"Mon dieu, what on earth are you holding there?" Spy hissed. He had been sneaking into what had looked like a rotting barn just to find a trap door badly hidden below a hay stack. He had heard a wailing from down there and then, everything had gone dark. He still had no idea how he had been found. But when he had regained consciousness, he had been strapped to a bed.
His capturer smiled. "A syringe," he said flatly, snapping his finger against the top of it until drips of the green liquid inside were sent off flying. Then, the mad man smiled.
Spy rolled his eyes. "I can see that, thank you very much," he grumbled. "I was asking about what ever it is that you put in there."
"Medicine," the man replied, pushing Spy's sleeve up until it revealed the crook of his arm. He slapped it and then hummed in approval.
"I'm not sick, you moron," Spy growled, and, for good measure, added a few swearwords in French as well. The self-proclaimed physician only laughed at this.
"This medicine isn't for the sick," he hummed. "Now hold still or I will hurt you worse." He looked Spy in the face. "Oh, and if it helps, pray. You're the first to try."
The crazy doctor placed the sharp needle against Spy's skin. Spy held his breath. He didn't dare to close his eyes, as if his supervision would change anything. He also didn't dare to curse, even though he had liked to. He might have moved enough to pull the needle off the syringe in that case.
When the mad man straightened again, there wasn't any liquid left in the syringe. Spy gasped. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. His eyes rolled dramatically, before his eyelids flew shut, only fluttering every once in a while. His breathing stopped after a while.
The Doctor Frankenstein imposer rolled his eyes and prodded him in the side, which made Spy growl, "Stop that, I'm dead, you killed me."
That made the medic from hell laugh. "From what I see, you're alive and well," he chuckled in his deep voice. Then, his gaze traveled further south. "And you have a pretty impressive hard-on for a corpse, interesting. I didn't know that part stiffens first." He grinned. "Then again, I also didn't know the air escaping the body after dying sound like words."
Through a small slit he allowed his eyes to open, Spy watched the devil's private physician stroll over to a small table and take up a clipboard and a pen, watching him and scribbling down notes. Spy decided to ignore it, even when the hell sent doctor mentioned that he could still see him breathing or stated poking him in the chest and then in the crotch. Maybe his lack of cooperation would save him from further experiments.
But when the doctor that would have made Mary Shelly happy and Hoffmann squeal in glee started to fumble with his trousers, Spy's eyes flew open and he glared at the demonic incarnation of a physician. "Don't you dare to touch me there, you rouge!" he yelled, throwing all the weigh he could against the shackles trapping him.
"Why not?" the doctor asked. "This," he poked the erection, which made Spy wince a little. "won't go away on its own."
"How would you know?" Spy hissed. "Maybe it does. You said I was the first to try that insane liquid."
"Well, the mice's didn't," the nightmarish medic stated. "But as soon as I left them to enjoy themselves, they were back to normal." A sly grin appeared on the demon's face. "But if you don't want to, I'm sure it'll go away on its own after a week or so. Maybe less, for you're no mouse."
Spy snorted, but didn't say anything.
"Well then, I'll be interesting to see how long the effect will last," the medic said. "Call me, if you change your opinion on this, I have other matters to attend as well." He waved and turned to leave.
"Wait," Spy called, when the demon had left his field vision. He bit his lip and swallowed his pride and dignity. "Can I... can I at least do it myself?"
"Why, of course," the crackpot cooed. He came back again, Spy could hear it, but he didn't come into his vision until he was standing right next to his head, freeing one of his hands. "There you go, now get started with it." Spy gulped. He could hear a chair being dragged over and then what sounded like the insane sitting down. He closed his eyes. Made himself think about something else.
That only worked so good, but the liquid, whatever it was, helped. It didn't take Spy to long. At the end, the incarnation of everything that had ever been wrong with doctors even clapped, slowly, once, twice. Then, he stood up and strolled over, murmuring to himself.
"What are you doing, batshit?" Spy panted.
"Collecting a few samples," the demon physician mumbled. Leaning up, Spy could see him holding up a test tube and a spatula. He rolled his eyes and let his head drop back onto the hard mattress again.
"I wonder if you would aim for a glass the next time," the son of Doctor Frankenstein and a demon murmured. Spy decided that this was exactly the right moment to allow himself to pass out.