Mark's senses came back to him slowly, rousing him from his sleep.
Everything was numb, at first. His body felt like it was floating, and his thoughts muddled in his head... There were noises around him, but they were muffled as if he were underwater.
His brows furrowed, and his throat vibrated as he groaned. He didn't... feel right.
There was something shifting around him—the noises growing more intense now that he started waking up. Hushed whispers and clinking metal. The occasional pen scratch that felt too loud.
Mark couldn't lift his head, his neck too tired to support it. He wearily opened his eyes, lashes fluttering—and with a wince, he squinted at the bright lights.
For a moment, he wondered if he was in heaven. The piercing white from above, the dull aching of his body...
But when his eyes fully adjusted, dread consumed every fibre of his being, and bile rose in his throat.
His breaths caught, picking up, and he glanced around the room with just his eyes.
He was still in the laboratory.
He weakly struggled, panting when his wrists and ankles pulled against the leather restraints. Now that he was fully aware, the pain came rushing back at full force.
He cried out, his throat sore and raw. Ox rushed towards him, made sure it was clear, then hovered a hand over Mark's body. His scales fluttered, and in the next second, the pain vanished.
Mark gasped, relief flooding through his body. He glanced over at Ox with furrowed brows, panting.
Why was he helping?
"Antinstine will be here any minute," said Syl's voice from afar. "If he catches you doing that..."
"I know," sighed Ox. He opened his eyes, gaze focusing onto Mark. "Please forgive me, Viper... I would have done this from the beginning, but... Antinstine's orders are very..."
Mark swallowed, still panting. Despite the absence of pain, he was still breathless and weary. It reminded him of Ether—how she could heal wounds only at the surface. He assumed his body was still stressed.
He cleared his throat, letting himself relax for the time being. His vision threatened to cut out a few times. "How... long was I out?" he said slowly, voice weak.
Ox huffed, scales still fluttering. "Not long enough," he said quietly. "Your body isn't fully recovered."
Ox's eyes trailed down to Mark's arms, and his brows furrowed. The black paint was crinkled, beginning to chip away. Mark followed his gaze, and his heart shot into his throat. He had to suppress his surprise.
"Your arms," said Ox. "They're..."
He reached for them, and Mark jerked against the binds. Ox jumped.
"They're—sensitive," Mark said quickly. His fists clenched, which only caused the paint to crackle more. Dread pooled in his gut. "It... it happens when I'm... stressed."
Ox lingered for a moment before nodding, oblivious to Mark's lie. He took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes. The lights were still so bright, and if Ox weren't taking his pain away, his head would be pounding.
He flexed his fingers for a moment, his breaths cantering.
He knew he should have repainted them. Who knows how much longer it'd last... if it peeled away—
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STRANGULATE | Markicest
Fanfiction"I have tears from presidents, kings and queens, even servants. From them, I have power. Not the power of reigning over nations, but the power of knowing one's secrets." ➿ Mark, a renowned serial killer, murders celebrities of all kinds. He makes i...
