The Fae Runaways

Chapter 1 - Ee12-A13

He wanted to know, needed to know, but at the same time the most likely answers terrified him to his core.

    The doctor jotted down a few more notes, mumbling to himself and then into his device every so often as he continued examining the elf. He poked and prodded where he saw fit, and adjusted the sensor around the subject's neck before turning to leave abruptly. He shut the door swiftly and left the battered creature alone with the far too bright buzzing lights once more.

    He couldn't recollect exactly how long he'd been trapped in this place.

Sometimes it was hard to remember what life was like before his world became captivity and these unending experiments. The near-permanent drugs in his system didn't help. He knew they were to keep him docile; compliant, sedated, whatever you wanted to call it. There wasn't any way to fight it. They would always dose him up again before the previous dose would wear off.

The only good thing about the drugs was that they made him sleep.

It was his only escape from this world of permanent darkness. Because when he would sleep, he would dream. And when he dreamt, he could remember. His memories came in broken, distorted fragments, but at least they were there.

He remembered the forests and rivers, glades and meadows. Remember the ponds and dragonflies, the rain and sun. He would remember his magic, creating life out of nothing. He remembered his family. He remembered his life from before.

His dreams would vary. Usually peaceful, happy, and full of life.

Usually.

And then as quickly as they came, the dreams would be gone, and he would be subjected to his harsh reality once more.

He would wake up, back in the darkness of his cell. Always in the darkness.

At first, he would fight. Scream, kick, tear at his captors with his hands and teeth. But his throat would turn hoarse, his fingertips would bleed, his teeth would chip. He learned to be meek; he learned to surrender to the darkness.

Sometimes doctors would come in, poking and prodding till they were satisfied. Sometimes hours, or days, would pass without any contact from another living being (save for the occasional anguished cry of frustration or rage from a cell down the hall, or the pounding of desperate fists against their cage doors. Some poor souls who hadn't learned to just give in yet. Precious, foolish creatures). The only sense of time he had was reliant on the daily rations shoved unceremoniously through a slot at the base of his door on a tray. Sometimes, rarely, a team of doctors would come in and take him away, drugged and blindfolded. He would eventually feel a cold metal beneath his threadbare clothes; then would come the surgeries.

The first were his hearts. The next was his head, and then his core, and then his eye. Other than the normal drugs they would give him, nothing else was administered to keep his pain at a minimum. He was strapped down; wrists, waist, legs. He learned early on during the first surgery to keep his screams and cries at a minimum, limiting himself to small whimpers and digging his nails into the palms of his hands. The taste of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue became familiar.

This was the routine. And after what felt like months - maybe it had only been weeks, or maybe years, for all he knew - he was losing the remaining scraps of hope that help was coming.

No one was coming to save him.

The other humans were afraid of and threatened by the Fae, they certainly wouldn't help them, even if they knew what was REALLY going on.

He had hoped the rest of the Fae would come to their aid, but the fear of the supposed "disease" must've been keeping them at bay.

He remembered the rumors.