❝ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭. ❞
❝ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭? 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞
╰┈➤ 𝐘/𝐍 𝐋/𝐍, known to some as simply the 'cat hero,' will do anything to get more out of her hero caree...
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PAPERWORK WAS THE first thing that came to mind as you imagined the aftermath. Paperwork, handing over all the information you collected on the mission, and hopefully that would be it on your end. There would probably be some other inconveniences to take care of, but definitely paperwork.
In the meantime, you tried breaking the bars of your cage. Your hands couldn't do much, you gave sitting back and kicking the bars a shot. If you had Rumi's legs it would've been easy.
The others tried similar methods, making the most of their quirks with fruitless attempts. When you started running out of breath and the metal appeared untouched, you rested.
Your stomach gnawed persistently with hunger pangs by the time the same doctors returned for another experiment, ignoring screams when they stepped in. Some of the members threatened that their leaders wouldn't be happy when they found out about what was going on, Sayako being one of them. Others spat that the pro heroes would come soon and put them all in Tartarus where they belonged.
When the two pairs of eyes swept the room for their next target, the protests silenced altogether. You curled into yourself, avoiding any eye contact as you grabbed your collar to call for help again. One, two, three, four, then again for safe measure.
Footsteps neared, you held your breath like you were playing dead, not daring to look up.
The injector settled in front of the cages to your left. Too close for comfort, you thought, racing to locate the other doctor. In front of the intercom, the one with the clipboard relayed another fate monotonously. "Subject 2 and 3. Formula B. Injecting subject 2."
Another formula? So they were testing different variations of Ferine on live subjects before selling it on the streets... A strategic operation. If the drug turned out to be overly hazardous, like it no doubt was, none of you could escape and report anything. The thought made you close your eyes in effort to stay calm before you heard: "Injecting subject 3."
It was almost the same as last time, only worse. Both fought their bodies, jerking awkwardly like every fiber of their being was allergic to the drug. They gagged and foamed at the mouth like rabid animals. While subject 2 tore her skin with her nails, clawing as if to escape her body, subject 3 swung in and out of consciousness as he fought against the cage, eventually bloodying himself with messy effort.
The doctors stayed a moment for observations, reading their heart rates and scribbling notes before stepping out. The screams in the room simmered to echoed cries and broken voices, strained and raw.
Somewhere amidst the cacophony, you laid down your head with one hand hanging onto the bars of your cage. Your vision blurred with tears lining your eyes until they spilled down your cheek, collecting shallow pools on the floor. And muddled with those hot tears and the choked-up feeling of your throat were abandoned memories of mere seasons ago when you were doing the same thing—watching uselessly. Not able to do anything to help. Not when people were getting hurt in front of you, not when you were the only hero around. Your grip on the bars tightened.
