Subdue-X

Angels In Black, Demons in White

“Stop,” a voice boomed, enraged and heavy with authority. “Dim the light.”

The relief that washed over me as the blinding light faded was fleeting—a dull, numbing kiss on the forehead before the pain returned, sharp and unrelenting. My vision was spotty, colors bleeding into one another, shapes indistinct and faces faceless.

"Keep on, and you'll be performing heart surgery," the voice growled deeply, "so give it a break."

I couldn't tell who was speaking—just shadows and echoes—but I could hear the clatter of metal and plastic as instruments were set down around me. Hands withdrew, gloves were peeled off, and footsteps shuffled out of the room. The visitor left with them, but Pin’s bald head still lingered in my peripheral vision, his silhouette hesitant as the door clicked shut.

“Hold on in there,” he muttered, voice laced with exhaustion as he swept a trembling hand over his face. He gripped his glove in his other hand, his movements slow, methodical.

I tried to respond, but my body wouldn’t allow it. All I managed was a faint shake of my head. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound that anchored me, a constant reminder that I was still here—still suffering.

Pin’s mask slipped down, revealing his face in full. My brain scrambled to register the sight. Had it been hours? Days? Time was a blur of pain and confusion.

“Neither of us can afford to shake our heads,” he said sternly, though the exhaustion in his voice betrayed him.

I opened my mouth, words crawling out broken and jagged. “Who convinced you to do this?”

“Me,” he replied, distant yet present, his eyes flickering between the machines and my face. “And they made it happen.”

“Who?” I pushed, gritting my teeth as another wave of stinging pain washed over me.

He didn’t break eye contact, though something in his gaze hardened. “Never trust the people you believe to be closest with.”

The second his words registered, my chest jolted violently, the heart monitor beeping faster. His chest rose and fell heavily, regret hanging between us like a storm cloud.

“You became more valuable than ten million to certain people,” he muttered, breaking eye contact. His voice was devoid of emotion, as if trying to distance himself from the reality he was part of.

I wanted to speak more, to demand answers, but he abruptly stood and exited the room. I shifted my head painfully, catching sight of the glass wall. A shadow—a man—backed away, retreating into the darkened corridor. His fists were balled tightly, and the tension radiated off him even through the glass.

I stared at the dimmed light, feeling its pull—inviting, like sleep. But just as I began to surrender, Pin returned, tapping my shoulder sternly.

“You have to stay awake,” he commanded, his voice sharp enough to cut through the haze.

My chest ached, a constant weight pressing down on my lungs. Every muscle in my body screamed, tense and exhausted. His assistants came back and surrounded the table 

He stood up, rubbing a hand over his head. His eyes met mine, and I could see the plea hidden behind his stern expression. “I need this to work,” he muttered, his voice gravelly, almost as if he was talking to himself. “This has to work.”

Then, a voice roared above me, louder than any of the pain. My soul seemed to jolt out of my body, only to snap back like a rubber band. I was trembling uncontrollably, feeling lifeless yet somehow still conscious.