Muscles, bones and skin burned. Cour woke up to an unwelcoming body he felt every inch of. His entire self was bruised. And his mind wasn't far off, struggling to fight back the darkness that stalked the periphery of his vision.

He couldn’t move. He knew that even before trying—a fruitless attempt, a hopeful reaction he was unable to shake off.

He closed and opened his heavy eyelids.

As the light returned to the world, he found himself tied to the usual examination table, cold and metallic. His hands and legs were tethered to either side with leathery straps, secured twofold with chains made of the most robust material Cour had ever encountered: titanium. Thankfully, his neck had only the former.

"Our little sleeper has finally awoken," a smooth, yet firm voice said. A familiar one, Cour noted. "No pun intended of course, where are my manners?"

Cour groaned in response and tried to find the source of the voice.

"Stay still while I administer another shot."

A thin needle pierced his skin with no resistance.

"Give it a few heartbeats and its effects will kick in," she reassured him. "Your system should be clean of all traces of the dosage I gave you the other day, so it's improbable that you’ll be sent back to sleep. Try to relax, though, I cannot confirm the anesthetic-to-blood ratio in your veins without a proper exam, which I won't be performing in your current state."

He knew Lull to be an expert in all things science, so why bother worrying? Another question formed in his mind. Cour went to open his mouth but found that his lips were so dry they wouldn’t part. It took some seconds before his voice came through.

"The… other day?" His was a whisper that could be only heard in a closed and silent room like this.

Unable to look away from the burning yellow blaze that illuminated the unrecognizable space around him from above, he went to shut his eyes instead.

A silhouette leaned over him.

"I remember telling you I’d supply you with a little help," Lull answered while looking down at him through obscured goggles, a mask covering her mouth. Her dark hair hovered close to his face.

He’d never seen the eyes of the person who’d soothed his pain all this time, nor had she ever offered her name. She did seem to care for his well-being—at least more so than the others—which was often enough for him.

"When… was… it?" he managed.

"Of course, you wouldn't know. I'm talking about yesterday. You haven’t been unconscious for that long…" She paused, frowning, her deeper voice echoing slightly. "You’ve been out for about a day and a half. It’s past midnight now. Whoever gave you that last sedative wasn’t taking any chances. So much for trying not to cause a commotion."

Cour’s breathing eased, as the drug set him adrift. His headache receded a bit.

"I reckon you were among those with Bossy?" he asked after piecing things together.

"Bossy? Is that what we’re calling the High Supervisor now?" Lull said amused, having stepped back. "They’ve had a couple of other names in the past. How did they go...?"

She paced around him. Cour saw her glancing at him every now and then, either examining his body or merely waiting for him to list previous nicknames.

She must've realized he wasn't going to waste the scarce energy he had, for she half-nodded in agreement and answered herself.

"I was quite fond of Snooty, I must say. The others weren’t quite on point with the High Supervisor's ways, especially Noter. I can't say I've never seen them record anything of note in writing, but it almost feels like it. After all, there are more than enough lackeys to do so, especially those eager to follow them around like pups."

Cour had stopped wondering how much Lull enjoyed badmouthing everyone. He’d been genuinely shocked the first time she’d gone so far as to mock a colleague of hers years ago. She’d never shared her position in their organization, but he assumed she was above the rest. Either that or she was playing with fire. He couldn’t get himself to really care.

"But no, I was there before you even got to face Guile," she continued. His name hadn’t come up yet, which confirmed she’d been present. Lull would never mention something he didn’t know already—Cour had quickly picked up on that. She'd sometimes even bring up details he'd confided in Eve late at night. "I was hiding in one of the rooms as you rushed past like a rabid beast."

"And you just followed me around?" Cour said with a tinge of irritation. "You decided to just watch as Guile almost killed me?"

Lull snorted. "He wasn’t planning on killing you, no."

"But you still could’ve lent me a hand. So much for offering to help."

The lean figure was taken aback, having stopped fidgeting with whatever had occupied her hands until then. She stood still, eyeing him for what felt like minutes before answering.

