Vincent woke up very, very slowly, which struck him right away as odd. He was a fighter; he usually came awake all at once. This morning, though, it was like swimming through molasses.
Wait.
...This morning? He didn't even remember going to sleep. Besides, this didn't feel like his bed. Still not awake, Vincent stretched .
And met resistance.
Confused, he tried again to stretch, but only wrenched his wrists and ankles. They were firmly, stubbornly, staying right where they were. His position was odd, too. Usually he sprawled on his stomach, but he was on his back with his arms at his side and his legs spread apart. More aware of his surroundings now, he was beginning to realize there was a slight pressure on his wrists, his ankles, and his neck that, when he tried to move even a little, increased to the point of pain.
His chest hurt.
Someone was humming tunelessly.
Vincent opened his eyes, but he found he couldn't see anything. Wherever he was, it was pitch black. His rapidly clearing mind assessed the situation: he was strapped down, tight enough to be unable to move even a little, it was dark and he had no idea where he was. Someone else was in the room with him.
...Well, shit.
"Who's there?" he called. He pressed again against the restraints, testing them, but he only received a bruised throat for his efforts.
No answer.
The humming increased in volume.
Vincent broke out in a cold sweat. He had a detached thought that he'd always thought 'cold sweat' was a figure of speech, but apparently it was not.
Vincent jumped as much as was possible when he felt a knife scrape lightly along his side. He tensed, expecting it to carve into his skin, but he felt only the sensation of his clothes being cut away. The knife grazed his skin, but did not penetrate.
He would have felt considerably better about that if he weren't now lying naked strapped to a table.
The humming ceased for a moment, gave way to a breathy laugh as the last of Vincent's clothing fell away. Vincent felt all of his muscles contract as a cold hand trailed down his chest. It vanished, only to make its way lazily up the inside of his thighs a moment later.
He realized absently that his breath was coming in short gasps now. The humming started back up as the hand made its way to exactly where he did not want it to go and squeezed briefly before vanishing again. Instinctively, Vincent tried to press his legs together, but they didn't move.
"Who's there..." he asked again, but his voice was shaky now where it had been strong before. The laughter came again, hands roaming his body came again, and a flash of memory lit the darkness.
Hojo! What have you done to Lucrecia!
Laughter. Mocking laughter. Sound of a gunshot, smell of blood, then...nothing.
"Lucrecia," he breathed. Then, louder, "Hojo!"
But the laughter only intensified as one hand left him. One hand continued to caress his prone form, and within moments the other hand returned and dabbed something cold on his arm. It left, then there was a prick of pain in the crook of his elbow. A small red light illuminateda bare instant before being smothered. An IV.
The IV scared him, because it meant Hojo wasn't moving him any time soon. Sure enough, the next thing Hojo did was set up a catheter. All the while his skin crawled with the sensations of Hojo's hands on his bare flesh.
Finally the hands left him, and his tense body relaxed finally. He could hear Hojo rummaging around in a drawer briefly, but no matter how he strained, he couldn't hear footsteps when it stopped. He had no way of telling when Hojo was approaching him.
A knife sliced into his arm. Vincent gasped, a brief choked sound. The humming resumed, and he finally placed it as the mangled version of an old child's lullaby. Something was sprinkled into the wound on his arm, something that made his blood bubble and burn like liquid fire. He bit his lip as it shot through his bloodstream, actually bit through his lip in an effort not to cry out.
The knife sliced into his arm again and again, with intense regularity, and Vincent gradually realized that he could feel a pattern taking shape. Hojo was branding him, scarring a signature into his skin.
Blood was dripping steadily from his lower lip.
After an eternity Hojo stopped carving into his shoulder. He took the knife and plunged it into the lower half of Vincent's arm. This time he couldn't stop himself from crying out; the blade was coated in the same substance Hojo had dripped into the wound. There was the cold brush of disinfectant, then a needle slowly emptied into his arm. This didn't burn like whatever else was in his bloodstream, but that was almost worse because he didn't know what was in this or have any idea what it might be for.
Hojo's lips pressed against his forehead, making him shudder convulsively. Hojo moved down and kissed his neck just above the metal collar while groping him, no longer humming but laughing softly again. He pulled away, leaving Vincent gasping for air and wracked with shudders.
Hojo spoke for the first time, before Vincent heard him move away and up a flight of stairs, mocking words called back to his trapped enemy.
"I own you, Vincent Valentine, body, mind, and soul."
Vincent lay there panting and staring into the dark. No matter how hard he focused, he saw only black and the splashes of color that came from straining his eyes too hard. He wrenched again and again against his bonds but he couldn't move. The metal started to cut into his skin, scraping away at it, leaving painful wounds all around the cuffs so that finally he couldn't move at all. At the same time, the knife in his arm had gotten dug in further, now buried to the hilt.
