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."
[How long do you intend to deny the truth, Scar? Why else do you think the herds moved on? Why else do you think there is no food or water? Why else do you think your subjects are becoming restless? Your control is already slipping, Scar. It won't be long before they'll reject you. After all, things were better when he still ruled. How does it feel, Scar? To be so incompetent? To be overshadowed by your brother in every single thing?]
Scar had wanted to yell at these voices in response, demanding them to shut up, but words died in his throat as he felt hands pulling at his head and positioning it in some sort of contraption he wasn't familiar with. He realized with a sinking feeling that... there was still one more person in this room. A faceless man he had forgotten about.
And this time, the words did get through.
A new wave of fear took hold of the former lion, and he struggled wildly, desperately against the restraints holding him down. By now, his composure had already been shredded to pieces. "No, stop all this! Please! I-I'll do anything!" he pleaded pathetically. "Don't hurt me! I don't deserve all this!"
Pleading wasn't going to do a thing. Even if Scar was clearly talking to him now, the doctor had already done a decent job of blocking out the man's hoarse voice. He started to hum softly to himself as he grabbed for the first item -- a razor.
"I'm going to have to remove some of your hair," he said calmly. "Seeing how you lost most of it when you came here, I doubt it matters all that much." Smiling at the joke, the man went on one knee so that he had the stability needed for the precision of the job.
Not bothering to listen to any protests, he turned on the electric shaver and then ran it over the left side of Scar's head, clearing away a spot so that he would later be able to cut through toward the skull. Chances were that the former lion had no idea of what was this was a precursor to, but it was more fun that way, wasn't it?
The pleas fell upon deaf ears, simply ignored as if he hadn't spoken them at all. No one listened. The mutilated form of his brother still stood in the darkness, eyes filled with unforgiving anger. Was it satisfying to see him so humiliated like this? Was this his idea of revenge? But why did he simply stand there? Was he waiting? It was still freaking the former lion out.
And all the while the voices continued speaking and he could no longer tell which was which, instead blurring into a chorus that continued to mock him, to disgrace him, to humiliate him. They wouldn't shut up no matter how much he yelled and screamed, they wouldn't go way and all the former lion could do was try to block them out, to convince himself that they were lying. They were wrong.
And, perhaps, the most frightening thing of it all was that this torture was anything but finished. Questions rose into Scar's head as the doctor announced he was going to remove some of his hair, questions he didn't really want an answer for. He had no idea what anyone could have to gain by removing his hair, much less that this was only a prelude to what awaited him.
"What do you--" Scar had began to protest, before a chilling sound of an unfamiliar device came to his ears. He tried to move away his head, but it was stuck, the strange contraption keeping it firmly in place. He couldn't see what was happening, but there was no pain, only the strange noise as the device ran over the left side of his head.
Once enough of the hair was removed (and it was hardly like the patient could complain, since he could likely covered the bald areas by pulling other strands over it -- his hair was long enough), the doctor turned off the razor and then got to his feet. Someone else could deal with cleaning up the bits of shaved hair that had fallen to the floor; he wasn't a barber.
Here was where it got painful. The doctor didn't bother announcing it, though, as he thought that would be made clear by the next tool he picked up off the cart: a small, surgical saw. It was nothing barbaric, of course, and was made for this sort of procedure, but that wasn't something that most people would understand at first glance -- let alone a lion.
"The blood loss might make you dizzy," the man warned as he moved back over and then turned the saw on. "Try to hang in there." It was his small attempt at humor. He had to wonder what hallucinating while having surgery performed on you was like, but he was content to watch the effect in someone else, rather than try it out himself.
Placing one hand on the patient's shoulder to make doubly certain that he didn't move around (his head wasn't moving, but the rest of his body did have a small amount of slack), the other hand directed the saw to the side of Scar's head and started to cut open a patch of the skin.
Scar gave the device a wide-eyed stare with the understanding that it, indeed, meant pain. His expression betrayed fear and panic and helplessness, and he couldn't suppress the shudder running through his body as the doctor turned on the device and placed a hand on his shoulder. What was that doctor going to do to him?! Was he going to cut into his head?!
"N-no! Help me! S-someone help me!" Begging for help to whoever could hear him, including the owners of those voices, including his brother...perhaps he had sank to a whole new level, but right now the former lion didn't care. All he wanted was to be out of this room, for this terrible night to be over and he'd do anything to make this nightmare stop.
[But where were you when he called for help, Scar?]
The device drew closer. He tried to brace himself, but a gasp escaped his throat when metal cut through skin. He instinctively attempted to pull his head away from the pain, but the restraints didn't allow him the barest illusion of escape.