"Do not blame me for your lack of resourcefulness and progress," her voice had lost its previous casual tone, now taking on a more authoritative one. "I hate reminding you of your place, Subject Three, especially when I’ve been reasonably respectful compared to my colleagues. Our relationship goes no further than that of investigator and subject. We’re conducting a case that requires extensive field testing, and that’s it." She paused, rubbing away the frown she’d been building. "Now, I thought I’d already made this clear: I will never be involved in any of your games first-hand. However, I do appreciate the data you so kindly provide. Thank you very much."

Cour lay silent. Of course, he knew Lull was no ally. She was so obsessed with obtaining results, she only really cared about the limitations of alchemy and whatnot. He had no interest in a world he was not a part of, nor in one he hadn't decided to participate in. For her, he was but an experiment. For him, she was but a possible way out.

"I was drugged during my escape," he said, wanting to change subjects and dispel some of the growing tension. "That’s why the pain felt so distant."

"I wouldn’t go so far as to call it an escape," Lull replied. "But yes, the same analgesic that currently runs through your veins is similar to the one I gave you yesterday. I thought you'd remember."

She’d gone back to sitting at one of the workbenches, the stirring of flasks faintly whistling.

Cour sighed quietly "I thought my body had had enough of it, and I convinced myself it was my willpower."

Lull chortled. “Even if a complete nullification of our nervous system were possible, which currently isn’t, Subject Three, that wouldn’t be advisable. Our bodies are designed to feel pain and respond to it. There exist some body modifications capable of suppressing part of it, but their side effects are yet to be fully studied. Yes, I too acknowledge the multiple applications of Pain magic and its workarounds, but let’s say that the citizens of our world aren’t quite ready to lose their humanity, as our ancestors used to say. So do not make this an objective of yours."

She'd fallen into her usual over-explanations and schooling, and Cour found himself portraying her as a teacher somewhere else. Far away.

Over the years, he'd developed an interest in placing the workers in different jobs outside this prison, in trusting that their decision to work here had been out of necessity.

He heard her opening drawers and rummaging through them on her side of the room, pulling equipment out, he assumed. A click and a hiss confirmed that, as Lull came into view holding one of the many syringes used to extract his fluids.

"Onto today’s sample, or dare I say, yesterday’s. Let's seize the opportunity now that you're conscious. It's required, after all." Cour could sense her smiling beneath the mask. "This time around, I’ll be needing some marrow."

Cour shifted uncomfortably.

"I know, I know," she continued. "This isn’t the least painful extraction of all, but since you’re already under the effects of a strong sedative, this is the ideal scenario for testing new theories. With any luck, your whole back will be numb."

Despite the excitement that radiated from Lull, Cour wasn’t convinced. He was about to complain when the examination table flipped upside down. His tongue escaped a nasty bite by mere inches.

He heard grinding near his lower back. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he'd gone through it multiple times to guess that the metallic bed had pulled back an opening there, as Lull was now using a damp cloth to wipe his skin.

"Despite everyone else’s opinion, Subject Three, your help has allowed us to advance our work exponentially. Or at least mine." Lull’s voice fell into a monotonous rhythm guided by her own narrative. "Your refusal to awaken is a known issue, but it brings new opportunities. To my knowledge, there has never before been extensive data on Starved of your age and their relation to an early resilient matter. Not within our grasp, that is. Other, less frowned upon institutions have such information readily available, I'm sure. Hence why we must conduct enough tests to be able to accurately assess the potential you hold.

"You see—don't move," Cour tensed. He'd hoped she’d been done already and the drug had worked. "Your bone marrow allows us to analyze the fundamentals of such mystery…"

The thick needle bored into his skin like a drill through flint—it met some resistance. It was a familiar stab made by a completely different instrument as if Lull were using a tube instead, its gauge distorted by Cour's sensory receptors. A pounding that never ended nor eased conquered his awareness to the beat of his hammering heart. Pressure upon pressure.

"Normally, matter grows denser over time. A phenomenon that happens after fully awakening... "

Cour winced.

"It's what separates an early promising Awakened from another. Mind you, this doesn't exclude the latter from refining their matter later on..."

Lull's words were an intermittent stream of knowledge that paralleled the extraction. Only, reversed.

