Sanitarium - Asylum Finale {Completed}

11. Shock Therapy

"We're not making any decisions right now," Jet says from behind Ghoul and me. A quick glance over my shoulder shows me he's still on the floor with Paranoia. "As the lead physician in the hospital, it is my job to make sure that all of my patients are treated to the best of our ability before they are allowed to do anything more. That includes trials and death sentences."

I almost cry in relief when Vengeance's face takes on an assenting expression. "Fine," he snaps. "She's safe for now. Do what you can with her, but after that, it's up to the people." He turns around and stumbles back into the elevator, still clutching his side. His cold glare is trained on me until the doors finally slide shut.

Ghoul lets out a breath I didn't know he was holding. "What do we do now?" he asks, his eyes looking sad when he turns his gaze to me.

"We fix her," Jet says. "We'll have to do it quickly, though. I don't know how much longer my authority is going to be enough to control the protesters."

I run a hand through my red hair. "What do you suggest?"

He presses his lips together for a moment. "I do have one idea, but it's old fashioned and sort of unorthodox. Nobody's done it in several years."

"I'm willing to try anything," I reply honestly.

"It's not been proved that it actually helps," he continues uneasily.

I shake my head and give him a pleading look. "We have to try. You know we do."

His brown eyes are pained. "You're not going to like it, Party."

I grab a fistful of the front of his shirt. "Dammit, I don't care! Whatever it is, we're doing it!"

Jet sighs. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

***

Ghoul stands protectively in front of me, one palm on my chest to keep me back against the wall. My hands are clenched into fists at my sides, my eyes trained on the two way glass in front of us. On our side it's just a plain window, but on the opposite side it appears as though it's a mirror. That's the side Paranoia is seated on, strapped to a metal chair with rusted legs. Thick silver cuffs keep her restrained to the chair by her ankles, wrists, and forehead. Coiled wires trail down to the floor from each cuff, the thin lines running along the tile until they reach the box in the corner.

Jet fiddles with the controls a few feet ahead of Ghoul and me, his tongue just barely protruding from between his teeth as he concentrates. There's so many dials and buttons that are covered in dust and display worn labels. We didn't build the prison or sanitarium levels beneath the main part of the building; we discovered them in the rubble of Better Living Industries, which explains why this room appears as though it hasn't been touched in years. Jet was correct in saying it was old fashioned.

"What exactly did they use this room for, Jet?" Ghoul asks tentatively. I strain a little against his hold, but he just presses his palm more firmly against my jacket. His touch is the only thing keeping me on my feet.

Jet blows the dust off what looks to be a microphone. He pauses before he answers, focusing all of his attention on Ghoul and not daring to look me in the eyes. "Torture, I'm assuming. But the books I read before the world went to shit told about using this method to cure mental illnesses. It was a long, long time ago that they did it, and it was never confirmed if it worked at all, but right now it's our best shot. We don't have any medications to give her to stop whatever Korse gave her because I don't know what it's based on."

I swallow the foul taste forming in my mouth and cringe. "What is this supposed to do to her? Just shock her a bit?"

"More than 'a bit', depending on the setting I use," Jet answers. "Hopefully we won't have to use a high amount on her."