The fact that Scar was holding in his screams thus far was pretty astonishing, but the doctor didn't let that stop him. Besides, he had more to focus on right now than the patient's response, as this procedure did take a good amount of concentration. As he directed the tool in an arc around the side of Scar's head, he used his other hand to soak up the blood with gauze. Eventually, he'd cut far enough that he was able to peel the skin back and expose the skull.
There was blood all over his gloves now, but that was to be expected. Letting out a sigh, the doctor turned off the saw and then grabbed for the next tool for the process: a drill.
On top of the excruciating pain, the sheer sound of the drill was probably going to be enough to unsettle the patient on its own. Turning the drill on caused a grating noise to fill the small room, and the doctor imagined that would be particularly hard for someone with enhanced hearing to bear. (Though that was going to change, wasn't it?)
"No one can hear you here," he pointed out as he started to drill a series of holes into the patient's skull.
Scar could smell the scent of blood in the air now, his own blood, as the pain on the left side of his head persisted. What was that man doing to him?! Why would he want to cut his head open?!
Eventually, the doctor had reached for a different device that, once turned on, produced a grating noise that was both unsettling and murder to his enhanced hearing, instantly shattering any hopes of the man being finished with whatever he was doing. The noise...it sounded painful, horrifying...making the previous device seem nearly harmless in comparison.
But Scar wasn't allowed the opportunity to respond, to even think, since at that very moment the device made contact with his skull. The sound was deafening, rattling through his skull and vibrating through every inch of his body. Forgetting everything else, his head seemed to erupt in indescribable pain that he possible couldn't have imagined. Eyes squeezed shut as he fruitlessly fought against the restraints even more wildly than he had before.
There it was. Whether it was cutting through skin or drilling through bone, people (or lions, in this case) always cracked. Unless they'd been put under extreme training against torture (and this wasn't even for the purpose of extracting information; no, their goal was much broader than that), people couldn't bite their tongue for too long. If anything, they bit it off. The doctor was honestly surprised he hadn't seen more of that during his work here.
Ignoring the screams, the man kept up with his work, drilling about five holes before he finally turned off the tool. The silence afterward was deafening -- or it would have been, if the patient wasn't still being so loud.
Thinking nothing further of it, the doctor set the drill aside. With the holes bored out, now he just needed to cut between them to weaken that part of the skull enough that he could pull it away. For this, a saw was once again needed, even if it was a different sort. Turning it on without further ado, the doctor used it to cut lines connecting the holes. Seeing how not much could be heard over the buzz of the various instruments, he didn't bother to speak. It wasn't likely he'd be heard either way.
To Scar, the experience had seemed to last an eternity. And it hurt, it hurt so much. He felt a pain that wasn't like anything he had ever felt before, and he couldn't think of anything but that very pain. The noise that kept rattling through his skull and hurting his sensitive ears...it was unbearable. Despite his attempts to shut it out, to escape it, he couldn't turn deaf to something that seemed to vibrate through every inch of his body, from the top of his head to his feet.
And after the device had finally gone silent, the noise still kept ringing through his head.
However, he had barely been given the opportunity to recover from all this horror as the doctor grabbed for another device. It wasn't over, not just yet. And when the device began cutting through bone, more screams escaped from his throat.
It was not a simple job, but it was clear that the doctor had practice with this sort of thing, as he pulled it off both quickly and cleanly. That was lucky for the patient, too, though the pain obviously wasn't going to go away that easily. Pulling away, the doctor turned off the saw and then carefully pried the piece of bone he'd cut out away to finally reveal the brain matter underneath.
Most patients would have passed out at this point, but there was something about this place that made certain they stayed awake through it all. Neither blood loss nor the sheer pain was going to let them fall into unconsciousness, because it would be downright boring that way.
"Now," he spoke up in the silence of the room, "I just need to tinker around in there for a bit, and then I can patch you up." He thought it was obvious that death was not on the menu tonight, but sometimes there were things worse than that. It remained to be see if this was one of those things.
Grabbing a small metal instrument, the doctor bent down and inserted it straight into the brain matter, poking around without actually damaging anything... for the moment.
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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Scar had wanted to yell at these voices in response, demanding them to shut up, but words died in his throat as he felt hands pulling at his head and positioning it in some sort of contraption he wasn't familiar with. He realized with a sinking feeling that... there was still one more person in this room. A faceless man he had forgotten about.
And this time, the words did get through.
A new wave of fear took hold of the former lion, and he struggled wildly, desperately against the restraints holding him down. By now, his composure had already been shredded to pieces. "No, stop all this! Please! I-I'll do anything!" he pleaded pathetically. "Don't hurt me! I don't deserve all this!"
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"I'm going to have to remove some of your hair," he said calmly. "Seeing how you lost most of it when you came here, I doubt it matters all that much." Smiling at the joke, the man went on one knee so that he had the stability needed for the precision of the job.
