Do NOT be late.
Posted: Sat Jun 22, 2013 11:25 pm David was late the following morning - thirty minutes, to be exact - and considering he hadn't taken his phone out with him, wherever he'd went, he'd been unreachable. Freidrich knew it meant one of two things-- either, he'd been compromised, or he was dead. Those were the two typical, most common reasons for his agents to be late to work, when it was a strict routine; one that would land you punished if you simply forgot to set an alarm, or even if your power went out. In Freidrich's mind, it was still your fault. Still your responsibility to be at work on time. David was not.
It was a good hour that he was aware of, and he knew - oh, did he know that if 21 was to show up - he'd be in a pretty degraded shape. The chems were manufactured to do that to someone; keep them addicted, to what they were supposed to do, and of course.. cause a very, very, fast withdrawal to someone who was used to taking them each morning, sometimes more than one, for a number of years. David was the prime example of this, especially when he came stumbling through the doors, sweating, eyes doe-like and feverish. In all actuality, the agent looked sick, and it pleased Freidrich.. even if it wasn't enough. As David fumbled his keycard, a secondary agent stamped his boot on it and kept it firm on the floor even when the quirky one went to stoop over and grab it. Of course, it left David turning a stare up at him.. even if it turned out to be least of his concern, when Freidrich - decked out in his labcoat and blue denim jeans, - made his appearance.
"Ach, mein Junge. Spät, sind wir? By an hour.." Freidrich chided, shaking his head slowly. "That is unlike you, 21." With a gesture given to the agent who still held David's keycard at bay, David was hoisted up from his stooped position, and held in a too-tight armlock that even David was unsure of. For two reasons, really: one, it never hurt to have help standing when you felt as if you were about to fall over, but.. two, because it was never a good sign to be apprehended by one of your supposed colleagues. "Off with him, now, 70. To my room." And just as he'd uttered the order, Freidrich turned and headed for the elevator that was, by all means, blurry to David by that point.
The secondary agent, 70 as he was called, delivered David - also known as 21 - to the commanded destination and disappeared. David, still only decked out in his jeans and a t-shirt, was left to sit in the silent room in a rather uncomfortable chair-- even if he was just a bit too delirious with fever to realize it just then. He'd known it was bound to happen: him getting into trouble for being late, all because he'd wanted to be normal for a change. He hadn't slept.. he hadn't prepared.. and now? He was fading in and out of consciousness that was only halted by the sound of the door's lock disengaging and being pushed open.
David lifted his head, but only half-way, in attempt to catch a glimpse of the man; all he could see, however, was the white coat and something shiny glinting in his hand which was soon set aside. Set aside long before Freidrich approached the chair where 21 was positioned. "S-sorry, sir. The batteries in--in my watch died.." he said, still trying to watch up at Freidrich and what it was he was doing. There was no protest out of him, however, because he simply wasn't coherent enough to realize it: Friedrich had strapped his arms down, underside up, exposing all of those scars that were clearly visible thanks to the lack of a long-sleeved shirt, or even a blazer jacket as he should have been wearing. "Save your excuse for later, 21. Es bedeutet mir nichts. Nothing." Once the straps were nice and tight, Freidrich stepped back. "No one is permitted to be late."
Freidrich was on the move again, and try as he might, David couldn't keep up. Hell, even what Freidrich was saying he could only half-way understand, and it had nothing to do with the accent, or blurred line between two languages.. but everything to do with the lack of brain function, and the fever he'd developed over just the short span of a few hours. "I didn't mean to be.." 21 protested, meekly.
Whatever that silver, glinting, thing was, David watched as it was taken up and held between always deft fingers. Nimble, even. And even if it was all he could make out, besides the white coat, he couldn't have anticipated what was about to come next. Perhaps had he not been ill. The first slash wasn't really felt; not in the sense of the surgical steel slicing his flesh, but the sensation of warm slowly dribbling down the side of his arm and the sudden sensation of fire that followed was what grabbed his attention and drew those hazel eyes down. One of those old scars had just been reopened, and as soon as he saw it, 21 most certainly went wide-eyed. "Dr. Antmann.." he stammered, and arched back in the chair as if he were going to use leverage to get up and out; instead, that too, was when he realized his arms were strapped down.
"Nein," Freidrich said, hushing David instantly. "You will go nowhere. Dies ist deine Strafe." Another deep slice; more fire, and more of that warm sensation trickling down the side of his arm. David went silent in that moment, aghast - bewildered, and entirely too unsure of himself - and growing paler by the moment from just that alone. Another slash, another, and another-- the gesture was repeated until each scar on either of 21's arms were reopened and bleeding freely before Freidrich quite literally flung the scalpel hard enough so that it would stick into the wall on the opposite side of the room.