"Blood does provide fascinating details, but marrow…" She clicked her tongue. "Marrow is where we truly understand the intricacies of our arcane-biological selves… Don’t ask me who discovered it, but, oh, has it changed the study of matter. A feat of feats."

Air wasn't reaching Cour's lungs. His body was instinctively waiting for the needle to be out of him before taking a single breath. It wasn’t pain as he knew it. He’d endured much worse, but there was something else hanging over him that made the situation unsettling. His back tensed. He struggled to keep himself from arching it. His expression was frozen like a statue's—his mouth stuck open in a silent scream.

"Being able to examine our bones wholly is a gift we disregarded for far too long. I yearn to know what our sciences would've looked like had we studied them as thoroughly as blood." She sighed. "Though being alive in this day and age allows for a more comprehensive analysis of its properties. Our current time has its own benefits, even you must understand this."

Cour felt his core being drained. It was an insignificant amount, yet the exhaustion that bloomed within him momentarily was enough to tune Lull out, to finally tune everything out. He eventually closed his eyes, no longer staring at an inviting dark floor.

He focused solely on his body, and the siphoning he experienced tenfold.

However, when the needle started leaving his back, he found himself facing an opposite reaction to what he’d prepared for. Cour shuddered. His body temperature dropped when coldness embraced him. He hadn’t noticed the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead, but that changed when it froze at once over his eyebrows and obscured his sight. His breathing resumed at a rapid pace, again matching his heartbeat.

"And we’re done. It wasn't that bad, right?" Lull’s voice came through. "The stiffness will subside, as usual. Try to relax. I’ll be taking this to the lab meanwhile."

Cour heard the sliding of stone twice and knew he'd been left completely alone. Despite his position, he took the chance to slow down his breathing. He realized gravity could be uncomfortable.

The hammering in his ears stopped, and he regained control over himself just in time to hear the stones moving again. It hadn’t been that long since Lull left.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"I was told you were no longer unconscious. Hopefully, that also means you will be able to accurately recount yesterday's incident," Bossy’s voice boomed in the small chamber, ricocheting off windowless walls and echoing upwards.

They approached Cour, and the table he was lying in began to shift, flipping back up to a forty-five-degree angle.

"Such is the way of the disdainful. Excuse my colleague," they said, their tone commanding rather than apologetic, while Cour spun. "I do prefer to have eye contact with defendants. It does not take a genius to understand that it adds another layer of information to any conversation."

They were wearing scrubs, as they often did when expecting to get their hands dirty, and their long immaculate blond hair was tied behind, never unkempt. Not a good sign. Cour's eyes followed them as they pulled closer both a chair and a small side table with but a thought. One of the reasons Cour had stopped calling Bossy “Noter” was due to the fact that even though they did write relevant stuff down—Cour had to assume so given the infrequency—their ability to will things to move overshadowed it. He recognized that they had some kind of mental power or other, which many of their subordinates shared. Not that he could explain its nature, this was just one of the many guesses he had.

When Cour named them Mental, he was not only referring to their mind magics. The High Supervisor was one of the most deranged and degenerate people he’d ever encountered. They had a twisted way of doing things.

It was easy to anticipate that what little confidence Cour had managed to regain during his alone time would fade away the moment Bossy sat cross-legged gawking at him. The corners of their mouth pulled into a smirk. They didn’t need much to jump into action.

"As you may already know, you are lucky to be the sole survivor of Containment Zero," they said with a straight face, their back upright, not using the backrest of the chair. If they hadn't been resting their elbows on the small table and propping their chin on their hands, Cour could've believed that what inhabited the body wasn't human—he'd been corrected multiple times on the matter. Bossy continued. "Since our association follows a strict protocol, you are required to share a truthful account of the incident, much to both our dismay."

Cour found this baffling, though his face didn’t betray him. In fact, he’d been desperately avoiding Bossy’s direct gaze, not wanting to provoke them in the slightest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been forced into "disciplinary training" for supposedly defying a superior’s words or actions.

