Hey guys! This is Flower1815 here, bringing you a new chapter of my little test subject. Sorry for the hiatus. School's been tough. In a few days I'll go to Brazil to see my family and friends during the holidays, so I'm not sure if I'll update again any time soon. So I wish you guys a merry Christmas and a happy new year now, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, thank you all for the support; I really appreciate it. Leave a review telling me your thoughts, and I'll see ya all later! :3

Patrick wheeled Tom out the room, passing through the heavy metal door and heading into a long corridor. Tom has his back pressed firmly against the chair, unable to turn his head and look at the surroundings, he just shifted his gaze around as far it could to observe. There are other people around aside from just Tord and Patrick, it seems. Most of them wore the same red and blue uniform, but once in a while Tom would spot someone wearing a lab coat.

The entirety of the corridor is painted a dull grey, with tiled black and white floor, many doors on each side, and signs on every corner motioning to different areas of the facility. The signs are red with white letters, and they didn't seem to have anything special. However, when Patrick turned a corner, Tom caught sight of a sign on the opposite direction saying: "Test room."

Tom stared at the sign a bit longer before it disappeared from his line of sight. Test room? Sounds interesting… He thought. Tom kept a secret plan, well hidden in the back of his mind. Since he'll have to endure through whatever Tord decides to throw at him, why not find out as much as he can in the process? Sure, he may never get the opportunity to look around the facility on his own, but if the chance ever arises…

Tom continued to be pushed through the corridors by Patrick, still looking around the place for points of interest. He spotted a sign at the very end of the corridor. This one caught his eye because unlike most of the other ones, it wasn't red and white; it was black and dark gray instead and it read: "Morgue."

Tom raised an eyebrow curiously. A morgue? Tord has one of those? He wondered. Considering they are some kind of army, and most of them are soldiers, it is to be expected there to be ones who don't come back from their missions. Well, breathing at least. Add that to the list. He made sure to remember. Even though it would be obvious as to what he might find in there, it was still necessary to check it out.

As they turned another corner, Tom was faced with a set of metal double doors. He tried to crane his neck up and look through the small, round windows and peer inside, but the restraint on his neck kept him still. The heavy doors were pushed open as Tom was wheeled in and he was met with…

A clinic.

A boring, ordinary, clinic.

Tom looked around in surprise. He was expecting some sort of torture dungeon with iron maiden coffins, racks and guillotines. Instead he was met with a nice, clean clinic looking place. There was a metal bench in the centre, a wooden desk with writing materials over to the corner, bookshelves to the left, and glass cabinets to the right. Tom also noted the scale positioned in the far, right corner; and a stadiometer on the opposite side.

Without realizing, Tom released the breath he was holding in relief.

"Tense?" He heard Patrick ask from behind him. Tom frowned.

"You would be if you were in my position." He retorted.

The polish soldier let out a sigh. "This part isn't so bad, I assure you. Imagine that you are in a doctor's appointment." He says. "We'll just have to take a few samples from you. Learn your height, weight, blood type and ask you some questions before then real tests start."

A doctor's appointment? Sure, he could imagine that. The only difference is that the doctor is an insane, maniac, Norwegian, communist, douchebag that can't wait to get his hands on him. Tom laughed silently at the thought. Suddenly, with a push of a button and a loud "click" the restraints keeping him tied to the chair let him free. Tom, astonished by the sudden sense of freedom in his arms and legs after spending such a long time sitting down, rubbed his sore wrists that were red with markings. He attempted to stand up but his legs were half-asleep and he almost lost his balance if Patrick hadn't reached out for him.

"Careful." He advised as Tom unwillingly leaned on him for support. If he was able to stand and walk properly, he would've pushed the soldier away; even if he was helpful. But since he can't, Tom swallowed his pride and allowed himself to get semi-carried over to the metal bench. He heaved himself over and sat down on top of it.

"So now what?" He asks, still looking around while rubbing his arms; trying to regain the feeling back on them.

"Well, I guess I could start by taking samples of your blood." Patrick concluded, walking away over to a cabinet. "I'll get the stuff, you stay there and pull up one of your sleeves please."

Tom looked up to see Patrick with his back turned to him, and the path to the door cleared with nothing to stop him. Does he trust me enough to think I won't escape? He thought. Tom was thinking of taking the chance, but knew it would only lead him to trouble. He has no idea where the exit is, the facility looks huge, and too many soldiers around to spot him. And if he were to run into Tord…

Definitely not a good idea. Yet.