"This is your only warning, 21. The next time, you'll be allowed to expire. Denken Sie daran, die, hm?" Freidrich casually pushed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and turned for the door, leaving the stunned agent strapped in place. Just as he let himself out, another agent was allowed in.
It took hours; David was allowed to sit through it all, his head reeling and throbbing with then not only the fever, but the blood loss that had been dealt quite intentionally to him. The other agent said not a word as he doused the wounds with antiseptic and sutured them closed without a local anesthetic to numb it. 21 didn't flinch, but he felt each and every stab of the hooked needle, and each pull of the thread.
Once his arms were wrapped in gauze and tape, Freidrich made another appearance, this time, with a see-through container of tablets in his hand. "Are we feeling better, 21?" he taunted, while taking the place of the agent after he'd cleaned up and tossed the soiled materials into the waste bin. When David only glanced up at him hazily, bleary eyed, and still evidently not seeing, Dr. Antmann laughed. "Shall we help you along, then?" The container was opened and a singular, blue pill was extracted and held up between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. Up to the light, as if it were some sort of miraculous thing he held just then.
David, however, was still in no mood. He couldn't answer; he was weak, to say the least. And it made it all the easier for that pill to be almost literally pushed into his mouth and to the back of his throat once Freidrich had taken the notion to do so. "Dort gehen Sie. Guter Junge. Relax." After he was sure 21 had swallowed the pill, he moved to unstrap his arms, and then headed for the door once more, only pausing by the intercom to press the button. "Come and get him. To the infirmary. Er braucht seine Ruhe."
Freidrich slipped through the door once more, and David hunched forward immediately, both arms crossing against his stomach-- though, it would've been hard to discern the reason: be it his arms were hurting, as they should be, or if it were his stomach twisting.. or a combination of both. Regardless, soon, yet another agent arrived to help hoist David to his feet, and lead him out of the room, down the corridoor, and to the infirmary where he'd be watched for the next couple of hours. Indeed, it was rare for one of Freidrich's agents to miss a dose, and be dosed late.. Call it an experiment, if you will; and you'd best believe Freidrich would be keeping tabs, and watching - waiting - for something to go wrong with his system. If it didn't? Then, quite possibly, there'd be a new additive mixed into the substances that made up the chems.
It was only a matter of time before anyone knew..
It was a good hour that he was aware of, and he knew - oh, did he know that if 21 was to show up - he'd be in a pretty degraded shape. The chems were manufactured to do that to someone; keep them addicted, to what they were supposed to do, and of course.. cause a very, very, fast withdrawal to someone who was used to taking them each morning, sometimes more than one, for a number of years. David was the prime example of this, especially when he came stumbling through the doors, sweating, eyes doe-like and feverish. In all actuality, the agent looked sick, and it pleased Freidrich.. even if it wasn't enough. As David fumbled his keycard, a secondary agent stamped his boot on it and kept it firm on the floor even when the quirky one went to stoop over and grab it. Of course, it left David turning a stare up at him.. even if it turned out to be least of his concern, when Freidrich - decked out in his labcoat and blue denim jeans, - made his appearance.
"Ach, mein Junge. Spät, sind wir? By an hour.." Freidrich chided, shaking his head slowly. "That is unlike you, 21." With a gesture given to the agent who still held David's keycard at bay, David was hoisted up from his stooped position, and held in a too-tight armlock that even David was unsure of. For two reasons, really: one, it never hurt to have help standing when you felt as if you were about to fall over, but.. two, because it was never a good sign to be apprehended by one of your supposed colleagues. "Off with him, now, 70. To my room." And just as he'd uttered the order, Freidrich turned and headed for the elevator that was, by all means, blurry to David by that point.
The secondary agent, 70 as he was called, delivered David - also known as 21 - to the commanded destination and disappeared. David, still only decked out in his jeans and a t-shirt, was left to sit in the silent room in a rather uncomfortable chair-- even if he was just a bit too delirious with fever to realize it just then. He'd known it was bound to happen: him getting into trouble for being late, all because he'd wanted to be normal for a change. He hadn't slept.. he hadn't prepared.. and now? He was fading in and out of consciousness that was only halted by the sound of the door's lock disengaging and being pushed open.