After a long time of laying still and trying to think of a way to escape, Vincent tried once more to wrench free. This time, bones in his wrists and ankles snapped.
Vincent yelped. There was no way that such a movement could have broken bones, but they were unmistakably broken. He lay perfectly still, not daring to move in case the collar snapped his neck next.
His first clue that Hojo had returned was the hand that squeezed briefly, then left. The cuffs around his wrists and ankles were tightened, Hojo making a noise of displeasure as he did so. Then the cuff around his neck was tightened, lessening the flow of oxygen and making it hard to think.
"Hmmm. Weaker bones, advanced healing." A hand tilted his head forward and he felt warm breath on his face as heard laughter. "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you, Vincent?" Lips brushed his forehead, then licked the blood from his lips. "No...you have too little oxygen to be thinking coherently. Too little oxygen, and too much Mako."
Something invaded his mouth. Hojo was kissing him. Vincent struggled, but he couldn't budge at all. His chest heaved, but that was the only movement. He was vaguely aware that Hojo had added more cuffs around his thighs and upper arms while tightening the original restraints.
Hojo's hands closed over his. Hojo was lying on top of him, evidently exulting in Vincent's desperate struggles. He snapped Vincent's finger backwards. Vincent screamed, the sound muffled by Hojo's mouth on his. Hojo laughed into the kiss and methodically broke each of Vincent's fingers, one at a time, closing his mouth on each of Vincent's cries.
When he reached the last finger, the first one broken had healed, and he started over again.
Like everything else since this nightmare began, Vincent had no way of knowing how long this went on. At some point only one hand was still breaking his fingers. Hojo's other hand had found its way to Vincent's stomach and was kneading rhythmically. Gradually it moved lower.
Vincent jerked against Hojo, eyes wide in terror. Hojo raised his lips from Vincent's for a moment, long enough to whisper, "Is this what my wife did to you? Is it, Vincent?" He moved from breaking Vincent's fingers to lock one hand around his arm, pressing gradually tighter until the bone snapped. "Well. She'd be ashamed to be with you now, whore."
Vincent gasped for air, but already Hojo's mouth was covering his, Hojo's body jerking against his. Instinct made Vincent try to slam his legs together, made bones in his legs break. He could do nothing until they healed. It wouldn't take them long, but even then the restraints were too tight to allow any movement.
Finally Hojo moved off him, though a hand lingered on his chest as if warning him of movement. As though Vincent could have moved. Hojo stuffed something into Vincent's mouth, some kind of cloth, forcing it wide open. The hand left his chest and Hojo started filing his teeth down, sharpening his canines into fangs. Vincent gasped in pain, making Hojo chuckle and kiss him briefly.
"My bloody Valentine," he murmured, before continuing his filing. When the pain and the lack of air became too much, Vincent started struggling again. Hojo climbed onto the table and straddled him, planting his knees on his chest with enough force to crack ribs. Vincent gasped, no longer having enough air to scream with. Apparently having finished with his teeth, Hojo pushed the cloth down so that Vincent couldn't close his mouth around it. Tears were falling from Vincent's eyes and Hojo kissed them.
The knife in his arm had left long tears in his flesh. Hojo plucked it out and carved into his chest, starting an intricate tattoo. Occasionally he paused to sprinkle more of the blood-burning concoction into the wounds. Any time Vincent struggled, Hojo broke a bone, or Vincent himself broke bones thrashing. Arms, legs, wrists, ankles, at one point Vincent even distinctly felt his neck snap before it healed. The healing was becoming more and more rapid, the pain more and more intense.
When Hojo finished, he plunged the knife back into Vincent's arm. He pulled the cloth from Vincent's mouth and kissed him. Vincent tried to keep his lips pressed together, his new fangs drawing blood, but Hojo pressed one hand to his stomach and trailed it lower again. Vincent gasped involuntarily and Hojo's tongue snaked in.
There were footsteps, then Hojo was gone.
Again, Vincent spent a long time staring into the darkness, straining his ears in case the scientist returned. The restraints were much tighter now, cutting off blood flow and oxygen. Vincent wished fervently that he had clothing, that his legs weren't spread so far apart, that he wasn't afraid of the slightest movement because of the pain brought on by broken bones.
Dully, he realised that he even knew some of the reasoning behind what Hojo was doing. He was conditioning him, irrevocably linking pain and pleasure in his mind. Vincent knew he'd never be able to enjoy a kiss, or even an embrace, ever again without it bringing back this pain.
Unfortunately, knowing what Hojo was doing didn't make it any easier to bear.