Tom grumbled in defeat and was just about to pull up the sleeve of his left arm when he stopped himself. He remembers the current state of his arm; recalling the nights when he couldn't take the voices anymore, and in his drunken state he had grabbed a razor to drown them out with pain. He did everything in his power to hide his many bruises, burns and scars over the last few months; concealing the pain he was going through from his friends. Masking it with a long hoodie and a casual smile, hiding his true emotions inside.

But these aren't his friends, so why should he bother to hide his bruises from them? They will figure it out eventually if the tests require exposure. But still, something in Tom's mind didn't feel right in showing them so openly; especially not to Tord. What will he think when he learns of is condition? His cocky attitude will certainly grow; proud that his nemesis was in such a weakened state and take advantage of him then. He can't let that happen.

Tom pulled up the sleeved of his right arm instead. Although it was bruised as well, it wasn't in such a state as his right one and the markings could pass on as scratches from a mere accident in the kitchen or something.

Patrick returned to him, holding a syringe in one hand and wearing latex gloves. "You ready? This might sting just a little." He spoke.

Tom rolled his eyes. "It may not look like it, but I've been to a doctor before. I know how a blood test works." He says in irritation. Why is he treating me like a toddler? I may be here against my will but doesn't mean I'm scared of everything.

Patrick ignored his rude comment and approached him. He placed the needle of the syringe just over his vein before piercing the skin. Tom didn't flinch or hiss, just slowly blinked as he watched the crimson liquid fill the little container.

Patrick pulled away, walking away towards the desk again. "Are you going to take more blood?" Tom asks, unsure if he should pull his sleeved down again.

"No. I think this is just the right amount." Patrick replies form across the room. "But if we ever need to make more tests in the future, which is highly plausible, we'll take more blood then."

Tom hummed in understanding, pulling down the sleeve of his arm. He looked towards Patrick, who has his back turned and was meddling around with the desk. Tom tried to lean sideways and look over to see what exactly he was doing, but the soldier's form kept blocking his view and he couldn't make it out.

Patrick turned back to him with a small smile. "Well, that's one procedure over and done with." He murmurs. "Now I'll take your height and weight. Take off your shoes and socks please."

Tom nodded, pulling out his shoes with his own feet and then taking out his socks; stuffing them inside his shoes. He then pulled himself off the bench and placed his feet down on the cold, hard tiled floor. His legs were feeling a little wobbly still, but he slowly made it across the room to where Patrick stood straight beside the scale.

"Step on the scale and look straight ahead." He instructed.

Tom did as he was told, stepping over the small machine and looking up and around. The scale made a small "beep" sound and Patrick jotted down in his notepad. Tom heard the soldier make a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head. Tom raised an eyebrow, looking at him through the corner of his eye and wondering what was going on through his mind at the moment. Tom was well aware of his diminishing weight, but if questioned he can just make up an excuse about going on a diet.

"Alright, now on to the height." Patrick hummed, still writing on his notes.

Tom rolled his sockets, already getting tired of the procedures he's going through so far. Who knows how many he'll do in total. Tord knows, most likely; but I's not like he'll ever ask him. Tom walks up to the stadiometer, pressing his back against the metallic line. Patrick stood next to him, analysing his height. The soldier grumbled slightly at the sight of the long, spiky hair covering his view and disrupting the procedure, he then moved one hand to press down against Tom's hair to flatten it and see the real height. Tom chuckled slightly. His hair has always been a bothersome factor when it comes to height. Not to him, he sees it as some type of advantage, but to others… Oh, how many people has he upset in the cinema over the years?

Tom came back from his musings when Patrick hummed once again and wrote down his notepad. "Is that all?" He asks, stepping out the stadiometer and moving to put his shoes back on.

"Not quite."

At the sound of the voice, Tom turns to the set of large doors just in time to see it swing close as Tord steps into the room. Tom scowls in his direction but then realizes he was not alone this time. Beside the smug Norwegian, a very familiar looking soldier stood next to him. Tom was not mistaken, he could recognise those bushy eyebrows and eye scar anywhere.

"Jeremy!" Tom exclaimed, glaring at the soldier with clenched fists.

Both the soldier and Tord blinked a couple of times in surprise. Tord then turned to face Jeremy with a questioning look and a grin of amusement on his face.

"Is that what you call yourself now days?" He asks with a playful tone of voice, poking the pouting soldier in the cheek.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, sir, but I thought a name that differs from mine would suit best for going undercover. You know, with us being wanted by authorities and all." The soldier defends himself. "Much better than your name, in my opinion." Now it was his turn to joke as he gave Tord a knowing look.

Tom was confused by the exchange. He already guessed Jeremy was working with Tord, with him playing a part in his capture back in the pub, but the way they were interacting… It just seemed so weird somehow.

