(A/N: Well, this is just something I had an idea of, and I just thought I'd run with it and see what happens.
If you like it, I can continue, otherwise, it will just be a oneshot into Fang's past. It depends on the kinds of reviews I get.
Disclaimer: Don't own MR.
Claimer: I own the idea. OWNIT!
Torturing Fang: Prologue
Dreams
Fang's Pov
Seven Years Old
A whitecoat had just taken me from my crate, leading me to a different room. I had turned around to look at the flock that I had come to recognize from my time here. Iggy was staring hard in the direction that the whitecoat was leading me, worry for me plastered on his face and in his sightless blue eyes. Nudge watched carefully, pressed against the back of her crate in silent fear. Max was as close to me as she could get, her skinny arms reaching through the bars in her cage to try and pull me back. All three of them were quiet.
We pressed through several white hallways, through a set of swinging white doors, and finally turned into a white room. The whitecoat led me into it, locking the door behind him.
In front of me was a wooden box with things sticking out of it. I didn't understand what they were at the time. The whitecoat walked me up to it and opened the door.
My instincts kicked in then. I pressed into him, away from the box, but before I could get away from it, the whitecoat shoved me inside and slammed the door. I was suddenly surrounded by darkness.
I hated the dark. And I hated tight spaces.
Right then, I felt something sharp poke into my skin, and I jumped. Then a shockingly familiar scream filled the empty space around me. It was Iggy's
I clamped my hands over my ears, but as soon as his scream went away, another filled it's space, just as loud and terrified. Nudge.
I began to shake, wanting to throw up. Then a third scream overlapped the second. It was filled with anger, pain, and something else that I'd never think I'd hear in that scream. Sheer terror.
It was Max.
Then the tears started to fall, hot tears, filled with anguish and confusion.
I wiped my eyes on my arm, trying to stop crying. There was nothing worse that they could do to me than this.
My eyes were clenched shut against the darkness that was pressing against me. If I couldn't see the darkness, then it wasn't real.
Another needle poked into my arm, and a tremor of complete horror and misery racked my body. Then I heard them scream again.
I don't know how long that went on; it could've been minutes, it could've been hours. All I knew was that once I started crying, I couldn't stop.
I just wanted to curl into a ball and sob, but the frequent pressing of needles into my skin prevented that from happening. I just kept standing, shaking, and crying.
The space around me was about the size of a small closet, and it was pitch black. My senses were on hyper aware because I had lost my sense of sight in the darkness, so the shock of the needles penetrating my skin was even more intense, and the volume of the Flock's screams was so much louder.
Another needle hit me, followed by the most intense scream yet.
My lips parted, and I let out a strangled cry that was horrible enough to curdle even my blood.
I felt another needle and screamed again, this time mixed with a heavy sob.
Then the torment stopped, and the door opened. I fell against the body that had opened the door (whitecoat, eraser, I didn't care) and sobbed quietly, gripping fistfulls of its shirt.
Whoever it was picked me up and carried me away from that horrible closet.
That was the worst experiment that I ever had tested on me, and they did it multiple times.
By the time I got back to my crate, my sobs had quieted and my tears were gone.
All that Max and the Flock ever saw of those experiments was the soft tremors of my shoulders after they put me back in my crate, my pallid skin, drenched in sweat, and tiny bruises the size of pinheads all over me.
(A/N: Well, I don't really care if you don't like it or not, but go ahead and review anyway. Don't forget to tell me if you want me to continue with it. (And tell me how you want me to continue it. Like, if it should stay as "seven-year-old Fang" or move to him being a teenager waking up from a nightmare.) Be creative. Give me ideas. And send me love! 83