2019 Voltron Whumptober Collection

23 Bleeding Out

Word Count: 1,855

"This is trial three of experimentation 140. Subject human-hybrid KE1-76, testing blood restoration processes."

He attempted curling tighter in on himself on the table at they approached, his bound hands and ankles doing little to hide himself as they came forward, some kind of knife in hand, lab masks on, the reflective surface only showing the wideness of his bloodshot eyes, his pale skin, eyebrows sticking out like a sore thumb, lower lips stained red with how many times he's bitten it.

His dark hair had been gone for a while now, the long dark strands now nothing but a thin layer of fuzz on his head, making him shiver at the lack of warmth.

And he was scared.

But- that had never been anything new.

Not since-

"Trial three, experiment 140- blood restoration is go."

His arm was jerked out then, the action almost robotic, the underside of his pale wrist sticking up in the sterile white light of the lab while the scientist's gloved hands fumbled for the perfect spot to make another scar on his skin.

Finally deciding on about three-fourths up his forearm, they cut into him, the deep slice only making him wince as blood began bubbling up to the surface. He couldn't hold in his whimper as they cut again, the new streak of blood joining the second as it crept down his arm, and a scientist on the other side of the table wrenched up his other forearm to do the same, drops of scarlet hitting the table with soundless plops.

He clenched his eyes shut when they snapped a new device onto the port embedded in his skin, most likely to record how fast his body could restore blood back to his system. The skin all around his stomach red and inflamed around the device, but they either didn't seem to care or wanted to see what it would do to him too.

It would always be about the tests.

"Placing subject KE1-76 back into containment for further study."

With a click, the restraints retracted back into the table, fingers wrapping around his arms the moment he was free, the guards that had been standing by the doors moving to escort him back to his room.

Though he didn't think anyone would deny it was more of a cell than anything else.

A great. White. Inescapable. Cell.

The stainless steel toilet and sink greeted him as he stumbled back to the small room, the door slamming behind him, the multiple locks sliding back into place the moment he stepped inside.

There was blood dripping down his arms now, falling to the white floor under him without a sound.

He didn't really care much about that.

A white bed sat next to the white door surrounded by white walls, the mattress hard, but warm, sheets thin, but there nonetheless.

His pale arms ached.

The blood was a nice change in color at least.

If anything, it made him feel a little better before his mood darkened again and he was left in the same place he started.

He moved to the far corner of the room, the floor cold and hard under bare feet as his back hit the wall, sliding down until his bottom hit the ground, blankly staring at his bloody arms, trying to remember a time where it wasn't like this.

Where he wasn't a prisoner.

Although he'd done his best in blocking it all out, slipping into that mindscape where he was numb from it all it, the pain, the tests (so many tests), the suffering like there was no tomorrow-