure that had already began to show the first cracks. So he continued to cling to the small hope of finding a way out of this. Perhaps...he could stall the ordeal long enough for the night to end. Though everything indicated that his luck had run out, he outright refused to acknowledge it.
Green eyes watched as the man moved, his words only serving to further unnerve Scar. This was all for fun? It didn't quite help that the former lion was unable to see where the man was headed before he returned and paused right in front of him. And though the King peered into the darkness, he couldn't see the man's face.
A moment passed before Scar managed to answer, though perhaps it helped that the comment didn't quite please him. Yes, he was more intelligent than the average lion, but what was the man implying? That he should have the brain capacity of a rock?
And perhaps, whatever that would await him could be stalled if he kept talking. Or so he hoped...
"Befitting or not, it hardly changes the fact that I still possess these 'certain traits'."
As someone who thrived on studying people's emotions, it was easy for the doctor to tell that Scar was scared. It wasn't the sort of small fear that came from thinking you saw something in the shadows, either. This was the definitive fright that came with knowing that you were in trouble, that you were beyond the point of no return. There was no escaping this.
Chances were no one would even realize Scar was gone. Or, if they did? They wouldn't care. The former lion hadn't exactly done a bang-up job of making sure that people cared about him. That wouldn't have been a problem if he was strong enough on his own, but in cases like this, it was clear that he wasn't.
The doctor twirled the syringe in his hand a few times and then smiled when the patient spoke. What a perfect opening. "For now, that is," he said as leaned forward with the needle.
Grabbing for Scar's arm with his free hand, he held the limb in place while he moved to prick the skin. "Don't tense up," he ordered. "You'll just make the needle break off into your arm." He doubted that the patient would be willing to endure that amount of pain just to avoid the shot.
Scar didn't like the answer he received, not at all. What was that supposed to mean? What did he intend to--
His eyes widened when the man leaned forward, finally noticing what the doctor had been holding. A needle. He had seen the object before, considering the nurses made use of those things. But even though he couldn't even begin to guess that it's contents were different from the sedatives, in this situation it's sight was more than alarming. It embodied the torture that was only mere moments away, which was enough to make the former lion panic. Hope for escape began fading, and he grew desperate.
"N-no! Please wait!" Scar half-protested, half-begged as the man grabbed his arm, his fear and desperation beginning to seep through his voice as if the doctor had planned to butcher him with it rather than just giving him a shot. He attempted to pull his arm away from the needle, completely ignoring the man's order in favor of trying to avoid it, not realizing that the possibility of the needle breaking would only cause him more pain. But the man's grip along with the restraints kept his arm firmly in place, and despite his protests, he felt a stinging sensation in his arm.
This patient was even more difficult than the others, and the doctor held back a glare when Scar's tone reached an annoying octave. Did he really think that begging and pleading was going to do a thing? Maybe it was some animal instinct kicking in, even in this human body. If anything, it made the doctor that much more interested in seeing how Scar would manage under the knife, so to speak. First, though, was the hallucinations.
Despite Scar's best efforts, the needle made its way into his skin; the doctor pushed down on the tab, watching as the syringe emptied until all of the drug was in the patient's system. Sighing, he pulled it out and then drew away from the exam table. "Was that so bad? Just a prick, and you decided to make a scene," he muttered with a shake of his head, even though Scar wouldn't be able to see it. Despite his words, however, the patient had good reason to be freaking out. There was still so much to come.
Moving back to the cart so that he could set down the needle, the doctor waited for the signs that the drug was kicking in. It was fast-acting (it wasn't like they had all the time in the world to do these tests, after all), so he didn't expect it would be too long...
The man obviously mocked him, but Scar wasn't naive enough to think that this session would end after 'just a prick'. If he had, he wouldn't have panicked and created a scene to begin with. He didn't need his instincts to figure that the needle wouldn't improve his situation in the slightest. And as he was still strapped down, it seemed that this was only the beginning.
