Symbiotic Submission

Issue 10: The Testing

I awoke in a context both familiar and unknown.

Haven had quickly conditioned me to restraint. Controlling me, my range of motion, pinning me with their own form into predicaments and binding my limbs however it pleased them. Waking up to find my wrists and feet shackled, my body spread out naked on a table, carried with it many of the same sensations as the alien symbiote's own domination of my body. The tight band stretched over my mouth, gagging my cries of alarm into a muffled 'mmm' also carried with it a degree of familiarity.

In contrast, the bright lights shining into my eyes and the total, complete nudity stood out as completely foreign and terrifying. More than the presence of new things, though, another absence really sank home how alone I was. Haven kept me in diapers all but constantly, and the absence of that familiar, crinkling bulge between my thighs told me that Haven was gone.

How stupid could I be? I knew Haven didn't actually care about me. I was a game, a toy, a plaything, a buffet. They liked me only insofar as I was a supply of food and entertainment, and a possessive streak didn't mean they actually cared about me as a person, only as an object. A prize to hold onto.

But, even knowing that they could manipulate my hormones and my emotions like a tech whiz reprogramming a computer, I'd allowed myself to believe that their care went deeper.

They'd abandoned me, but...

(Do you trust me?)

I'd said no, because there'd been no point in lying. I did not trust the alien that I relied upon, not really–in a situation like this, it had to be easier, safer, and smarter for them to abandon me and find another host. Their question stood out as a manipulation, a trick to get me to stay quiet and wait for them.

I hated that the manipulation worked. Even as I logically knew that Haven wouldn't come for me, emotionally I wanted that rescue.

To my left, I heard a door open. I tried to turn my head, but I was held in place by some sort of frame, metal bars on my left and right that kept me looking straight up. Outside my range of vision, a voice said, "Sir, she's awake."

"She's immobile, that won't matter," came a deep, masculine reply. "Run the tests. We need that sample."

Footsteps clinked on the floor–it sounded like tile–and I saw a face appear above me, covered in a surgical mask and goggles that rendered it almost completely alien, more like a puppet or a doll than a real person. Their goggles seemed to line up with mine for a moment, but I couldn't tell if they were making eye contact.

"I'm sorry that this is necessary," the person–a doctor? A researcher? said. "It's necessary–your brain has been overtaken by the parasite, and we don't know yet how to free you from its control."

I wanted to scream, to say, "I'm still in control, it didn't take over my mind," but the gag made it impossible, and...was that even true? I'd accepted a lot in the past week that would have been utterly unthinkable just a few days earlier.

Had Haven gotten into my brain? I knew they could influence my hormones, my emotions, but what about my memories? My identity? The concept hadn't even crossed my mind.

"If it's any consolation," the doctor continued, "Your mind will be an excellent specimen for our research. What we learn from you could further our understanding of xenobiology by decades. Think of how much your sacrifice will improve science at large."

It clicked, then. Not a doctor, not a researcher. A mad scientist.

The lights in the room changed, from brilliant white to a dark purple glow, and though I couldn't see much, the parts of my skin that were visible to me began to fluoresce. The goggles of the scientist twinkled for a moment, and they stepped back.