"Certainly an amusing predicament, yet possible, as proven," they continued when the echo of their voice died down. "Thus, I will be expecting you to collaborate. You do have a reputation for being uncooperative around here, but I am sure, this time, we can arrange for a better conclusion. After all, taking the blame for all of this would hardly be the right choice."

Cour hadn’t fully relived the past events, save for those moments recalled while talking with Lull. He hadn’t really given it much of a thought either. And he knew Bossy wouldn’t accept a gap-filled statement. In fact, his gut told him Bossy was already well aware of his inability to do so. This was a trap, one way or another.

"Oh, please, do go ahead and do your best. I have a busy schedule today," Bossy urged him, their smirk growing faintly as if reading Cour’s mind. "Do not be discouraged by my lack of tools to document your detailed account. I possess an exceptional mind of which I am proud. I will be paying close attention to everything you say and everything you do not."

Cour swallowed. The dryness in his mouth threatened to tear his throat open.

"I-I was lying down with my eyes closed,” he said. “I don’t really know what happened, but the machine started grinding loudly before I was able to get out of the room."

"You took the opportunity to escape."

"It all went down quickly and I wasn’t planning on dying there."

"No, we are, apparently, still finding uses for you." Bossy couldn't keep quiet. "Though it pains me, I cannot lose you… yet."

Their last word carried both a deep hatred Cour had felt the very moment he’d been brought here to be examined and a spray of spit. Thankfully, it only landed on his arm.

He cursed silently, before noticing Bossy waiting for him to continue.

"I twisted my ankle dodging the bits and pieces the machine was shooting out," he said, looking down at his numb legs. "There was rubble everywhere, the room was collapsing and I barely made it out whole. The others had been either impaled by a flying pole or cut by glass. I’m lucky I was lying down, I assume."

"The very thing that kept you from leaving saved your life?" Interest grew in their voice, but rapidly vanished. "I would love to question your assumptions. However, I have thoroughly examined what was left of Containment Zero and, even though you are as impotent as an infant, a Threat Level above any that could be designated to you was issued. So this has got me wondering… Your assignment of the day was a Matter Drain, was it not?"

Cour wanted to punch the pedantic asshole for so many reasons, but he found that being compared to an infant came second to being kidnapped all those years ago. He couldn't ignore the whole assignment nonsense either, it was as if they were trying to detach themselves from the atrocities their association committed, as if calling an assignment torture made it less of a burden on themselves. Their point of view sustained that Cour had volunteered at age ten to undergo painful extractions for the betterment of science. This place was rotten from top to bottom. He despised it all.

He nodded, holding back the urge to scream.

Bossy raised an eyebrow. "I do not remember losing my hearing."

"Yes," Cour said, though he found the need to elaborate. "I was taken down for a Matter Drain."

"Good. Did you feel anything strange during the procedure?"

"No," he answered frankly. Other than the burning sensation of being deprived of mental focus while strapped to an uncomfortable chair, with not one nor two but three tubes sticking out of his body, he hadn’t felt that anything was off. "I tend to avoid thinking too much while it lasts. It usually hurts. A lot."

"I am well aware of its repercussions, there is no need to bring them up," they remarked, ignoring his tone. "It is a delicate process for both sides."

"Nothing… out of the ordinary," Cour repeated. "Three people loomed over me, and the next moment the whole place was a mess, my bindings were off and I ran."

Surely putting up with Bossy counted as its own form of torture. This was only exacerbated when they took a bottle, seemingly out of nowhere, and drank from it, certainly taking note of Cour’s chapped lips.

They exhaled in dramatic relief. "At some point, you must have had your eyes open. What did you see before the malfunctioning? Start from the instant you set foot in the laboratory, right after you were retrieved from your quarters."

Cour was convinced Bossy had been slipping those details into the conversation on purpose just to rub salt into the wound. Why else would they bring up an imposed lifestyle other than to highlight his ever-growing distress? There couldn't be a less accurate way of referring to his cell. Calling a mattress made from old fabric—with close to no filling—and a hole in the ground for relieving himself his quarters with such an impassive face was a skill Bossy must've mastered early in their wrenched life.

"The room had barely any light when I entered, so I wasn't able to see much inside. There was someone there already, I guess preparing stuff."