Why had he been thrown into this dreadful situation to begin with?!
In the mean time, the doctor had moved back into the shadows where the King wouldn't be able to see him. A few moments passed, a knot forming in his stomach, his tension growing as he couldn't do much else but wait. But not knowing what the needle had been for, not knowing what was going to happen next...even waiting grew unbearable.
[He's no King.]
A voice broke the silence, one that rang in his ears loud and clear and made his blood run cold. Widened eyes searched the room rapidly, but the voice seemed to come from every direction and none at all and he couldn't see a thing. He hadn't heard anyone else before! Had they been watching? Just watching when he was enduring all of this?!
[He's a liar. No better than those filthy hyenas!] Another joined in. A chorus, or was it a conversation? The voices sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them. It took Scar a moment to realize...were they referring to him? Why?! He was worthy! He was the rightful heir! They were the ones lying! He was better than those filthy hyenas! Better than Mufasa! Better than--
[He's no King. He's only a murderer.]
And then he saw a figure standing a small distance away. And though it was in human form, Scar had no trouble recognizing it. Green eyes so widened it was a miracle they didn't roll from their sockets watched the blood flowing from open wounds, matting skin and hair alike. Bones had snapped, shattered, crushed and splintered, tearing bloodied and dirtied flesh and showing the crushed organs beneath. The figure looked as if he had been trampled upon by countless hooves, pounding it into the ground over and over and over. He did not speak; the voices belonged to others. But the eyes watched him in silence.
W-What was this?! No! He was dead. Dead! Scar's mouth opened, but all that escaped his throat was an alarmed gasp. He shook his head, tried to move away, but the restraints did not allow the illusion of escape.
By the time that the doctor was turning himself around to face his subject for the night, the signs of the former lion's hallucinations were already kicking in. Beyond a tension that seemed to fill the air -- even tauter than what had been there before -- there was also the way Scar was shifting around, staring out, staring at nothing.
The doctor was tempted to walk right into the patient's line of vision, but that would only ruin the illusion, and he wanted Scar's experience to be as undisturbed as possible.
For a time, anyway. As the patient's panic mounted, as his face become contorted with pure fear, the doctor found it harder and harder to hold back his curiosity. Slowly, quietly, he moved so that he was crouched next to the exam table, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so that the trance the man was in wasn't broken.
In that moment when Scar looked almost as if he wanted to say something, to speak to the nothingness in front of him -- that was when the doctor finally decided to speak up. He leaned in close, so that he could whisper into the patient's ear. "What do you see?"
[You can hear us, can't you? You killed the real King. You did this to him.]
While the voices continued to speak, te figure didn't move closer to the table, but also didn't move away. He just remained standing there, watching in silence. But the figure hadn't needed to speak, because the look in the eyes that kept gazing upon the frightened former lion was unmistakable. A look of disappointment, anger...but all the more a gaze that Scar was unable to bear. Because he was afraid, afraid of vengeance. Had the restraints allowed him, he would've shrunk back and crawled into a corner.
He had even forgotten about the doctor still in the room, and with all that he was hearing the whisper in his ear barely even registered. Instead he continued to shake his head at the figure, denying it.
"N-no...you're dead," Scar said, his voice barely a whisper. Why was he here?! But the voices continued to speak, to taunt, to judge.
[You're not even half the King he was. You lead the Pride Lands to ruin. You're unworthy! You don't deserve the throne!!]
"No! You're wrong!" Scar yelled to the voices, wanting them to stop. It was ridiculous! He deserved the throne! They were wrong! He was ten times the King Mufasa was! "I am worthy!"
Even though the drug had only just kicked in, the patient had already succumbed to it. It had been a bit unfair of him, the doctor realized as he straightened and moved a few steps away from the exam table. A normal patient might have known what to expect in a situation like this, might have been able to realize that they had been given something that was making them see things and that none of it was real. Some people couldn't fight back even with that knowledge, but Scar was completely ignorant. He'd been an animal with fairly simple needs once, and he'd now been thrust into an environment that was entirely different. It made the doctor feel like he was cheating, but that wasn't enough to stop him.
