"I said, hold her down!"
"Let go of me!"
"I'm trying, but she's fighting me like a wild animal."
"What did you do to him? Grant!"
"Three cc's Kalmital, stat."
"Get off me, you fuck!"
"She's too small for such a high dose."
"Where's Grant?
"Gahhh! She spit on me!"
"WHERE IS HE?"
"That filthy little pervert spit on me!"
"Get that damn sedative before she tears my arm off!"
"No! No! Don't touch me! GRAAANT!"
~*~*~
I woke in the light, a world of white upon white, unable to move my head or limbs.
Where am I? I swallowed, trying to contain the bile rising in my throat. Why can't I move?
A wave of nausea slammed into my gut as the realization hit.
We'd been caught.
Straining against my bonds, I struggled for freedom in vain. What happened to Grant? Did they get him too?
What have I done?
"Oh Grant," I rasped, my throat raw and dry as my vision blurred with hot tears. "I'm so, so sorry."
I heard a door slide open and footsteps approach.
"Ah, you're awake," a voice, strangely familiar, said. "Good. We were starting to become concerned."
"Please. Let me go."
"We were forced to administer almost double the dose of Kalmital to make you pliant enough to put into restraints. You're quite strong for someone of your size; clearly you come from sturdy genetic stock."
A face came into my field of vision. Two eyes, so light they seemed to be a mistake, came into focus, staring down at me.
I flinched. "Please, Dr. Blake," I croaked, hoping that calling him by name might make some difference. "Please let me go."
The man smiled, a cold smile which moved only the bottom half of his face. "It's funny, when you call me that, I have to remind myself that you are talking about my pod-sibling and not me. Records confirm he examined you in June, for...possible post traumatic shock. Some minor symptoms of emotional disturbance. His notes indicate you were cleared to return to work after a two-day medical leave. For a general practitioner, Donovan's never been much of a diagnostician." He chuckled.
"Yes, Astrid, my name is Dr. Blake, though certainly not the one you had in mind. I am Dr. Marcus Blake, Ministry of Health, department of psychiatry, specializing in—well, individuals such as yourself."
Recognizing my efforts were futile, I stopped fighting against the restraints. "Why are you doing this?"
"Now, now Astrid, surely you already know the answer to that question. You and your...companion were observed engaging in unnatural, not to mention unlawful, activity in broad daylight."
"Grant; where is he?"
"In a room very much like this one, awaiting treatment." He paused and cocked his head. "Don't worry; he's safe. I'm afraid we were forced to use...harsher methods than we prefer to make him compliant, but there should be no permanent damage. The men tell me he fought savagely, trying to help you escape our custody. They found his...commitment to your safety at the cost to himself highly disturbing. I must admit I find it somewhat...noble, admirable even, in a misguided sort of way."
"Please. We haven't done anything wrong."
"It's funny how often I hear that from the genetically defective. 'I haven't done anything wrong.' 'I was born this way.' 'I wasn't hurting anyone.' All of it said quite sincerely, as you did just then. Yet in time those protests changed into pleas begging me to free them of their psychopathy. I'm sure you won't be any different.
"Now, I would like very much to remove your head restraint before conducting my examination. I find full range of motion allows me to make a more accurate assessment of your response."
I gulped. "Response? To what?"
"Why, before I can proceed with a course of treatment, I must first evaluate the extent of your deviancy. Greater degrees of perversion require more aggressive treatment. Clearly, since you and Mr. Devlin were caught engaging in public, skin-on-skin facial contact, you have already progressed to a higher level. Still, components of the treatment can be quite painful, and it would be inhumane to subject you to more...distress than is necessary to achieve the desired result."
He must have seen the terror in my eyes, for he went on. "There, there, Astrid. There's nothing to fear but your own weakness. I've done this many times before to great success. Now, will you help me help you? Will you behave yourself if I remove the head restraint?"
I flicked my eyes downward, signaling my acquiescence.
"Good. I think we're going to get along just fine. Now, before I do that, I need to remove your hospital gown." I cringed at the sound of the hook-and-loop fastened seams tearing apart. The cool air caused my newly-exposed skin to rise, as if it shared my mortification.
Dr. Blake slipped the final remaining section of fabric out from under me, leaving me naked as I lay bound to the hard polymer exam chair. "Now, just a few more adjustments." Metal joints clanked and the leg rest split in half, my lower limbs spreading wide while he locked the chair into its new position.
"You're almost there. All that's left is your arms." Dr. Blake's face came into view again. "Now, I'm going to rotate the arm rests until your hands almost meet above your head."
I trembled, gasping for breath as my arms stretched out and upward without my permission.
"You're doing wonderfully, Astrid. I'm so happy to see you cooperating. It wastes so much energy to resist, energy that can be better used toward healing yourself of that which controls you. There," he concluded, removing the chin and forehead pieces and placing them on the nearby counter. "Go ahead and stretch your neck a bit. Yes, that's it; rotate your head. Feels much better now, doesn't it?"
"Wh-what are you d-doing?" I quavered, muscles tensing when the back of his gloved hand traced an unexpected path down one of my arms.
"I see. 'Patient demonstrates abnormal response to tactile stimuli.'" Dr. Blake rolled his hand at the wrist and began stroking my breast.
Sucking in my breath, my eyes flickered closed. "Please. Don't do that."
