Crusade
by
Skyrene
Prologue
They were talking again, in that low tone of theirs.
She should have been able to hear it, but somehow their voices sounded so far away, and while she desperately wanted to listen in, she could not. She found no more strength to move her thin, bony body. They've made sure she wouldn't be strong enough to do anything but occasionally wail like an animal, begging for food or drink – which they gave her only in minimal amounts.
Days ago, they've dragged her roommate out. Or her fellow prisoner, really. The latter term fit this situation better. They were all prisoners here.
But either way, now she was lonely, and cold, and uncomfortable, and hungry, and why can't she go free? Vaguely, she remembered that she had someone important, out there in the world. But who? He was young, she knew, and it was a he, but she didn't remember much else. Something told her that this was very wrong – very wrong – but she couldn't tell why. Something also told her she used to remember him. Maybe when she first came here? Maybe before that?
She couldn't remember.
Mustering all that was left of her scattered psych, she dragged herself toward the door, leaning against it and breathing hard from the exertion the simple act of crawling had caused. But at least she was there, and she could listen.
"We're taking 43 with us," a man was saying gruffly. "And that's that. You've had enough time with her."
"But we're reaching a crucial state!" another, a woman, whined pathetically. "Just a little more time, please?"
"Like I'd fallen for that. You just want to have fun with her, you sick Wooper! She's going to us, and that's that. Now get lost before I revoke your researcher license altogether!"
The woman huffed. "Wooper? Really? Nothing better than that?"
"It is the most accurate. Get going; I think I heard Dr. Chase saying something about a new shiny Ninetails being brought in." The tone of the man's voice is more gentle than before, but not much softer.
Another huff. "Fine." And she heard high-heel shoes – was that what they were called? – clicking down the hallway.
No sound after that. She had nearly fallen asleep, but the abnormally loud noise of the key turning in the lock sent her scurrying backward in a burst of speed powered by fear. The thick steel door swung backward, and a man stepped in. The man she'd just heard, she thought, then grinned. At least she was still smart enough to reason out that much.
He stared down at her. He was a tall man with a mighty beard and bespectacled, dressed in a white lab coat and with a clipboard held in one hand. He stared down at her, and she saw something in his eyes. It was not hostility, at least. Something like…sympathy? Pity?
She hissed at him, pedaling backward.
The man just sighed. "C'mon," he said gruffly, and she saw two other figures outside the door, blocking the sterile white light. "We're going."
At a gesture from him, they entered the room. They grabbed her skinny arms and dragged her upright, but not with as much force as she'd been dragged before. They seemed to even be mindful of the bruises she had – she couldn't remember who'd inflicted them – and then proceeded to get her out of the room.
She didn't say anything. Her head lolled from one shoulder to the other, her eyes tightly shut. What does it matter? She was going from one hell to the next anyway. This might be a small act of mercy now, but wherever they were getting her to, it would be torment and pills and experiments and screaming and the sound of flesh tearing and white-coated people who liked to hurt her – will hurt her.
One hell to the next. She would never be free.
She started to cry.
So, again my better judgment, I decided to do a continuation of my one-shot. It's just too much of a good plot to actually pass up. And no, if you think this is a Pokemorph story, it's not. Rather, it's the process before the success of an actual Pokemorph - if there ever was one.
Tell me what you think.