It was still fascinating to watch as Scar was completely consumed by whatever he was seeing. He'd given in to the point that he believed all of it. He was somewhere else now, and the doctor didn't seem to even register in his mind at the moment.
Entertaining as it was to observe it all, the doctor knew that he had to get to work soon. Just making someone see things for a bit didn't count as results, and he was here to obtain real information. All in due time, though...
[Why else do you think your father picked him over you, Scar? You're unfit to rule!]
That was because his father had been a fool. He wouldn't see his potential, the wonder he was. No one would. It had always been Mufasa this and Mufasa that! But they were wrong, weren't they? They were all wrong.
[You allow yourself to be ruled by your anger. And you know what happened last time, don't you? But you never learn, you don't change. Don't you realize that you're the incompetent one?]
"Silence! You know nothing!" he yelled, his voice a mixture between panic and the slightest traces of frustration at the mention of the incident that led to his namesake.
But the voices continued to speak, to taunt how he was unworthy to rule, how he wasn't the real King, how Mufasa was better. They kept repeating it, over and over and over. All the while the figure kept watching, and Scar could do little to cower beneath the gaze and wonder what was going to happen. Was this torture part of revenge? Wasn't he going to harm him?! Going to kill him?! He wanted to close his eyes and pretend it wasn't there, to try and shut out the voices, but he couldn't tear away his eyes from the figure, and he couldn't pretend the voices didn't exist. All he could do was to deny them. Because they were wrong. They were wrong!
"Shut up, go away!" he yelled, feeling as if he was driven into a corner without a way of escape. Desperately, he struggled against the restraints. Sweat began running down his skin, but he hardly noticed. He didn't even notice his own rapid breathing, his trembling. He could little but try to order the voices to shut up, the figure to go away. But he wanted this to stop! "Please!"
But no one was listening, and he hardly looked the King he so proudly claimed to be.
It just went on. More of Scar screaming himself hoarse, of being absolutely terrified or whatever it was that he was seeing. Or hearing, as the case might be. It would only continue in this fashion no matter how long the doctor waited, though, and he couldn't waste their time any longer. He'd taunted a bit -- he'd indulged for a few moments in simply watching the process, but now it was time to get to work.
Returning to the cart with all of the necessary instruments, the doctor wheeled it over to the side of the exam table. Once it was neatly arranged next to the hallucinating patient (the doctor had already managed to block out Scar's babbling), the man pulled a pair of gloves, smoothed his lab coat down, and then got ready to work.
Giving a local anesthetic was out of the question. Even if the screams that were to come would be murder on his ears, the whole point of this procedure (or one of the main points, anyway) was to enact trauma. Physical, mental, whatever it might be -- he wanted to cover all his bases.
With surprising gentleness, the doctor reached out to pull the patient's head back and position it into the vice that was part of the table. His head had to be completely immobile for this to work. "Now," he murmured, wondering if his words would get through this time, "here comes the interesting part."
It was then when his brain caught up with the situation, and his eyes widened at the realization; something wasn't quite right. The grogginess disappeared, making place for alarm and, perhaps, the slightest beginnings of fear. He was already beginning to have an idea of what was going on. The King had been trapped in this place long enough, he had heard the stories. Even for someone with the brain capacity of a warthog's backside, it wouldn't be a difficult connection to make. They must have brought him here for--
N-No...this couldn't be happening. Not to him!
Scar pulled at the restraints, a gesture that was almost both violent and desperate in nature, but they wouldn't release him no matter how hard he pulled. He swallowed, trying to remain calm as he turned his head in every direction, but he couldn't see anything beyond the lighting.
"Who is there?" he called out to the darkness, putting up the sort of front as if he was demanding an answer from a certain trio of mindless pooches. "Release me this instant!!"
