Thanks for giving it a shot, OP! I promise it won't be terrible darkness and suffering forever? But at the rate I'm going...
----
Only almost, though it was closer than he'd ever come. Cor growled in disgust at the feeling, once the moment had passed. There'd been no sign of hazmat equipment, other than simple gowns and masks. Either the scientists here were extremely reckless, or they'd determined that the risk of airborne infection was negligible. It was more than they knew back home in Lucis.
(For decades the scourge was nothing but a rumor carried across the sea from Niflheim, one most Lucians scoffed at as a wives' tale that had in the telling. Only in the last ten years had three cases of a strange plague eppeared on the edges of Lucis, striking seemingly at random, the victims' blood gradually running black in their veins, turning to an oily sludge that choked out their lives from the inside. One had been taken to Tenbrae under heavy guard, and she had lasted a year longer than the others.)
Cor took a longer look at the man on the table. He was breathing, but had moved not a muscle since Cor had entered the room. Middle aged, Cor judged, with advanced muscle atrophy -- but cuffed tightly to the surface with thick nylon straps, even at his neck. They really didn't want this one moving. A black strip of cloth was tied over his eyes.
This won't bother him, then. New film, check the flash.
It filled two rolls, taking pictures of the man... the IV lines and electrodes. Other sensors he didn't recognize. New scars -- a crescent on the lower part of the belly, a straighter cut under the ribs, a wandering line from shoulder to elbow on one outstretched arm, the forearm below laid open with veins feeding black blood into tubes. Old scars -- too many to count. The black ichor that leaked from all these wounds.
He photographed the man's wreck of a face last, focusing carefully on the scars on his shaved head, on the black blood seeping from his mouth, bubbling around the leather stick fastened between his teeth, trailing down from under the blindfold over pale skin and bruised veins to pool on the table.
Who is this poor man? What was he, before they brought him here?
Cor pulled a glove from the box on the nearest cart and tugged it over his left hand. He readied his camera with the right. Hesitantly, slowly, Cor reached out and pulled up the blindfold, and for the first time, the man moved -- he opened his eyes.
The eyes were black, saturated with that awful blood, the irises an unnatural, gleaming yellow. They were the eyes of a monster, and they were afraid.
Cor backed away slowly, camera forgotten, unable to tear his eyes away from that horrible stare. He bumped against a shelf stacked deep with jars, and the dislodged containers shattered on the floor, saturating his boots and splashing his body with black.
"Shit! Oh, astrals, shit!"
The blood slipped under his boots as Cor rushed from the room and slammed through the door to the maintenance closet, and he leaned over the sink and heaved his stomach dry. Still hacking, he tore at his clothes, flinging everything in a corner, and then he scrubbed at the skin of his arms and legs and face until every spot of black was gone. When it was all over, he sank to the floor, looked down at himself, and laughed, and there was a strange edge to it.
Re: Fill #2 (2/?): Ardyn + Cor + Prompto, Dysfunctional escaped lab rat family
But at the rate I'm going...----
Only almost, though it was closer than he'd ever come. Cor growled in disgust at the feeling, once the moment had passed. There'd been no sign of hazmat equipment, other than simple gowns and masks. Either the scientists here were extremely reckless, or they'd determined that the risk of airborne infection was negligible. It was more than they knew back home in Lucis.
(For decades the scourge was nothing but a rumor carried across the sea from Niflheim, one most Lucians scoffed at as a wives' tale that had in the telling. Only in the last ten years had three cases of a strange plague eppeared on the edges of Lucis, striking seemingly at random, the victims' blood gradually running black in their veins, turning to an oily sludge that choked out their lives from the inside. One had been taken to Tenbrae under heavy guard, and she had lasted a year longer than the others.)
Cor took a longer look at the man on the table. He was breathing, but had moved not a muscle since Cor had entered the room. Middle aged, Cor judged, with advanced muscle atrophy -- but cuffed tightly to the surface with thick nylon straps, even at his neck. They really didn't want this one moving. A black strip of cloth was tied over his eyes.
This won't bother him, then. New film, check the flash.
It filled two rolls, taking pictures of the man... the IV lines and electrodes. Other sensors he didn't recognize. New scars -- a crescent on the lower part of the belly, a straighter cut under the ribs, a wandering line from shoulder to elbow on one outstretched arm, the forearm below laid open with veins feeding black blood into tubes. Old scars -- too many to count. The black ichor that leaked from all these wounds.
He photographed the man's wreck of a face last, focusing carefully on the scars on his shaved head, on the black blood seeping from his mouth, bubbling around the leather stick fastened between his teeth, trailing down from under the blindfold over pale skin and bruised veins to pool on the table.
Who is this poor man? What was he, before they brought him here?
Cor pulled a glove from the box on the nearest cart and tugged it over his left hand. He readied his camera with the right. Hesitantly, slowly, Cor reached out and pulled up the blindfold, and for the first time, the man moved -- he opened his eyes.
The eyes were black, saturated with that awful blood, the irises an unnatural, gleaming yellow. They were the eyes of a monster, and they were afraid.
Cor backed away slowly, camera forgotten, unable to tear his eyes away from that horrible stare. He bumped against a shelf stacked deep with jars, and the dislodged containers shattered on the floor, saturating his boots and splashing his body with black.
"Shit! Oh, astrals, shit!"
The blood slipped under his boots as Cor rushed from the room and slammed through the door to the maintenance closet, and he leaned over the sink and heaved his stomach dry. Still hacking, he tore at his clothes, flinging everything in a corner, and then he scrubbed at the skin of his arms and legs and face until every spot of black was gone. When it was all over, he sank to the floor, looked down at himself, and laughed, and there was a strange edge to it.