Hojo's fingers pushed at the cold fragile frames of his glasses, sliding them further up his nose, damp with a thin veneer of perspiration. His footsteps echoed; an eldritch sound amongst the throaty groans and drips created by the writhing body laid upon the table. With long, casual strides, Hojo made his way to a small metal table, festooned with shining surgical instruments, luminescent in the gloom.
From the array Hojo plucked a scalpel from its resting place, rotating it nimbly in his blood stained hands. It shone and glistened in the fluorescent light, reflecting the image of the bloodied martyr on the operating table.
Smiling gently Hojo dropped his arm to his side, his twitching hand still grasping the sharp sliver of metal. Walking closer, ever closer, towards the operating table, Hojo stopped as his emaciated body physically met with the chill table. Hojo reached up towards the sole light of the room, dragging it down closer to his prostrate victim, making the metal joints of the lamp screech like a pig sent out to slaughter causing Vincent to jump at the rambunctious noise. Lying on the table Vincent squinted up at his torturer soaking in the sight of the ever-present smile plastered onto the burlesque oil painting that was Hojo's face.
Gasping with fright Vincent trembled as Hojo brought down the scalpel to Vincent's chest, to where the burning bullet laid ensconced within his flesh. The scalpel however was laid down flat, the sharp blade teasing him as it rose and fell with Vincent's sporadic and hurried breathes. Peals of laughter resounded, thick with triumph and distain as Hojo observed the reaction his tease had caused.
Flickering, the light overhead buzzed, the bulb singing its dirge as the flickers began to create longer periods of darkness, throwing Hojo's form into silhouettes that slid across Vincent's bare chest. Hojo kept circling around the table, his footfalls punctuating the seconds, as each was perfectly in sync with the second hand ticking on Hojo's thin wrist. Hojo's eyes, black beads reminiscent of a bird of prey watched Vincent shudder and tremble as blood continued to gurgle forth from the bullet wound, creating red streams that outlined Vincent's pale body in a deep congealed crimson.
Vincent's eyelids began to droop, encasing his red hues ever more quickly with their fleshy protection as the blood loss began to slowly and horrifically degenerate his once nimble body. The world in Vincent's eyes wavered and warped as silent tears flowed freely as the once proud Turk resigned himself to his failures, to his sins… to Hojo's triumph.
At least, Vincent reasoned, he wouldn't be aware of the atrocities that would befall his supple body once Hojo began his experiments on his corpse. His last naïve thought, his last ideal, left behind in his ending life. His new would soon begin, soaked in blood and cloaked in darkness.
Glee spread through Hojo's body, his veins and muscles trembled with excitement as he hurried over to the defeated man's side. Pushing two fingers hard onto the carotid vein Hojo's smile spread further across his features, revealing all of his narrow yellowed teeth.
Now he could begin.
The scalpel struck, digging deep between the cooling skin and bullet, levering the hard metal out until it came loose, creating an odd wet sound that disturbed the relative silence. Rolling, the bullet slipped off the corpses chest, bouncing loudly onto the metal table leaving a small red trail as proof of its passage. Hojo reached down for it holding it up to the light as to examine it more carefully.
Pocketing the ensanguined souvenir Hojo reached out for a needle and thread, rapidly stitching the bullet wound until the blushed skin was tied together with black thread. Clutching the scalpel once more, Hojo wiped it on his trouser leg and slowly lifted the scalpel to Vincent's chest. The blade clean of blood rose again like a new moon, cold and impassive as it dug into the dead bodyguards chest. New blood erupted from the incision; it oozed from beneath Vincent's pale chest until it began to patter with increased frequency onto the table.
Hojo's eyes traced the incision made; his fingers went unbidden to the cut, his mind but a passive spectator to the spectacle. His digits traced the wound, their tips detected the remnants of body heat effusing itself from the body, until slowly the possessed fingers dug into the cut creating a larger more grievous wound, resulting in further progression of the already quickly flowing blood. Tearing his eyes away from his digits Hojo surveyed Vincent's face for any change, as Hojo could still not comprehend that the man had truly passed on.
Vincent's wan face however remained unchanged, his thin alabaster lips were slightly parted, his brow pinched together with pain and horror, his eyes hidden beneath their organic shields. Soon these features would be reanimated, Hojo's very own defiance against the Life Stream.
The thought caused Hojo's heart to palpitate and beat harshly against its bony prison, and turning Hojo scoured the side table for a hypodermic needle, already filled with a red viscous liquid that glowed with a sickly light. Pouncing at the corpses chest Hojo's left hand pulled the incision apart whilst his right, equipped with the readied syringe, pushed the long tip deep into the dead mans body. With a practiced motion Hojo injected the incandescent liquid and withdrew the syringe. Hojo stared at the corpse watching ever so carefully for the first signs of returning life. Vincent's dark brows twitched and his eyes opened, feverishly blinking away the glaze that death had shrouded them with.
Hojo smiled and Vincent screamed.