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As if they could really hide their true feelings from him. It was obvious as the stark lighting that was showing every feature on Scar's face, from his dark skin to the namesake over his eye.
Once the patient spoke, the doctor drew a little closer, enough to make it certain that someone was there; to show Scar that yes, he was in fact at someone's mercy. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at the specimen, but he was just as masked from the dark as always.
"Do you really think that's going to do any good? You don't have even a shred of authority in this place, Scar." Nor was he going to use the title the lion had once tried to give himself. One of the things he was going to do here was show him how unfit he'd been to rule.
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However, he did realize that a similar tactic wasn't going to work. Still, he couldn't let this happen. Once again his green eyes searched the darkness, but even though the voice had obviously indicated the presence of someone, he couldn't quite see whoever he was currently in this room with. He didn't quite like that. It unnerved him, it unnerved him greatly, but he still stubbornly continued to cling to his composure.
He swallowed, forcing himself to remain calm as his mind raced for a way to escape all this. There had to be a way, right? He couldn't allow this to happen! So, he tried a different tactic. Perhaps he could talk his way out of this.
"But I'm certain there are far more...suitable patients around here! Surely, you don't necessarily need me?"
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"We need everyone," he said, his voice silky in that uncomfortable way that could make a person's skin crawl. "It's just difficult to run too many of these experiments at once, so sometimes it takes a while for us to get to someone. I apologize for the delay." It was always fun to get a bit ironic with someone, especially a panicked someone.
"Besides, I thought you realized how important you are, Scar. King of the Pride Lands, wasn't it?" It looked like he'd brought out the title after all, but only in a mocking context. The doctor started to circle slowly around the exam table, his shoes clopping against the ground methodically. "Of course you're worth picking apart."
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The man had began to circle him, slowly. Not that Scar was able to see him, but he could hear the footsteps. As if a predator was circling it's prey, a comparison that was anything but reassuring. Neither where the words the man was using. Worth picking apart? What did--
"Now, I would hardly be of any use when picked apart..." Perhaps he'd rather not know what the man had meant by that, anyway.
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Not that he wanted to ruin the surprise. Besides, he had something else that needed to be taken care of first. The hallucinogen always had to come before the surgery.
"It's always a treat to play around with people who aren't actually people," he continued as he moved over to the cart and grabbed the needle with the drug in it. "Sometimes it's fun to just pull away at those things that can still remind you of what you once were." How long did someone have to stay in a human body before they became more human and less animal? It was a complex question...
The doctor moved head toward the examination table. "On the other hand, you seem to have certain traits that don't fit a lion at all." The man paused right in front of Scar and stared down at him questioningly. "How smart can they be, really?"
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And though part of him realized that his reaction to the gesture was exactly what the doctor had wanted, it didn't quite help with maintaining his composure. A composure that had already began to show the first cracks. So he continued to cling to the small hope of finding a way out of this. Perhaps...he could stall the ordeal long enough for the night to end. Though everything indicated that his luck had run out, he outright refused to acknowledge it.
Green eyes watched as the man moved, his words only serving to further unnerve Scar. This was all for fun? It didn't quite help that the former lion was unable to see where the man was headed before he returned and paused right in front of him. And though the King peered into the darkness, he couldn't see the man's face.
A moment passed before Scar managed to answer, though perhaps it helped that the comment didn't quite please him. Yes, he was more intelligent than the average lion, but what was the man implying? That he should have the brain capacity of a rock?
And perhaps, whatever that would await him could be stalled if he kept talking. Or so he hoped...
"Befitting or not, it hardly changes the fact that I still possess these 'certain traits'."
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Chances were no one would even realize Scar was gone. Or, if they did? They wouldn't care. The former lion hadn't exactly done a bang-up job of making sure that people cared about him. That wouldn't have been a problem if he was strong enough on his own, but in cases like this, it was clear that he wasn't.