Vincent must have fallen asleep at some point this time, out of sheer exhaustion and frustration. He woke up to a series of shots in his mangled left arm. Hojo didn't even bother to remove the knife, merely pushing it out of the way, tearing through already abused flesh and bone. Oddly, Hojo merely gave him the shots and left, not lingering. Vincent heard something vague in the back of his mind and assumed he'd fallen back to sleep. He was having a lucid dream where he was talking to an entity that had found itself in his mind.
The entity seemed confused at first as to why it was there, then delighted. It slid invasively into the corners of Vincent's mind, prying at his thoughts, causing random flashes of memory. It came to one that involved Lucrecia, and, apparently intrigued, searched out more with her in them.
Vincent was beginning to realize that he wasn't dreaming and that there really was something in his head. Something that was digging through his thoughts and memories like it belonged there.
/If she is happy, then I don't mind./ The creature in his mind laughed. Vincent grit his teeth, felt the fangs graze his lips.
Get out of my head, then more forcefully, get out of my head!
The dark presence roiled in his mind, the seemed to split into four. The flashes of his own memories were interspersed with others, memories almost exclusively of battles and blood. The entities reveled in a flood of triumph, giving Vincent the distinct impression of being crowded in his own mind. Then, they seemed to merge with his mind, making it unclear where his thoughts ended and theirs began.
Hojo did not return for a long time.
Vincent didn't notice at first when he did return. Gradually he became aware that his left arm had been unshackled. Unfortunately, that was the mangled arm, the one that Vincent had no hope of moving any time soon. If ever.
Hojo was cradling Vincent's arm. He yanked the knife out and let the dead arm drop back down onto the table.
"Why...isn't my arm healing..." It took Vincent a long moment to recognise his own voice. He hadn't consciously decided to speak. Nor did he expect an answer.
"I don't know," Hojo replied simply, to Vincent's surprise. "It should have, but it did not. Would you like to see it?"
Suddenly unsure, Vincent paused. Hojo was suddenly being nice?
...Dammit, this man made no sense.
"I...yes."
"Alright, close your eyes. This is going to sting, since you've been in the dark for so long."
Something in the back of his mind laughed. Vincent tried very hard to ignore it.
Hojo flipped on a switch, and even closed, the light slammed painfully against Vincent's eyes. He kept them shut even as he felt Hojo unclasping the cuffs around his neck and his other arm, drawing out the IV needle and detaching the catheter, even as Hojo helped him sit up with one arm supporting his back. Vincent felt Hojo move his injured arm so that Vincent himself was holding it, since Vincent couldn't move it himself.
"All right, you should be able to open your eyes now." Slowly Vincent did so, though the light seemed harsh. Hojo guided his head forward. "Here...huh?" He tilted Vincent's head back, making Vincent hiss in pain. "Sorry," Hojo said absently. Vincent's eyes were still focusing. "Your eyes changed color."
Vincent blinked. Everything he saw was through a red haze.
"Vincent, did you hear me? Your eyes, they're red. Are you seeing anything differently?"
"My sight..." Vincent started, but to his dismay his voice came out harsh and broken. He cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice stayed. Broken, the same as his arm.
And your mind.
Vincent chose to ignore that voice.
"My...everything's red..." He looked down, saw the streaks of blood all over his body and the red haze that was his new sight. He could see the edge of the tattoo on his shoulder- it looked like it said Property of, he couldn't make out any more- and the network of scarring on his chest. If he looked hard enough, it seemed to form a picture. A phoenix, he thought. There was a bullet scar in his chest, as well. His legs were still restrained, making it impossible to escape.
He stared at his arm; it was a mess. Ragged holes were torn through it, there were gashes that ran along it several inches long, he could see bone in some places. The bones didn't seem to be in the right configuration anymore, either. Strange colors spread from the gashes. They might have been purple, but colors were hard to judge now.
He couldn't even feel that arm anymore.
Hojo returned from writing something down. He set something down. Vincent glanced at it and recognised it as the metal claw he used to fight with. Hojo shrugged, "It's not exactly pretty, but it's a good sight better than that mess," he nodded towards Vincent's arm. "Here, lay back down and I'll shut off the lights, it'll be easier on your eyes."
Vincent didn't move. Hojo sighed and pushed him back down, Vincent's eyes widening as his head banged against the table.
"I told you to lay back down, Vincent," Hojo growled, as he began fastening the restraints again. Vincent tried feebly to shove him away, but his body was weakened from laying prone for so long with so little nourishment. Not to mention whatever drugs Hojo had pumped into his system.
Whatever kindness Hojo had been showing was quickly vanishing. Vincent cursed himself for ever having thought Hojo was being nice. He'd merely wanted data on his specimen. Hojo cupped Vincent's face briefly before turning the lights back off. Vincent heard him slide the metal claw over his dead arm before, presumably, bolting it in place. At least, that was what it sounded like.
