Nightshift 44: Disciplinary Therapy Room 4 [M-U for Manfred von Karma]
The greatest illusion man ever produced was that perfection was achievable, that it was within a mortal man's grasp, and that it was desirable. Men drove themselves insane striving for that ideal, something that not even God Himself allowed in his mortal creatures. They did terrible things, things that could never be spoken of, even in whispers or in confessionals, or even to one's own self, late at night when no one else was around. All for the chance to be perfect.
And who had done worse than the man here, strapped to the table, needles pushed into his skin and taped into place so any amount of thrashing couldn't remove them? Perhaps he'd seen this setup in his dreams, in his nightmares, the price of his perfection, the consequences of his sins. So long ago, people had ruled death by electric chair unethical, inhuman, and so they had turned to the safe method - poisoning. Death by lethal injection was popular and a perfect killer, but not necessarily the nicest. But wouldn't he appreciate it? To see the tubes leading from his skin up to a series of poisons, ready to kill him for his crimes, just as he had sent so many to their deaths over the years.
"Poetic," the doctor hummed to herself, flicking on the single overhead lamp. Then she moved back into the shadows to wait, her white coat seemingly blending into the shadows that obscured her face. Somewhere in the dark, a switch turned over and a needle fell onto a turning record, filling the dark space with the sounds of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins in D Minor. She liked this music and she had a feeling he might as well. At the very least, it would wake him up so they could begin his road to recovery, his return to true perfection.
And who had done worse than the man here, strapped to the table, needles pushed into his skin and taped into place so any amount of thrashing couldn't remove them? Perhaps he'd seen this setup in his dreams, in his nightmares, the price of his perfection, the consequences of his sins. So long ago, people had ruled death by electric chair unethical, inhuman, and so they had turned to the safe method - poisoning. Death by lethal injection was popular and a perfect killer, but not necessarily the nicest. But wouldn't he appreciate it? To see the tubes leading from his skin up to a series of poisons, ready to kill him for his crimes, just as he had sent so many to their deaths over the years.
"Poetic," the doctor hummed to herself, flicking on the single overhead lamp. Then she moved back into the shadows to wait, her white coat seemingly blending into the shadows that obscured her face. Somewhere in the dark, a switch turned over and a needle fell onto a turning record, filling the dark space with the sounds of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins in D Minor. She liked this music and she had a feeling he might as well. At the very least, it would wake him up so they could begin his road to recovery, his return to true perfection.