The doctor twirled the syringe in his hand a few times and then smiled when the patient spoke. What a perfect opening. "For now, that is," he said as leaned forward with the needle.
Grabbing for Scar's arm with his free hand, he held the limb in place while he moved to prick the skin. "Don't tense up," he ordered. "You'll just make the needle break off into your arm." He doubted that the patient would be willing to endure that amount of pain just to avoid the shot.
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His eyes widened when the man leaned forward, finally noticing what the doctor had been holding. A needle. He had seen the object before, considering the nurses made use of those things. But even though he couldn't even begin to guess that it's contents were different from the sedatives, in this situation it's sight was more than alarming. It embodied the torture that was only mere moments away, which was enough to make the former lion panic. Hope for escape began fading, and he grew desperate.
"N-no! Please wait!" Scar half-protested, half-begged as the man grabbed his arm, his fear and desperation beginning to seep through his voice as if the doctor had planned to butcher him with it rather than just giving him a shot. He attempted to pull his arm away from the needle, completely ignoring the man's order in favor of trying to avoid it, not realizing that the possibility of the needle breaking would only cause him more pain. But the man's grip along with the restraints kept his arm firmly in place, and despite his protests, he felt a stinging sensation in his arm.
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Despite Scar's best efforts, the needle made its way into his skin; the doctor pushed down on the tab, watching as the syringe emptied until all of the drug was in the patient's system. Sighing, he pulled it out and then drew away from the exam table. "Was that so bad? Just a prick, and you decided to make a scene," he muttered with a shake of his head, even though Scar wouldn't be able to see it. Despite his words, however, the patient had good reason to be freaking out. There was still so much to come.
Moving back to the cart so that he could set down the needle, the doctor waited for the signs that the drug was kicking in. It was fast-acting (it wasn't like they had all the time in the world to do these tests, after all), so he didn't expect it would be too long...
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Why had he been thrown into this dreadful situation to begin with?!
In the mean time, the doctor had moved back into the shadows where the King wouldn't be able to see him. A few moments passed, a knot forming in his stomach, his tension growing as he couldn't do much else but wait. But not knowing what the needle had been for, not knowing what was going to happen next...even waiting grew unbearable.
[He's no King.]
A voice broke the silence, one that rang in his ears loud and clear and made his blood run cold. Widened eyes searched the room rapidly, but the voice seemed to come from every direction and none at all and he couldn't see a thing. He hadn't heard anyone else before! Had they been watching? Just watching when he was enduring all of this?!
[He's a liar. No better than those filthy hyenas!] Another joined in. A chorus, or was it a conversation? The voices sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them. It took Scar a moment to realize...were they referring to him? Why?! He was worthy! He was the rightful heir! They were the ones lying! He was better than those filthy hyenas! Better than Mufasa! Better than--
[He's no King. He's only a murderer.]
And then he saw a figure standing a small distance away. And though it was in human form, Scar had no trouble recognizing it. Green eyes so widened it was a miracle they didn't roll from their sockets watched the blood flowing from open wounds, matting skin and hair alike. Bones had snapped, shattered, crushed and splintered, tearing bloodied and dirtied flesh and showing the crushed organs beneath. The figure looked as if he had been trampled upon by countless hooves, pounding it into the ground over and over and over. He did not speak; the voices belonged to others. But the eyes watched him in silence.
W-What was this?! No! He was dead. Dead! Scar's mouth opened, but all that escaped his throat was an alarmed gasp. He shook his head, tried to move away, but the restraints did not allow the illusion of escape.
And that was only the start of it.
[Sorry for possible inbox explosions. Html fail.]
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The doctor was tempted to walk right into the patient's line of vision, but that would only ruin the illusion, and he wanted Scar's experience to be as undisturbed as possible.