Eventually, Hojo reached the part of the arm that still had feeling in it, and Vincent cried out. Hojo started petting his hair with one hand and whispering softly. His other hand continued to bolt the claw on.
"Shh, that's a good boy, it's okay Vincent, you're alright. Almost over, you're okay...Good, good Vincent..."
"I'm...not some stray dog..." Vincent grit out.
Hojo laughed. "No, no stray dog would provide this much entertainment. You are a phoenix, I think. Died and reborn, yes, the phoenix rising from the flame." He paused for a moment, leaned in and kissed Vincent briefly. "Of course, I'm proud of my little artificial vampire." Vincent jerked.
"You have burns, did you know? All over your skin. From the light." His hands rested lightly on Vincent's stomach. "I can only imagine what daylight would do...Of course, since you're not a real vampire, you won't need to drink blood. I think the fangs were a nice touch, though, don't you?"
The arm was fastened. Hojo was releasing the restraints, all of them this time. "Of course, every vampire needs a coffin, don't you agree?"
Vincent did not.
Neither did whatever was in his mind.
However, he wasn't really in a position to disagree. Hojo lifted him off the table, bridal-style, and carried him into the hallway. When Hojo set him down, Vincent found his legs wouldn't hold him and stumbled into Hojo.
"Here..." Hojo had clothes, from somewhere. He helped Vincent get dressed, in a long-sleeved black shirt and pants that covered the scarring. He handed him a voluminous cape that not only shrouded his body, but hid most of his face from view as well. It concealed his fangs.
"I'd keep those on, if I were you. Burns, you know."
"Oh, and here...a last meal for the condemned." He pressed something to Vincent's lips. He thought it was a cracker. Vincent turned his head away, but Hojo pried his jaw open effortlessly and slipped the food in. He held Vincent's jaw shut then, stroking his throat lightly so that Vincent was forced to swallow. Hojo repeated his actions, taking a sandwich from somewhere, breaking it apart and feeding it carefully to Vincent in small pieces. Vincent wanted to retch, but Hojo's hands on hi jaw and throat wouldn't let him. When the sandwich was gone, Hojo kissed him for the last time. He murmured something into the kiss.
Vincent thought it was 'body, mind, and soul.'
Hojo picked him up again. Vincent struggled feebly, only to have Hojo tighten his grasp. He kicked open a wooden door to a room filled with coffins. Setting Vincent down against a wall, Hojo pulled the lid off the one in the center and tipped the body out, before gently moving Vincent from his huddled position along the wall into the coffin. Laying him down carefully, Hojo crossed his arms over his chest, the golden claw on top of the human arm. He smiled at the shimmer of panic in Vincent's red eyes before he pulled the lid over the coffin. He nailed it shut, slowly, laughing as Vincent pleaded from within the coffin. Vincent was too weakened by the torture to do anything about his current position, and both of them knew it.
Hojo made sure Vincent heard him lock the basement door. "I'm putting this key in the safe, all right? We'll make a game of it. Someday, someone should find you.
Turning to leave, Hojo couldn't resist making one last remark.
"Sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite."
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
Panic. Overwhelming panic. The darkness returned, space too small to move, he couldn't budge the lid at all. His eyes were wide with terror, he imagined he could see a red sheen over the dark. He couldn't move; there was nowhere to move to. The mind panicked instinctively at being locked inside a coffin, trapped with the dead with no escape.
The demons laughed at him.
Eventually, after a space that might have been years, levering his useless claw against the lid while bracing it with his other arm, Vincent got the coffin open.
The he tried everything he could think of, kicking, punching, even shooting with the gun Hojo had mockingly left him. The demons mocked him, but none were powerful enough yet to possess his body. The door refused to budge.
He was trapped. Really, truly trapped. He paced all over the room, the room that seemed to grow smaller with every passing year.
He slept in a coffin.
He had nightmares every night.
He had a candle, one single candle, and no way to light it. It had been left there, longer even than he had been.
His only source of light. And no way to light it. Hojo would have loved the irony.
There was a window, way at the top of the back of the room. It was tiny, half of it below the level of the ground, and he wasn't tall enough to reach it. He tried to drag something over to it to stand on to try and reach it, but the barrels and crates were too unsteady to stand on, and the coffins too heavy too move. With his weakened body, even the barrels were almost too heavy to move.
There was nothing to drink. There was nothing to eat. Apparently he didn't need to do either.
He checked every wall. He threw anything he could lift at the window or the door. Nothing worked. There was no way out of this room.
Except the key. The key to the damned locked door. That might never be found.
...His life had become nothing more than a twisted game...
Eventually, Vincent lay down to sleep and did not rise. He returned to the world of his nightmares, the world more comforting than the room without an exit.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
He never got the door open.