Time passes differently in my mind palace. I had no way of knowing how long passed before my body registered that I was alone, and not restrained anymore. My body constantly scans the dragons pulse, just on instinct, especially now when there's danger everywhere. Once I was sure that I was alone, with even the smallest chance of escape, I returned to the physical world. I had forgotten how the palace blunted the pain, out in the real world it hit me with the force of a car bomb.

I was lying on the floor in front of the chair in the same room as before, the cart still there, blood on the floor, marred with boot prints. I didn't move, I did my best to stay still and take stock of everything, but it was hard to think at all. I just wanted to run back into my mind palace and never worry with the physical plane, this world of agony, ever again. But I refused to retreat now, because I knew I'd never summon up enough energy to try again. It was now or never.

So I dragged my eyes open, encrusted with grit, and vision slightly blurry, but my eyes were still there, which was a plus. I moved my tongue, still there, and pressed it against all of my teeth, still in place by some miracle. I twitched my feet, toes and legs still present, always good, still got legs, ha…

I moved on to my hands, and encountered a problem. While the hands themselves were still attached, there was a problem with the fingers. My thumbs were still untouched and I dragged my eyes over to where my right hand lay, tears flooding my eyes at the sight, a choked sob escaping my throat. Detached, right at the second joint. There were little stubs wrapped with half-assed bandages, and that was where most of my pain was centered.

True, my arms hurt like hell but the cuts weren't deep. He must have drawn on me with a pen knife, and I didn't bother to look at them yet, knowing I wouldn't want to remember what I saw, knowing I would just have to throw all of these sights away behind the same door that held the memories of my torture. The ones I was repressing still, because I could never truly hide from them. Plus I doubted I could take the sloppy bandages off, or put them back properly.

So I used the strength of my legs alone, weak and unstable after who knows how long of not moving except to twitch in pain, straightening up and falling into the chair again. I was breathing hard, still determined to escape despite the new...obstacles that had arisen. I eyed the room, looking for anything useful, and found exactly what I needed. Hope started to burn gently in my chest at the sight of the little bowl of detached fingers. This I can work with.

It was a sick sight but I was just glad they had left them. I knew my medicine, I could work with this. It wouldn't be pretty, and if I-once I-escaped and made it back to safety then I would probably have to sever them again to attach them properly. I winced just at the thought but steeled myself. There was no way I could escape with only my thumbs and my pockets filled with my other fingers. Besides, I was working on a deadline here, who knew how long the nerves had already been disconnected.

So I used my thumb, dipping it in the blood pooled on the floor and drew the circles I cobbled together. It was difficult, and painful. One transmutation per finger. Each time the circle had to be redrafted, the nerves and muscles tested, and then moving on to the next, using teeth to take off the bandages. By the time I was done I was exhausted, ready to curl up in a corner and just give in. But if I gave up they would just burn the fingers next time, or get rid of me altogether.

I'd probably only been left like I was because full immersion into the mind palace like I had been doing mimicked a coma in more ways than one. Whoever had severed my fingers had medical training, the most pain, least actual damage. They wanted me alive still. Meaning they'd probably gone to get some way to wake me, an IV with pure adrenaline or some such shit. So the clock was ticking. My left pinkie and right ring finger weren't responding how I would like, but it would have to do.

I stuffed the scalpel into my pocket, trying hard not to wonder about what part it had played in damaging me, and used the blood on the floor, soaking my right hand in it, nearly gagging at the texture and the smell, trying to ignore how unsanitary this was. 'Treat all blood as if it were contaminated' is the very first rule of first aid, but I didn't have time to observe it, plus it's my blood, if there's something wrong with it then getting it on my hands is hardly going to be my biggest issue here.

I used some more blood from the floor to dab a circle onto the back of my left hand, saving the stuff on my right for if I needed to get creative in an emergency, carefully turning the tumblers in the lock with a whistle that took three tries. My mouth was dry, despite the moisture in the air, and my tongue heavy. I eased the door open, slipping out as quietly as possible, swinging it shut silently behind me. I had my senses stretched to the limit, trying to read the dragons pulse to watch for approaching life forms, as well as straining my eyes in the dark hall so I didn't run into a wall and make a racket.

I was terrified of getting caught, of being placed in that room again. True, I had basically ignored most of it, but the pain I was in now that left me limping along with jagged scars on eight fingers was something I didn't want multiplied or added to in any way. So when I came to a dead end with three life signs approaching I didn't hesitate. Stealth wasn't an option anymore. I scribbled the circle hurriedly onto the stone wall, making my own door, dissolving it again to the sound of pursuit beginning on the other side.

I limped down hallways as fast as I could, ducking into empty rooms to avoid the people that rushed by. I didn't know if I was in the mine they had mentioned, a warehouse, or just the typical 'bad guy hideout' that everyone and their mother seemed to have in this anime. When the people running by became too frequent I worried about making it to the next door in time to hide. So I set up shop in a room. I removed the door halfway, leaving the semblance of the door in place, but melting the sides into the walls. I settled down behind the stacks of crates, grimacing at the realization that most of it was explosives. I was hoping this was for mining, rather than the terroristic streak I was starting to think these guys had.

I drew three circles on the ground beside me as I hid, leaning against the wall and breathing hard. It was only a matter of time. I would either starve to death in here, dehydrate, those guys would break in to torture and kill me, or the cavalry would arrive. Despite the atmosphere and the entire situation I dredged up a small rasping excuse of a laugh at that, 'Mustang' is the 'cavalry', gotta remember to tell Jean that…

I gripped my scalpel loosely, eyeing the door. I decided I would count. Twenty-Four hours. If in twenty-four hours I was somehow miraculously alive then I would make the biggest damn trouble these people had ever encountered and hope the explosions would be enough to attract help.