For a time, anyway. As the patient's panic mounted, as his face become contorted with pure fear, the doctor found it harder and harder to hold back his curiosity. Slowly, quietly, he moved so that he was crouched next to the exam table, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so that the trance the man was in wasn't broken.
In that moment when Scar looked almost as if he wanted to say something, to speak to the nothingness in front of him -- that was when the doctor finally decided to speak up. He leaned in close, so that he could whisper into the patient's ear. "What do you see?"
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While the voices continued to speak, te figure didn't move closer to the table, but also didn't move away. He just remained standing there, watching in silence. But the figure hadn't needed to speak, because the look in the eyes that kept gazing upon the frightened former lion was unmistakable. A look of disappointment, anger...but all the more a gaze that Scar was unable to bear. Because he was afraid, afraid of vengeance. Had the restraints allowed him, he would've shrunk back and crawled into a corner.
He had even forgotten about the doctor still in the room, and with all that he was hearing the whisper in his ear barely even registered. Instead he continued to shake his head at the figure, denying it.
"N-no...you're dead," Scar said, his voice barely a whisper. Why was he here?! But the voices continued to speak, to taunt, to judge.
[You're not even half the King he was. You lead the Pride Lands to ruin. You're unworthy! You don't deserve the throne!!]
"No! You're wrong!" Scar yelled to the voices, wanting them to stop. It was ridiculous! He deserved the throne! They were wrong! He was ten times the King Mufasa was! "I am worthy!"
But who was Scar trying to convince?
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It was still fascinating to watch as Scar was completely consumed by whatever he was seeing. He'd given in to the point that he believed all of it. He was somewhere else now, and the doctor didn't seem to even register in his mind at the moment.
Entertaining as it was to observe it all, the doctor knew that he had to get to work soon. Just making someone see things for a bit didn't count as results, and he was here to obtain real information. All in due time, though...
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That was because his father had been a fool. He wouldn't see his potential, the wonder he was. No one would. It had always been Mufasa this and Mufasa that! But they were wrong, weren't they? They were all wrong.
[You allow yourself to be ruled by your anger. And you know what happened last time, don't you? But you never learn, you don't change. Don't you realize that you're the incompetent one?]
"Silence! You know nothing!" he yelled, his voice a mixture between panic and the slightest traces of frustration at the mention of the incident that led to his namesake.
But the voices continued to speak, to taunt how he was unworthy to rule, how he wasn't the real King, how Mufasa was better. They kept repeating it, over and over and over. All the while the figure kept watching, and Scar could do little to cower beneath the gaze and wonder what was going to happen. Was this torture part of revenge? Wasn't he going to harm him?! Going to kill him?! He wanted to close his eyes and pretend it wasn't there, to try and shut out the voices, but he couldn't tear away his eyes from the figure, and he couldn't pretend the voices didn't exist. All he could do was to deny them. Because they were wrong. They were wrong!
"Shut up, go away!" he yelled, feeling as if he was driven into a corner without a way of escape. Desperately, he struggled against the restraints. Sweat began running down his skin, but he hardly noticed. He didn't even notice his own rapid breathing, his trembling. He could little but try to order the voices to shut up, the figure to go away. But he wanted this to stop! "Please!"
But no one was listening, and he hardly looked the King he so proudly claimed to be.
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Returning to the cart with all of the necessary instruments, the doctor wheeled it over to the side of the exam table. Once it was neatly arranged next to the hallucinating patient (the doctor had already managed to block out Scar's babbling), the man pulled a pair of gloves, smoothed his lab coat down, and then got ready to work.
Giving a local anesthetic was out of the question. Even if the screams that were to come would be murder on his ears, the whole point of this procedure (or one of the main points, anyway) was to enact trauma. Physical, mental, whatever it might be -- he wanted to cover all his bases.
With surprising gentleness, the doctor reached out to pull the patient's head back and position it into the vice that was part of the table. His head had to be completely immobile for this to work. "Now," he murmured, wondering if his words would get through this time, "here comes the interesting part."
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