Shattered Souls Make Good Pets

22

He coughed, feeling blood dripping down his mouth. He wasn't sure if his nose was bleeding, his head was bleeding, or his mouth was.

He could hear Officer giggle and he wanted to turn around, but his head couldn't move. Every part of his body was stiff- blood loss was getting to him. He wasn't going to pass out, not yet, but he wasn't capable of moving.

He heard Mister's walkie-talkie crackle, and was able to see out of the corner of his eye as the man moved out of the room.

He could tell when Officer gained interest, following the man out the door.

His head fell, and his eyes went blurry. His stomach growled, loudly and painfully, and he just wanted to eat and then sleep for however long it took.

He'd already heard them whispering about how they couldn't find the collar, bracelet, and anklet, and how they couldn't make it again. They deemed it broken, and now he wasn't allowed to leave this... stool. There was still the feeling of electricity running up his arms from the cuffs, but it had dimmed.

If he leaned back, the stool would fall and he'd break his skull, but he could lean forward without... going into a coma.

The door opened again and his head shot up, seeing a guard. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned his head away when the guard put a glass near his face.

"Drink," the guard ordered. He didn't falter when Alfred's eyes turned to him in a glare, and Alfred knew it was because he didn't exactly look powerful at the moment. He'd been beaten down, and his entire body was bloody.

"Drink, dog," the guard growled, shoving it to his lips. He just gave up, drinking what was given to him. Propel.

They were purposely trying to keep his energy up.

The guard forced him to drink the entire 20 ounce bottle before he threw it to the side and left, putting his hands in his pockets and leaving the room.

'Watermelon still tastes horrible,' he thought to himself, smacking his lips and spitting the blood that came into his mouth out.

He was still hungry, and he was still tired, and he was getting bored. At least when there were other people there was noise. Noise was better than silence.

Shaking his head out, he heard his neck pop and was finally able to look around. He saw the table he'd heard the clanking of, covered in devices, many dripping with his blood.

Officer and Mister had gone all out. They were angry- they didn't want him to be able to cause problems again.

Occasionally he could hear noises- the sounds of mythical creatures as they screamed, wanting to get out of their confinement.

He was in the basement, that much was obvious. He just didn't know where. The basement wasn't meant to become a prison, it was just a place for expensive things to collect dust. He worried about those expensive things- them getting stolen would make them a waste. Good thing he knew a few of his siblings were watching for that.

Maybe the animals were just thrown in with the stuff. He knew he was in the records room, although everything had been moved out besides the big computer attached to the wall (which thankfully hadn't been broken). The walls were stone bricks, and the floor was shadow hickory. That, mixed with the lighting, made it almost impossible to be navigated by humans. It was too dark for them, and there was the chance of falling onto a sword.

All he could smell was blood and grime, and sometimes a guard that would walk by to yell at the animals to shut up.

He kicked his feet for the time being. It hurt like all hell, but he needed to move. If he didn't he would go nuts.