The Heart of a Lion

Branded :D

Part of the one-eyes ghoul au but real short

He didn't know how long it had been. The lights were always on in this room, and his internal clock was scrambled to all hell, the seamless white walls blending together so it looked like a blank white landscape generated by a computer.
It felt like eternities, maybe more, and how could he tell otherwise? There was no clock, and it wasn't like the scientists who collected him were the chattiest people in the world. When ever he asked, no, demanded to know when it was, or why he was there, or what happened to his freinds and family, someone poked him with a sharp stick, making him jolt like it was charged with a live wire.
He didn't like sticks anymore.
He refused to eat. He only ate when he had to, and he knew that displeased the whitecoats.
He didn't care. He just wished this nightmare would end—because it had to be a nightmare, right? There was no other explanation, no reason why he'd be needlessly suffering when he was surrounded by strong people—a best freind and girlfriend who would quite literally kill for him, and a high-ranking Dove for a mother, never mind how lackluster she could be.
He would wake up with a start before realizing he had woken up late, then run around the house getting himself together for school before meeting Shiratu and Yuuto and telling them all about his dream, about how the walls bled into each other and that he was a ghoul but not.
They'd laugh and tell him he was stuck as a human no matter how much he wanted otherwise—and he would go on with his day. He'd practice basketball for the next upcoming game and be carefree with Yuuto and go on dates with Shiratu.
And he'd forget. He'd forget and live happily, because this dream was even less than a bump in the road.
Fumihiro was jarred out of his hopeful daydreams by the pricing sound of a buzzer and bolt locks in the door sliding back. He didn't know what came over him, but he hissed and tensed, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a feral scowl, crouching down in what he knew to be a defensive position.
"Oh come now, Fumihiro-san. Don't be that way." Said the familiar voice that grated on his already frayed nerves and made his senses sharpen painfully. Maybe if he made a run for it now he could—"We're just freinds coming to visit."
"I don't want any food." He said sternly, his voice shaking with tension.
"No, I'm afraid it isn't food this time around, my experiment, but that will come soon enough." The scientist said, entering with his silent and brooding ghoul backup following dutifully begins to suppress Fumihiro when needed.
Wait.
There was something else. Before his sharp eyes narrowed in on its form, he smelled the scent of fire and charcoal, could feel the heat in his skin despite it being across the room.
In Mr. Silent's hand, was a rod, numbers etched into the end and glaring red hot.
Fumihiro bristled and tensed his legs, ready to spring up and fight for his life. A low growl pierced the room.
"Oh." The scientist said, as if just realizing his reaction. The rod was obviously meant to harm him. "Don't worry, Fumihiro-san. If you don't fight, it won't hurt for long. And it'll hurt even less if you'd eat."
Fumi fixed his eyes into a glare, one eye obsidian and scarlet, webbed veins visible against his skin.
"Hm. Thought not." The scientist said disappointedly, before bringing his hands together in a sharp clap. "Well, you might change your mind afterwards."
With that, the scientist took the rod from Mr. Silent's hands, and the black faced ghoul stepped forward, prompting Fumihiro to shrink back, a growl rising from his throat in warning.
Mr. Silent kept anyway without so much as a pause, his gait confident even as Fumihiro launched himself into the air, coming down hard on him and crashing to the floor, about to reach for the scientist before he was grabbed and dragged backwards.
Weight was suddenly on his back, pinning him in place as he writhed, spitting insults like venom.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Fumihiro-san." The scientist said, stepping close and crouching at his level.
Fumi's scarlet hair was yanked to the side, exposing his neck and making him hiss in anger more than pain.
"This will only take a few seconds."
The heated iron pressed into the skin in his neck, and he let out a gutteral cry that quickly cut off.