"You can't keep me in here!" someone yelled. "This is completely inhuman!" They pounded on the steel door that had a small slit for a window. "Do you hear me!" They slammed their palm on the door again. "Listen to me, damn it!"
I covered my ears to try to drown out the noise. This was the routine. Any new victims of the Pendency of Corlington tended to have similar reactions. Regardless of how many times I hear their screams for help, the demanding answers for the injustice of this hell hole with no answers. It always seemed to make me quiver in disgust, and tremble in fear of the sounds that they made. How could I not? The sounds were horrendous, the pain, the anguish, the monstrous sounds, it was all too much. I wish I could say that was all. The demand for answers, that is. They didn't always give the others the pleasure of taking them to the Grounds to do their dirty work. They loved to give their demented gifts to us. Our screams and whimpers made them laugh and fucking orgasm with glee.
They kept banging on their cell door. I whimpered for them to stop. "Hello..?" they said. Shit. They heard me. Damn, these blasted echoey walls.
"The Corvicts will hear you, and they... Don't play nice to" I was cut off by a blinding screech. Their coming.
You could hear them hitting the walls as they sprinted on all fours, the new victims all made muffled screams. They'll learn if they make it. One of the Corvicts slammed themselves on the door across from me. I knew they were making too much noise. I could hear them slam the door open with their demonic claws, and with that, the new victim screeched at the site of them. If they only knew how they were made. The Corvicts were once human. Some were once, one of us. They were selected by the Tirentionists, the leaders of Pendency of Corlington. The Corvicts are designed to keep us in line, so they say. The process of making the Convicts started with mass experiments till they made the "perfect recipe" for these monstrosities.
The Temples(the original victims of the Centers), passed on the stories down to everyone else on the horrors of the Original Corvicts. They would make the Temples watch. To instill fear that they could be next? No one knew why they were forced to watch this torture. The story goes that they would strap down these people to tables, and inject them with random toxins that would have the Originals tremble and screech in anguish. Some would be covered in hives and or bruises. Others' skin would have the illusion of their skin melting. These tests lasted weeks to months as they were making new intoxications for the Originals. They would always fight to get out of their restraints, and so many ended up dead, which in turn, meant someone had to take their place.
During the last week, the real horror began. These people were growing at rapid rates, most of their skin was more like leather, and most lost all their hair. They were turning into monsters before the very eyes of the Temples. They didn't all necessarily look the same when the transformation was over. Each individual had different atrocities laid before them. They didn't just get injections, they also had limbs removed to see if the healing procedures were taking place, or the indestructible spell was in process. Only one person from the first batch made it to the end of the rituals of procedures, and they were the worst of them all. The Vulture still roams these halls today. It's a fucking beast, around 7 feet when it's on all fours, and double in size when it has the room to stand. Its skin is a tattered mess, falling off its bones, yet frozen in place. The grin filled with knife-sharp teeth that take its entire face, slits for a nose, and bandages where its eyes should be. Only a few have seen its actual eyes, but none can tell the tale of what it resembles, the true description of death. You would never want to be captured in its arms, its uneven amount of claws for hands. Who knows if you'd make it? Its minions may be less gruesome, and weaker in comparison, but still not to be messed with.