Not bothering to listen to any protests, he turned on the electric shaver and then ran it over the left side of Scar's head, clearing away a spot so that he would later be able to cut through toward the skull. Chances were that the former lion had no idea of what was this was a precursor to, but it was more fun that way, wasn't it?
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And all the while the voices continued speaking and he could no longer tell which was which, instead blurring into a chorus that continued to mock him, to disgrace him, to humiliate him. They wouldn't shut up no matter how much he yelled and screamed, they wouldn't go way and all the former lion could do was try to block them out, to convince himself that they were lying. They were wrong.
And, perhaps, the most frightening thing of it all was that this torture was anything but finished. Questions rose into Scar's head as the doctor announced he was going to remove some of his hair, questions he didn't really want an answer for. He had no idea what anyone could have to gain by removing his hair, much less that this was only a prelude to what awaited him.
"What do you--" Scar had began to protest, before a chilling sound of an unfamiliar device came to his ears. He tried to move away his head, but it was stuck, the strange contraption keeping it firmly in place. He couldn't see what was happening, but there was no pain, only the strange noise as the device ran over the left side of his head.
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Here was where it got painful. The doctor didn't bother announcing it, though, as he thought that would be made clear by the next tool he picked up off the cart: a small, surgical saw. It was nothing barbaric, of course, and was made for this sort of procedure, but that wasn't something that most people would understand at first glance -- let alone a lion.
"The blood loss might make you dizzy," the man warned as he moved back over and then turned the saw on. "Try to hang in there." It was his small attempt at humor. He had to wonder what hallucinating while having surgery performed on you was like, but he was content to watch the effect in someone else, rather than try it out himself.
Placing one hand on the patient's shoulder to make doubly certain that he didn't move around (his head wasn't moving, but the rest of his body did have a small amount of slack), the other hand directed the saw to the side of Scar's head and started to cut open a patch of the skin.
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"N-no! Help me! S-someone help me!" Begging for help to whoever could hear him, including the owners of those voices, including his brother...perhaps he had sank to a whole new level, but right now the former lion didn't care. All he wanted was to be out of this room, for this terrible night to be over and he'd do anything to make this nightmare stop.
[But where were you when he called for help, Scar?]
The device drew closer. He tried to brace himself, but a gasp escaped his throat when metal cut through skin. He instinctively attempted to pull his head away from the pain, but the restraints didn't allow him the barest illusion of escape.
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There was blood all over his gloves now, but that was to be expected. Letting out a sigh, the doctor turned off the saw and then grabbed for the next tool for the process: a drill.
On top of the excruciating pain, the sheer sound of the drill was probably going to be enough to unsettle the patient on its own. Turning the drill on caused a grating noise to fill the small room, and the doctor imagined that would be particularly hard for someone with enhanced hearing to bear. (Though that was going to change, wasn't it?)
"No one can hear you here," he pointed out as he started to drill a series of holes into the patient's skull.
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Eventually, the doctor had reached for a different device that, once turned on, produced a grating noise that was both unsettling and murder to his enhanced hearing, instantly shattering any hopes of the man being finished with whatever he was doing. The noise...it sounded painful, horrifying...making the previous device seem nearly harmless in comparison.
But Scar wasn't allowed the opportunity to respond, to even think, since at that very moment the device made contact with his skull. The sound was deafening, rattling through his skull and vibrating through every inch of his body. Forgetting everything else, his head seemed to erupt in indescribable pain that he possible couldn't have imagined. Eyes squeezed shut as he fruitlessly fought against the restraints even more wildly than he had before.
But all he could do was scream.
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Ignoring the screams, the man kept up with his work, drilling about five holes before he finally turned off the tool. The silence afterward was deafening -- or it would have been, if the patient wasn't still being so loud.
Thinking nothing further of it, the doctor set the drill aside. With the holes bored out, now he just needed to cut between them to weaken that part of the skull enough that he could pull it away. For this, a saw was once again needed, even if it was a different sort. Turning it on without further ado, the doctor used it to cut lines connecting the holes. Seeing how not much could be heard over the buzz of the various instruments, he didn't bother to speak. It wasn't likely he'd be heard either way.
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And after the device had finally gone silent, the noise still kept ringing through his head.
However, he had barely been given the opportunity to recover from all this horror as the doctor grabbed for another device. It wasn't over, not just yet. And when the device began cutting through bone, more screams escaped from his throat.
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Most patients would have passed out at this point, but there was something about this place that made certain they stayed awake through it all. Neither blood loss nor the sheer pain was going to let them fall into unconsciousness, because it would be downright boring that way.
"Now," he spoke up in the silence of the room, "I just need to tinker around in there for a bit, and then I can patch you up." He thought it was obvious that death was not on the menu tonight, but sometimes there were things worse than that. It remained to be see if this was one of those things.
Grabbing a small metal instrument, the doctor bent down and inserted it straight into the brain matter, poking around without actually damaging anything... for the moment.
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