Cour spared a glance at Bossy. Conversations usually didn't last this long without external participation, which was odd, if not disconcerting.

"Yes, of course. I expect my staff to be following protocol," Bossy pointed out. "I am more interested in the specifics that might have escaped you at first, those that I venture you have the memory to recall now."

Even though making Bossy's job easier wasn't one of his priorities, his mind drifted back unconsciously, though it was thwarted by a thick, unexpected fog.

"I was led to the chair connected to the machine," he murmured, pushing against the unidentified haze. "Sometimes, it’s bigger, and they pull me onto it, which was the case. They applied some sort of numbing balm next, before sticking in the tubes, wires and all the rest."

"Numbing balm?" Bossy interrupted, skeptical, almost speaking to themselves. "I was under the impression that all sedatives interfered with Matter Drains. A pity no reports were salvageable, such evidence would be priceless. Was this applied for the preparations prior to the extraction?"

Cour frowned before responding. More to himself than anything.

"I can't say I remember. I'd never seen it before until yesterday. I... I was more focused on seeing the end of the process. I know not everyone survives it." After Lull’s promise, he'd been actually glancing around the room searching for a sign—that he remembered. He hadn't expected the outcome.

Such information lingered briefly in his mind before fading. The numbness that engulfed him was seeping into his head, he could've sworn. Perhaps not directly, but he was finding it difficult to keep his concentration whole, his memories of the incident being increasingly clouded. He shook his head however he could.

"Seven years, four months and five days," Bossy remarked, their voice agitated. "The day you were first introduced to the Matter Drain is so far behind us now. After which you undertook two per month. Forgive me if it seems unlikely to me that you still find it intimidating, Subject Three. You have endured the operation twice as many times as other, more cooperative subjects. Your stubbornness against awakening proves this." They leaned in. "Do you at least value your life over your ideals? Or are we the ones to blame for giving it a higher import than it is worth? No... It is relishing in obstructive behavior that drives you... I see."

Eyes blinking, Cour let Bossy's words pass by, as the blur intensified. There was no use trying to follow their verbal assault, let alone retaliating. Not that he'd go through with it, no matter the impulse. He'd learned so the hard way. But their voice was a distant mumbling that was losing coherence and form, yet stern—a reproach that failed to hold his attention, for Cour was rather devoted to dissipating whatever malice had seized his memories. The harder he tried, though, the farther back he found himself hurled.

Until a jolt of energy raced down his body.

He gasped for air, his head held in place. His muscles spasmed.

"I loathe being ignored. It is clear that, despite my predisposition, you’ve decided to cling onto pitiful principles," Bossy whispered, their right hand grasping Cour's head, like talons around a prey. "I would be rejuvenated if the time wasted on you could be recovered."

Cour's body felt the tingling current gathering in Bossy's fingertips, ready to cross and spread throughout it, and shook instinctively.

"I have never been known to be a patient person, and my patience was running low already. I take full responsibility for not approaching this more directly." Their voice was a constant reverberation.

"Wait, wait!" Cour yelled with eyes widening, responding to a leaked discharge that flared veins and nerves.

He was surprised his words reached Bossy.

"I have waited enough, Subject Three," they cut off. "I will carry out a swift Mind Stimulation."

The first thing Cour noticed was the lack of sound when his ears popped and deprived him of hearing. Second came the unmoving image, as his eyes froze in place and he lost what little control over his body he had left. Three times he savored burned flesh before his glands and nostrils effervesced, and the lightning carved, erratic, a path down his throat. He didn't scream. That was the fourth thing he noticed. Physical pain was dulled, after all, easily overshadowed by the undoing the High Supervisor was subjecting his mind to.

Cour's memories were being inspected, and he was forced to relive them all in seconds. Unorderly, seemingly chaotic images flew past him, the paintings of the contorted and abstract gallery hidden within the confines of his mind. The High Supervisor swat them aside with hands like claws, scratching away color and tearing them to pieces. Each and every single discard a rhythmic shock that dyed the world a new shade of grey, a new impossibility. Cour’s memories mixed, mingled and melded together, fabricating an alien life. He treasured them briefly. Then, they were shattered. It was like staring into a static bolt of lightning striking your body. His dementia ebbed and flowed.

