[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/oehAK00.png[/img][/center][hr] [b]Location:[/b]The Underground Blood Bank [b]Time:[/b]Night [b]Interactions:[/b]Angel [@princess] & Sean [@FunnyGuy] [hr] [center][youtube]https://youtu.be/APfszb7_y7Y?si=kyiu1047RAMIlpuY[/youtube][/center] [color=silver]The first sensation was the cold. It was a deep, unfeeling chill that leached the heat from skin and bone, smelling sharply of copper, bleach, and a chemical cocktail that burned the senses. This was not the stagnant, damp cold of a fish market basement; this was the calculated chill of a large, industrial freezer, repurposed as a slaughterhouse. The room was vast, dominated by concrete support pillars and segmented by tall, overlapping metal cages. A harsh, fluorescent white light...unfiltered and unflattering...cast the scene in a brutal clarity, removing all shadow and subtlety. A low, mechanical hum vibrated through the floor, a constant, sickening counterpoint to the more human sounds like the rhythmic dripping of fluids, the soft, desperate weeping of the victims, and the grating, unconcerned voices of the operators. The cages lining the walls were not all occupied, but those that were contained Fae of all shapes and sizes. Most alive, some barely…some not at all. In the corner, two small forms...Fae children, no older than six...cowered together, their high, broken sobs were only muffled by their fear. One of them held a stuffed elephant that was stained with blood. He held the plush against his chest as though it could bring him comfort, as though it could save him from what was planned for him and his sister. It could not. Elsewhere, Fae men and women...eyes dull with hopelessness or blazing with futile rage...clutched the bars, their ethereal beauty marred by exhaustion, cuts, and bruises. One such man tried to scream his rage, but nought a sound came from his mouth. The fresh scar across his throat was the cause, as his vocal cords had been cut from him by a doctor who was glad to shut him up. The center of the room was the primary operation. Several gurneys, wheeled and metallic, held unconscious Fae subjects and worse. They were positioned precisely, their skin pale against the sterile white pads. Needles, impossibly thick and connected to long plastic tubing, plunged deep into veins and arteries, drawing their blood…their life-force...or perhaps, simply the essence of the Glamour itself, into plastic bags racked beside them. It was a blood bank set up for harvesting, but not through donation. This abomination was operated by figures in surgical scrubs and clear plastic face shields. The bright lights and sterile environment did not ease the horror of it all, it escalated it. But even worse, the far wall was a workshop of biological obscenity. On large, stainless steel tables, the bodies of Fae subjects lay in various stages of dissection and preservation. One body was splayed and pinned to a corkboard-like surface. Its skin, once vibrant, was stretched taut, and the organs had been removed, tagged, and laid out beside it. Another, partially flayed, had sections of skin and muscle pinned back with surgical instruments to expose layers beneath...a horrific, three-dimensional biological diagram. The woman’s eyes still darted around the room despite her body being torn open by the monsters operating around her. Silent tears fell from her eyes as she laid in unimaginable pain. Chained to one of the central support pillars was Sean Stone, his athletic body was wrapped gratuitously in the metal links, his arms behind his back, keeping him in a standing position despite his unconscious state. His mask was hanging from its own chain, dangling a couple feet from his face so that it would be the first thing the man would see upon waking. Suspended mid-air nearby, between the harsh fluorescent glare and the cages, hung Sicily. She was the centerpiece of their precautions, secured with punishing precision. Five heavy chains held her taut…because with vampires you can never be too safe. Two chains pulled her arms high to the ceiling.Two more chains pulled her legs wide and low toward the floor. The fifth chain, the most critical, was a heavy collar locked around her neck. The metal of the collar was different than the others, a dull silver, visibly engraved with archaic Fae runes that glowed with a faint, strange magic. Near the entrance, the armored figures who had captured them stood guard, their movements now relaxed. They spoke in low, contemptuous tones, casually overlooking the horror show around them as they waited for their prisoners to stir. This place was like home to these sick bastards. One of the gas-masked captors...whose voice had been smug in the basement...gestured sharply toward the pinned Angel. [color=#9E1B26]"I still say we should have snapped the bitch's neck."[/color] A scientist nearby, hunched over a bloody gurney, glanced up, wiping his glasses. [color=#4E518A]"The constraints are necessary, and you know why. However, she is not the priority. It's the Warden. The Benefactor gave clear instructions, and your job isn’t to bitch…it’s to follow orders."[/color] Another of the armored men scoffed, but replied with a wicked laugh. [color=#259E00]"Fuckin’ Hollow. He's been an absolute cancer, man. That idiot cost us two shipments this month alone. The only reason he's breathing is because the Benefactor wants it that way. When she’s done with him, I call dibs on gutting him like a pig."[/color] The scientist chuckled, a dry, academic sound. [color=#4E518A]"Hollow's methods are fascinating. The man is equal parts precise and ruthless. He’s valuable data, boys. And besides, if the Benefactor wants to dissect the man, you don't argue."[/color] He adjusted the clamps on his table, his gaze distant. [color=#4E518A]"They arrive soon. Make sure the subjects are awake and the staging is correct."[/color] The first operator shifted his weight, his helmet catching the light. [color=#9E1B26]"What do you think she wants with the bitch?"[/color] The doctor shrugged, turning back to his work. [color=#4E518A]"Bait, perhaps. Or maybe just a demonstration of what happens when you fuck with the business."[/color] The heavy, cold silence returned, broken only by the whimpering Fae and the quiet, persistent drip, drip, drip of blood being siphoned away. One of the brutes pulled something from his jacket pocket, cracked it down the middle, and approached Hollow holding it up to the Warden’s nose. Smelling salts, potent stuff. Enough to wake the man from his deep unconsciousness. He then did the same to the girl. [color=#259E00]"Wake up cunts... Welcome to hell.[/color] [/color]