>>72670571Another Dress Ruined
Tags: Akira Mazono, Physical, Severe
“Is the subject ready for testing?”
“Yes, we are now ready to begin the procedure.”
“Understood,” the man in a white coat responds, shuffling through his disheveled notebook. He flips to a page that is blank, save for a faded “INSTITUTE” on the top of the paper.
“Alright, Doctor. We’re bringing her in now.”
From behind the glass, the doctor sees her. The female subject is brought in by two assistants by wheelchair. They bring her to a surgical chair in the middle of the room; they then begin to strap her in with leather cuffs, as well as attaching a variety of monitoring devices all over her arms. She giggles a little and says ‘thank you’; the two assistants finish strapping her to the chair and walk out wordlessly. She sways her head back and forth as she hums merrily, staring at the two-way glass.
The doctor flips a switch; a mechanical hiss fills the sterile room as the ceiling opens, revealing a massive machine. The instrument hums along with the test subject as it adjusts itself, almost stretching like a cat. It lowers steadily until it is inches from the test subject’s head.
A steel pole ending in a cross.
A screwdriver.
The doctor presses a button as the intercom screeches to life. “Can you say your name, please?”
She nods.
“My name is Akira Mazono!”
“Good, good,” the doctor replies. Subject’s cognition is working normally. He takes another glance that the helpless guinea pig before him.
It’s almost as if she’s getting ready to go to a party. An elegant black dress. Red frills. Gold buttons. It’s nothing short of perfection. Her dress is almost as dark as the circles under her eyes, letting her bright violet eyes emerge from her dusky eyebags. Her pretty pink hair is ruled by an unruly pink strand that refuses to go down.
And crowning her head is a large, shining screw sticking out of her skull.
This is her purpose.
The machine lowers further. More nervous glances from the test subject. A metallic shnk is heard as the steel cross fills the screw’s slot. The doctor notices the change in her pulse.
“Will I be okay?” she asks to the void.
Silence.
She’s about to ask again when the intercom screeches.
“It’s okay,” the doctor’s voice finally replies. “It just wants to pet you, that’s all.”
“Pet me? Like when I pet my stuffed capybara?”
“Yes.”
“Then…” she says, her smile growing wider.
“...Please give me lots of love!”
“Of course,” he obliges.
Click
The machine whirrs as it begins to power up to full strength. Her smile flees her face as she looks up at the machine, but she does not say a word. He places two fingers on the rotational knob as he turns it slowly.
She winces in pain as the screw begins to dig into her.
“Hwah! That, that hurts!”
“It’s normal. It will only hurt for a little while.”
“O-okay…” she whines out. Her heart rate begins to elevate gradually. Doubt lingers in her eyes as they stare at the glass fruitlessly.
The knob is turned a little more.
“HYAHHH!” she sobs out. Tears start to run down her face.
The steel threads of the screw begin tearing through her brain. She lets out a deep, guttural whine as she begins to squirm in her seat. The EKG monitor shows her pulse beginning to fluctuate erratically.
“Please. Please! StHAP!” she shouts. A small trail of blood begins to run down her face, threatening to fill her mouth with the taste of steel.
“You’re doing well, be strong,” the intercom says. The grip on the knob gets tighter as it is twisted to the right.
One full rotation.
The glass only barely suppresses the subject’s horrific howls. The trickle of blood now turns into a cascade, a deep crimson paints her face as it floods into her mouth. The screw sinks deeper in. The subject flails wildly, but is unable to escape the confides of the surgical chair. Her pulse skyrockets as the EKG begins to beep faster and faster.
“UGYWAAAA!” Akira cries out, tears now pouring from her eyes.
“IT HYURTS PWEAHSE PWEAHSE!” she begs. Her pleads reach no one. The screwdriver twists further, and the screw complies. Simple physics, that’s all.
Two full rotations.
Akira rocks her head back and forth uncontrollably; a glint from the roof of her mouth tells the doctor that the screw is now all the way through her skull. Blood trickles from her head and the top of her mouth as they spill over. She cannot even speak anymore; she can only scream.
One final rotation.
The screaming stops.
“EheuEhuehEbwheeeeh…” she mewls out as her head droops over, her neck unable to stay straight. Normal brain function has ceased.
Blood, spit and brain matter mingle into one they pour from her gaping mouth. The droplets splatter all over her perfect dress.
Another successful experiment.
Another dress ruined.
