This is graphic. Gore and labrat type stuff that's obligatory for any real fan of the show.

A short test in horror.

You're going to have to connect the dots.

T/ MA.

...

If he had just listened.

Some hero he was, always talking about second chances. He'd turned his back on the man and his claims.

Now he was here.

Here. Slumped against the wall of the bleached cell, lights brightening the room to a near blinding flurry of white, white, white.

He thunked his head lightly against the wall, back and forth. He wiggled his toes inside his sneakers.

Here. Waiting for it to start again. He'd lost track of time, but it had been too long.

They would come for him soon.

Nausea rose in his throat. There was no point avoiding thinking about it anymore; he'd been observed that morning- or maybe that evening?- through the viewing glass. He'd gotten better at reading their lips, but more so, their eyes.

Two men had stood in front of him; one was in a white lab coat and held a clipboard. The other nodded off and on, and Danny could catch the words "ready", "prep him", and "hours".

But it was the eyes that tipped him off. Blue so clear they looked little more than glass marbles rolling in his sockets over his form.

His eyes never left Danny. He could see the man's nervous smile, his tapping against the clipboard, the sheen of sweat leaving little beads on his forehead and upper lip.

Danny couldn't blame him. This doctor had won the lottery.

He knew that the Guys in White's specialists were all itching to dig into him.

Time trickled in and out of reality.

He knew they were coming, and that was all.

He had already been pinched and prodded, objected to questioning and light torture of injections, blood samples, and for whatever reason, what seemed like electroshock therapy.

It had been a while ago that he'd figured out there wasn't a way out of the cell. Ghost proof. The knocked him out when transporting him with gas from the controlled air vents. He'd wake up in cuffs, drugged, unable to fight back.

He knew what was next, why they'd collected samples and questioned him.

He was the freak of America. Their most valued asset.

He'd been stupid.

He should have listened.

...

He woke up strapped to a table.

As much as he'd tried, he couldn't ignore it, couldn't try to stay calm, couldn't just accept it.

He saw a glint of silver and panicked. Thrashing, bucking against the dampening cuffs, near-mad from trying to call forth his ghost-form and feeling little more than a shiver.

They put a mask over his face. Colors swam before him, and he felt like he was floating off of the table.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to die.

...

Something was tugging. No, pulling.

He could feel his skin peeling back.

...

He woke up to sounds of chaos.

Something was snapping. Someone- no, everyone was screaming. Then the screams began to cut off, and Danny felt instinctual fear rouse him from his stupor. Blearily, he rolled his head onto his side, trying to figure out what was going on.

Light flickered on and off erratically, creating a strobe effect; smoke came from the faltering lights above, and he tried not to gag as he smelled sulfur and blood. Something wet slapped across his face in between the flashing; blinking, coughing for air and spitting, he tasted copper.

Head reeling, shock overpowered by the primal urge to get away from the sudden massacre, he attempted to move, straining and realizing he was still trapped. He looked down at the cuffs between flashes of light-

-Oh. Oh.

This was too much.

He couldn't feel it, Danny realized as he looked down at his abdomen. He couldn't feel it.

Something exploded to his left.

He couldn't look anymore; he looked up at the ceiling and felt what was left of his stomach churn. He was going to be sick.

He heard someone fire a gun, and the more pressing matter grabbed his focus.

There was something in here ripping the doctors around him to pieces.

He had to get out.

He strained, feeling something tug and a spike of pain; his stomach rolled again and he swallowed the urge to vomit.

He could feel now, the cuffs were looser. Something in the damage must have messed with their tech. He rubbed his wrists against the metal desperately, panic driving him close to hyperventilating. They burned and ached as they rubbed against the metal roughly; sweat and blood came to his aid and he managed to tug out an arm. He used the free limb to tug the other out; sitting up, he could feel wetness trickle down his stomach. Helplessly, he brought a hand up to it, trying to keep his insides from spilling out. Another scream in the darkness; another cracking and wet sound.

Maybe he had died. Maybe this was hell.

He freed his legs, and for the first time in weeks felt his ghost half. Cold rushed over him and he stumbled off of the lab table blindly, stumbling in the darkness, unsure which way was up or down.

He heard something dragging across the floor behind him. There was a low, animalistic moaning sound.

The lights flickered on for a half second again; he saw bloodstains on the walls and an arm next to his foot.

Madness.

Blinking it away, he shot upwards, the scent of copper following him long after he saw the blue sky for the first time in a month.

He could still hear the screams.

...

Let me know if you want more. I do have an idea for this.

This could stay a short one shot but if you guys review and want more I'll see what I can do.

Regardless I appreciate your thoughts.

hope