Tord, in response to Jeremy's teasing comment, didn't rebuke or demand respect from his soldier. Instead, he simply smiled, laughed and gave Jeremy a light punch in the shoulder with his normal hand. Tom, for some reason, felt angry while watching them interact as if they were the best of friends. It felt wrong.

"Uh, hello?! I'm still here!" Tom waved his arms around, trying to gain their attention. "And I want some answers!"

Tord turned his one-eyed gaze back to Tom. He cleared his throat, fixing the collar of his uniform. "Tom, meet Paul. One of my most trusted soldiers in the army. Along with Patrick, of course" He introduced. "And he will be the one to evaluate your physical condition, as part of our deal. While Patrick will be the one doing your mental evaluation, since you two seem to be getting along so well."

Tom paid no heed to what he was saying. Too busy glaring at the bushy eyebrowed soldier to really come up with anything to say in response. He was fuming in anger from the inside. Clenching his fists and teeth, breathing heavily and shaking slightly as he tried to control his temper. The feeling of betrayal he was going through; it wasn't a stranger to him anymore, but it hurts all the same. He thought back to that night in the pub. Back then, he thought Jeremy was friendly and perhaps a good companion. Just proves to show he can't trust anyone.

Paul met his angered stare with one of indifference. But inside he was feeling remorse for his actions. He thought Tom was a nice guy; fun to hang around, and just maybe they could've been friends under different circumstances. But he is and forever will be loyal to Tord, and he did what was ordered of him. Capture Tom and bring him in unharmed. Though, he did feel bad for having to trick the brit into believing he was his friend.

The uncomfortable silence and tension was disrupted when Tord cleared his throat once more. Snapping both the test subject and the soldier out of their dazed thoughts. "So, Patrick? Where were you before we got here?" He asks, walking towards the desk where Patrick sat with his notes.

"Oh, just finished measuring the test subject's weight and height, sir." Patrick reports, not looking up from his work.

"Have you taken a blood sample yet?" He prompts, earning a nod and a hum in confirmation. "And what about the lumbar puncture?"

Patrick looks up from his work in surprise. "I didn't know that was part of the requirement, since you didn't do it for any of the other test subjects until much later on." He points out. "Why do it now, sir?"

Tord didn't answer right away. He glanced at Tom over his shoulder, seeing if he was paying any attention to what they were discussing, but the brit was still locked in a stare down with Paul; who looked uncomfortable now under the intense, eyeless stare.

"He already has a bit of the serum inside of him, and I suspect he has been feeling the side effects more often than not." Tord finally replied, quietly, so Tom would not hear him. "I need to make sure I give him the right dosage or else he'll just turn up like the others."

Patrick nodded in understanding, walking away to get the necessary tools ready for the procedure. Tord turned away to glance at Tom, a smirk coming up to his features as he clasped both his hands together. Now, this part is going to hurt. He thought eagerly.

"Alright Tom, come here so we can perform one last exam on you." Tord called in a cheerful tone. But Tom didn't give any indication of hearing him, or budge. Tord frowned. "Are you not going to comply?" He prompted warningly, one hand over one of the buttons on his robotic arm. But Tord allowed himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was too early to do anything drastic to him. Which reminded him, he still has to lay out the rules to Tom. Tord then smiled, as he recalled a few ways to attract Tom's attention. Or rather, a few ways to piss off the brit.

With a mischievous smirk, Tord put the fingers of his left hand on his mouth and whistled loudly. "Come here boy! I got a surprise for you!" Tord called out eagerly, whistling again. "Come on! You'll get a treat if you do!" That did the trick.

Tom's head whipped away from Paul at lightning speed and turned his darkened glare on to Tord. A growl rumbled at the back of his throat as he marched his way over to the Norwegian leader, who was grinning widely and trying not to laugh.

"Listen here you stupid, commie, prick!" Tom snarles, pointing a finger in Tord's direction as he approached him. "I may have given you permission to experiment, and do god know's what to me. But I. Am. Not. A. Dog! And like hell would I ever do anything you say! I'm not one of your stupid soldiers, that you can just boss around!"

Tord just kept grinning, both his arms folded over his chest with one eyebrow reaised. "Oh really?" He challenges.

"Yeah!"

"Then how come you made your way over to me? Just like I ordered you…" Tord stated slyly, watching Tom's expression closely and with amusement.

Tom, snapped out of his angry thoughts at the realization. He looked around and realized he had indeed obeyed Tord. He didn't mean to. He was just so angry that he hadn't really noticed his actions. He only saw, well, for the lack of a better word, red. He also took notice o Paul and Patrick's shocked expressions, as they watched the two of them argue and thinking the worst case scenario for him. Not many can openly challenge the red leader and continue breathing.