David lifted his head, but only half-way, in attempt to catch a glimpse of the man; all he could see, however, was the white coat and something shiny glinting in his hand which was soon set aside. Set aside long before Freidrich approached the chair where 21 was positioned. "S-sorry, sir. The batteries in--in my watch died.." he said, still trying to watch up at Freidrich and what it was he was doing. There was no protest out of him, however, because he simply wasn't coherent enough to realize it: Friedrich had strapped his arms down, underside up, exposing all of those scars that were clearly visible thanks to the lack of a long-sleeved shirt, or even a blazer jacket as he should have been wearing. "Save your excuse for later, 21. Es bedeutet mir nichts. Nothing." Once the straps were nice and tight, Freidrich stepped back. "No one is permitted to be late."
Freidrich was on the move again, and try as he might, David couldn't keep up. Hell, even what Freidrich was saying he could only half-way understand, and it had nothing to do with the accent, or blurred line between two languages.. but everything to do with the lack of brain function, and the fever he'd developed over just the short span of a few hours. "I didn't mean to be.." 21 protested, meekly.
Whatever that silver, glinting, thing was, David watched as it was taken up and held between always deft fingers. Nimble, even. And even if it was all he could make out, besides the white coat, he couldn't have anticipated what was about to come next. Perhaps had he not been ill. The first slash wasn't really felt; not in the sense of the surgical steel slicing his flesh, but the sensation of warm slowly dribbling down the side of his arm and the sudden sensation of fire that followed was what grabbed his attention and drew those hazel eyes down. One of those old scars had just been reopened, and as soon as he saw it, 21 most certainly went wide-eyed. "Dr. Antmann.." he stammered, and arched back in the chair as if he were going to use leverage to get up and out; instead, that too, was when he realized his arms were strapped down.
"Nein," Freidrich said, hushing David instantly. "You will go nowhere. Dies ist deine Strafe." Another deep slice; more fire, and more of that warm sensation trickling down the side of his arm. David went silent in that moment, aghast - bewildered, and entirely too unsure of himself - and growing paler by the moment from just that alone. Another slash, another, and another-- the gesture was repeated until each scar on either of 21's arms were reopened and bleeding freely before Freidrich quite literally flung the scalpel hard enough so that it would stick into the wall on the opposite side of the room.
"This is your only warning, 21. The next time, you'll be allowed to expire. Denken Sie daran, die, hm?" Freidrich casually pushed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and turned for the door, leaving the stunned agent strapped in place. Just as he let himself out, another agent was allowed in.
It took hours; David was allowed to sit through it all, his head reeling and throbbing with then not only the fever, but the blood loss that had been dealt quite intentionally to him. The other agent said not a word as he doused the wounds with antiseptic and sutured them closed without a local anesthetic to numb it. 21 didn't flinch, but he felt each and every stab of the hooked needle, and each pull of the thread.
Once his arms were wrapped in gauze and tape, Freidrich made another appearance, this time, with a see-through container of tablets in his hand. "Are we feeling better, 21?" he taunted, while taking the place of the agent after he'd cleaned up and tossed the soiled materials into the waste bin. When David only glanced up at him hazily, bleary eyed, and still evidently not seeing, Dr. Antmann laughed. "Shall we help you along, then?" The container was opened and a singular, blue pill was extracted and held up between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. Up to the light, as if it were some sort of miraculous thing he held just then.
David, however, was still in no mood. He couldn't answer; he was weak, to say the least. And it made it all the easier for that pill to be almost literally pushed into his mouth and to the back of his throat once Freidrich had taken the notion to do so. "Dort gehen Sie. Guter Junge. Relax." After he was sure 21 had swallowed the pill, he moved to unstrap his arms, and then headed for the door once more, only pausing by the intercom to press the button. "Come and get him. To the infirmary. Er braucht seine Ruhe."
Freidrich slipped through the door once more, and David hunched forward immediately, both arms crossing against his stomach-- though, it would've been hard to discern the reason: be it his arms were hurting, as they should be, or if it were his stomach twisting.. or a combination of both. Regardless, soon, yet another agent arrived to help hoist David to his feet, and lead him out of the room, down the corridoor, and to the infirmary where he'd be watched for the next couple of hours. Indeed, it was rare for one of Freidrich's agents to miss a dose, and be dosed late.. Call it an experiment, if you will; and you'd best believe Freidrich would be keeping tabs, and watching - waiting - for something to go wrong with his system. If it didn't? Then, quite possibly, there'd be a new additive mixed into the substances that made up the chems.
It was only a matter of time before anyone knew..