Powerless

67. What if he chose Anxiety?

"The Host informs Virgil that this was once Host's room." Virgil tensed as he looked around the burnt-out room Host had brought him to. He was put in this straight jacket, strapped down to this wheelchair as Host took him through the halls. "The host spent several years here until his cousin and his boyfriend finally freed him." The Host sighed as he walked away from Virgil and stepped into the padded room covered in ash and soot. "The host spent many sleepless nights listening to the different narration in this room. The host doesn't understand how he was even able to get out but he is very grateful to Dark and Anti for rescuing him."

"Is that why you're doing this?" Virgil shook with nerves as the Host slowly turned towards him. His bloodied bandages that covered his eyes sent shivers down Virgil's spine. He could only imagine what happened to the guy.

"Virgil wonders what happened to the host." Virgil's eyes went wide as the Host actually smirked. "The host says he can show Virgil EXACTLY what happened to him." The host held his hand out and Virgil watched with wide eyes as the cloth that covered both his arms whipped out from the outstretched one wrapping around his mouth until he couldn't speak. "The host will gladly give a demonstration of his experience here." The host started to wheel him far away from the room down several halls until he made it this hospital looking room. 

He put Virgil into this chair they had and strapped him down despite the struggling Virgil attempted to do. It didn't work. Virgil still ended up strapped down with these things attached to his head. Virgil could feel his own anxiety rearing its ugly head as the Host slowly moved away to admire his handy work.

"The host wonders if Virgil is aware of what Mental strain treatment entitled." Virgil didn't answer. He just sat there occasionally trying to free his arms but it's all useless. "The host feels it's his obligation to inform at least one person. Even if that person will die..." Virgil whimpered as he watched the man sit down in the wheelchair he used to be in. "The host should begin with... ahh... right. It always started with that snap. For the host, it happened during a book." Virgil's eyes narrowed as the host smiled a tad. "Arther was writing his latest novel using his power of literary reality to warp things to his liking. The host must admit to missing the days when he could just sit and write. Unfortunately one of Arther's subjects didn't take to kindly to his story and in an attempt to get his derailed story back on the tracks Arther pushed himself to far and... Well... the host was made." The host slowly pushed himself up off the chair as he looked around the room for something.

"As with every strained, the host's weakness began to show up nearly instantly. The host is sure that Virgil can guess what it is considering the way the Host speaks. Unlike with his cousins, the host family was not to happy about the host being strained so they sent him for some help." The host spotted a small scalpel on the floor and smiled as he picked it up. "The help was not very adventitious." Virgil's eyes went wide as Host walked out in front of his cleaning the scalpel. "In fact, all it did was serve to make it worse."

"The shock and pain merely spurred the voices on with every... 'session'. The host does not hate the doctors, however. The host merely wishes he could've returned the favor." Virgil felt bile fill his throat as The Host leaned in with a wicked and crazed smile. He could smell the blood that clung to the bandages that covered the man's eyes and it made him nauseous. The host held the knife out towards Virgil's eyes and chuckled. "I guess you'll just have to do."

"NOW, SANSA!" The host jumped back as this little thing jumped onto his hand knocking the scalpel onto the floor. Host frowned as he stood there taking in the narrations trying to pinpoint... 

"A squirrel?" The host grinned as he stepped back holding his hands out to his side. "Braedon? Is that you?"

"Arther." Virgil tensed hearing a voice from above him. He strained to look but all he could manage was what might have been a red royal-like mantle. "Release him."