Tom felt slightly dumb for unintentionaly obeying to Tord's command. But he felt the anger rise within him again, and he glared at the Norsk, who wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"Well, now that you are here, you can get propped up for the next exam." Tord suggests, motioning to some sort of strap machine behind him. It looked like a medieval torture devide in Tom's opinion; he didn't like it one bit.

"I though it was supposed to be only a blood exam." Tom says, narrowing his eyes at the contraption. "What else is needed that I have to be held down in… this?" He asks.

"Don't worry. It's just a small lumbar puncture." Tord reassured, putting an arm around Tom's shoulder. "It will be over quick."

Tom pulled away from him harshily. "Why do you need my spinal fluid for?" He demands. Pointing a finger and glaring at him.

"Oh, just making sure you are healthy enough for the procedures." Tord explained, slowly stepping closer to the enraged brit. He raised his robotic hand, reaching out to him. Tom flinched away and raised one fist back.

"Get away from me!" Tom snarls as he throws a punch his way. But it didn't connect. It was blocked. Tord effortlesly caught his punch with his robotic hand and was keeping him there. Tom tried to give another punch with his free arm, only to be blocked again. Tord twisted his arm behind his back, with Tom biting his mouth shut to keep from crying out.

"I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way, don't we?" He heard Tord hiss into his ear. Suddenly he was being hauled back. Tom tried to struggle in the Norwegian's hold, desperately trying to get out, but to no avail.

Tom was harshily thrown back against the metal contraption. He tried to get up and leave as fast as possible, but Tord was quicker. He held him down and began to strap him up. Tom trashed agaisnt the restraints and tried to attack Tord in anyway possible; but it was proven futile when he was succesfuly straped down with both his arms and legs apart, and his body suspended.

"There!" Tord exclaimed, stepping back to look at the result. Tom glowered and snarled his way. Running a hand through his now messy hair, Tord fixed his uniform and cleared away the invisible dust, taking a deep breath.

"Now that temper tantrum is over with, I will explain the rules to you." The arm leader clasped his hands together and began to pace around the restrainted brit. "Break any of these rules, and I will personaly take away one of your privilages."

"Number 1#, you will not refuse a direct order from me." He explained. "If I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it, and I won't be as nice as I was now and give you warnings. Same goes for both Paul and Patrick. You will not disobey or act rudely towards either of them."

Tom snorted at that. Nice? Does he call forcefuly restraining me nice? He thought bewildred.

"Number 2#, you are not allowed to leave the lab unless supervised. Preferebly by either Patrick or Paul." He went on. "Number 3#, no alcohol." At that, he stopped pacing to stare at Tom with narrowed eyes. Tom glared back at him with bared teeth. "Number 4#, no contact with the outside world. Which means: No phones, internet, or going to the surface."

The surface? Tom thought curiously. He did presume they were in some sort of underground facility; with no windows around and all that. But how far away they were from civilazation?

"And lastly number 5#." Tord continued on, stopping in front of Tom with a straight posture. "Any signs of agression or phisical harm towards your leader or any members will not be tolerated. I am willing to overlook this recent incident; but next time I will not be as merciful." He warned coolly, but suddenly lashed out at Tom. He latched his metalic hand to the brit's throat, choking him. Tom gasped for breath while also trying to get the prosthetic hand off of him, but with both his arms restrained it was impossible.

"Am I clear on that fact?" Tord questioned, bringing his face closer to Tom's. In retaliation, despite the lack of air and the current position he was in, Tom glared right back at him. No trace of fear in him. Instead, he merely chuckled and grinned his way.

"W-whate-ver you say, c-commie." He choked out an answer.

Tord released him, shoving him back. He took a few steps back and glanced in the direction his soldiers stood. Watching their interaction in shocked silence; not daring speaking up a word. "Patrick, go ahead and do the procedure." He ordered.

Patrick, who had the needle in his hands, seemed hesitant; but not for the reason one might think of at first. "Actually, sir, may I have a word with you? In private, please?" He suggests, tilting his head to the side and motioning towards another door to a different room.

Tord raised an eyebrow curiously, but Patrick just tilted his head again and he nodded in understanding. He sighed. "Alright. Paul, you get the procedure done while we're gone." He commanded, turning his attention to the other soldier. As he walked away, following Patrick out the room, he looked back as he reached the door. "If he yaps, ignore him; he does that a lot. But if he starts to struggle, I give you permission to strike him if needed."

Paul gulped but slowly nodded. "Yes, sir."

With that, Tord left the room, slamming the door shut behind him; leaving the gruff, brawny soldier alone with the anger prone, restrained test subject in the same room together. Surely only good things can come from this?