He saw it coming and forgot it had ever happened.

"Nothing of use here," the High Supervisor's voice echoed. They drew another series of images to subsequently dismiss. "You clearly fixated, almost obsessively, on the balm you mentioned. I will dig deeper. I expect your subconscious to shed some light, for both our sakes."

This time he was plunged deep into a darkened well of old and newfound traumas. As the High Supervisor pushed him farther and farther down, he caught glimpses of unknown details in the nearing waters: a nameless face he'd once crossed years ago in the streets of Inertia, the scolding of a tutor that hit close to home even now, a drunkard banging at the door, a distorted rendition of the cheerful tune of a circus, a hound dragging a small corpse... His father's face.

Warmth gathered in his eyes. He blinked, and the images washed out with the rolling of red tears.

Staring down at him was the concealed face of Lull. She said something beneath her mask, repeating herself over and over, but to no avail. Despite Cour's consciousness, his self had shrunk within, his body an outer layer seized by lightning dancing from place to place. From organ to organ.

Over time, those zaps of energy dispersed, and he felt his breathing return. Hours passed before the faintest of sounds reached his ears, or so he assumed with what little mental energy he'd left.

"You might be under direct orders from the Authority." The High Supervisor was the first to overwhelm his hearing. "But that does not give you permission to stop, nay, sabotage a superior's operation. Had this been a complex procedure, my well-being would have been at risk, Li—"

"That is precisely the reason I had to step in." Lull's attempts to hide her irritation were neglected by the intensity in her voice. "May I remind you, High Supervisor, that Subject Three is under direct surveillance by the Authority, as of yesterday. Reports are being sent daily. How shall we explain the sudden brain damage? How exactly are we to account for it without mentioning a mind-butcher?"

The High Supervisor flinched a moment before rebuking. "Mind-butcher?! Are you aware of the consequences of such an insult?"

Lull snorted, now staring directly at the High Supervisor. "I believe the situation we find ourselves in allows for those accusations, yes. Either way, you, of all people, should know that a Mind Stimulation isn't the lightest of operations to perform on a wounded mind. Subject Three has not only shown signs of physical damage but his brain was also severely stressed. Before conducting such a procedure, complete recovery is advised." She paused, letting the information sink in, before promptly cutting off her senior again. "Not my words, the Authority's, so please excuse my rudeness."

Silence loomed over the room. Cour was starting to believe that he'd lost his hearing once again, but the two figures were glaring at each other.

The High Supervisor backed down first with a grunt. "The Subject clearly survived. Perhaps a more accurate report on his condition should be relayed to our Authority. I will make sure this information reaches them. In the meantime, I expect to find a written apology on your behalf tomorrow morning in my study, defining the repercussions and possible ramifications of a disrupted Mind Stimulation. Surely, both you and the Authority will understand that I cannot have my own personnel defying my station."

Having said so, they spun around and reached for the wall, exiting through a narrow gap that had just begun broadening.

"That was unnecessarily intense," Lull whispered, facing Cour. "I never expected to have to put a senior of mine in place. Now I'll have both the Authority and the High Supervisor to look out for, not to mention the paperwork I need to present."

"Thanks, I guess," Cour managed to mumble.

"Don't thank me," she responded. "It's because of the Authority that you still live, for what is worth. You must be of some value to them, so let's keep it that way. For now, their interest in you keeps you safe from others."

And allows you to keep experimenting on me.

She soaked a linen cloth and proceeded to clean Cour's bloodied eyes in silence.

When the energies flowing through his body died out, Cour felt his psyche slipping away, no longer holding unknown memories but reassembling those broken. For a moment, he was memoryless, he was no one. Part of him wanted to live in that feeling forever, to remain empty. But when the first images flashed by, stringing together years upon years of his life, he found himself beating the gloom, weighing a certain void freedom against the possibility of spreading his toes in the grass.

Even when he was being escorted back to his cell hours later with a less damaged mind, he remained oblivious to the fact that he'd long forgotten his father's face and name.