Patrick Stump Imagines

45 - Detectives and Doctors

Your head ached as you woke up in what looked like a bunker. It's all dull and the only thing in it is you and a mattress. You noticed an IV attached on the back of your hand. Your eyes shook open as you take out the needle, about three to four inches, filled with blood. You even tried to recollect on how you turned up here in this bunker.

The last time you remembered, you were in the hospital, but your mind couldn't proscess what you were doing.

Another thing you noticed was your right leg. You cannot move it as it was just laying on the bed, straightly, as something like a cast attached on your knee, making it unable to move.

You tried to buck the cast off, but it seemed it is well made as you felt metals on it. On the other hand, you saw your stuff and clothes resting on the corner of the room. Giving an attempt to take it, youbwere stopped when the cast was held by a cuff.

"Fuck." You hissed. You took down the stand where your IV rests and tried to reach for your communicator. You dragged it to your direction and tried to operate it.

No signal.

You pressed it to your forehead as you try to figure out where you were. No windows, but only a door that seemed like it's really really secured.

"This place is far from the city. That's why." A voice said.

When you looked at the door way, a familiar figure stood as the thought of what he has done paints a sour emotion in your face.

The doctor that turns his patients into real-life masterpiece.

Dr. Patrick Stump.

He eyed the communicator in your hand, looked at the ground for a while then grinned at you.

"You're not getting out of here, Detective Y/FN." He snapped, pulling a chair and dragging it to your left.

"You sick bastard!" You were about to assault him with the communicator in your hand when electric current ran from your right leg to your whole body, sending you back down to the mattress.

"If I were you, I wouldn't misbehave." He murmured as he looks at your face. His index finger ran on your jaw. "Or else, you could be a great piece."

"No." You panted.

"Then, don't." He snapped. He picked up the iron bar and hung the IV back. He took my arm, wiped the needle and inserted it back where it rested a while ago. You groaned in pain as you felt your body relaxed.

He brushes your hair and smiles innocently at you, just like the smile he gave when you took your lunch with him.

"I can take care of you." He murmured.

"H-how'd I get here?" You suddenly asked. He chuckled, planted a kiss on your forehead and looked directly in your eyes.

"Oh swertheart, I slipped something in your drink before I give it to you." He produces a syringe from the pocket of his lab gown. He taps it in mid-air.

"What are you going to do?" You asked, as your body fails to respond on your will.

"Stress is bad for you." He takes the arm with the IV. "And besides, you've heard too much." He pushes it into a portion and injected its contents as it slowly made you feel dizzy.

He did not leave until he saw how the drug made you asleep once more.

He took away the communicator from your grasp, threw it on the ground and stepped on it, breaking it into pieces.

Before he opened the door to your bunker, he gazed at you again and smiled.

"I guess I'll do this the other way around." Patrick murmured to himself.

As he reached his office, he gazed on a screen and watched as the other detectives grieve over the pseudo-body he left in the basement of the hospital.

If they thought that they could trick him, they were completely wrong. They could be bad, but he can be worse. Or even worst.

Making fun of him was years ago. This is his turn right now.

"These idiots didn't know I have the other one!" He exclaimed and laughed.

And now, he must execute his second plan. Perfectly.