The door slid shut behind them as they stepped out into the hallway, stretching both ways to his left and right. The walls were bland in colour, only greys and whites with black marble floors so shiny you could practically see your reflection gleaming back at you.
Tord turned the left hall. "Follow me, and please don't fall behind." He commanded, walking at a steady pace with his arms folded behind his back.
Tom was quick to follow, trailing behind to look around his surroundings in curiosity. There wasn't much to look at though. They passed by some rooms, but they didn't seem to hold anything of interest. Tom was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the base. If this is the lower floor, how big is the entire base in total? He wondered.
He fell in step with Tord, walking to his left side where the red leader side glanced back at him. A grin stretched upon his face. "Impressed?" He asks smugly.
Tom turned back to Tord, his face contorting into a scowl. "Not really. This place is huge, sure, but there isn't much around here." He answered truthfully.
Tord nodded in understanding. "Maybe not down here. Like I said: this level is reserved only for you and the serum experiments." He says. "The upper levels are where most of the activity happens."
Tom turned to him with interest. "What is on the upper levels?" He questioned.
The Norsk hummed. "Training rooms, dining hall, soldier quarters, the medical bay; all of the main areas of interest for the army." He replied, turning to give a lopsided grin in Tom's way. "If you behave yourself, I can give you a tour of the upper area. But only if you behave."
Tom pursed his lips. "Doesn't sound worth my time." He muttered.
"Suit yourself." Tord shrugged and turned away, still leading them down the hall before turning right in the next intersection.
A long silence followed between the two of them. Tom kept his gaze fixed to the ground, occasionally looking up to check his surroundings. He had a few more questions he was thinking of asking, but considering how the last two times ended up against his favour; chances are he won't be asking anything from Tord any time soon. Paul and Patrick are his better shots now.
Tord glanced back at Tom through the corner of his eye. Tom was silent; face stretched into a frown and his dark sockets aimed at the ground.
Should I tell him? Tord contemplated. He's the one who requested me to do it, but still… He nearly spent the entire night researching diet plans and treatments for Tom's current condition. He was about to fall asleep on his desk when he got a mission report back from the soldiers he sent out under specific set of orders in a very special mission.
He inwardly sighed. As leader, I carry the responsibility of delivering news to all my soldiers; both good and bad, no matter how hard it can be. He thought determinably. Sure, Tom isn't a soldier, but he still has the right to know. I owe him that much.
"The news have been delivered."
Tom looked up at Tord in confusion. "Huh?"
The Norsk sighed. "Our deal, remember?" He murmured without looking back. "I sent two of my soldiers in an undercover mission as cops and had them deliver the news to your friends." He made sure to put emphasis in 'your friends'. He side glanced back at Tom, his face devoid of emotion. "From now on, you are officially dead to the world."
Tom felt a cold chill run through him. "So, Matt and Edd… They-?" He tried to ask; but his mouth felt numb, as if it wasn't his.
Tord nodded solemnly. That's all Tom needed to confirm it.
His gaze fell down to the tiled floor once more, looking back at his reflection. It is done then. He though gloomily. Matt and Edd now believe that I am dead. I am out of their lives for good. They won't have to worry about me anymore; and I am not going to burden them ever again. Tom kept repeating the same arguments in his mind. He wasn't sure if this ritual was to reassure him that his friends would be alright, or to relieve himself of the pain that came along with the hard decision.
Tord glanced back at him to see Tom hunched over with his gaze never leaving the ground. The Brit's dark, soulless eyes were narrowed. To anyone else they would be enigmatic and could never tell what he was feeling or thinking. But Tord knew him. He could tell Tom was sad and was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him, or let it show. Tord felt a stab of sympathy for him. He kept in mind that despite hating each other, they did once live in the same house and got along; to an extent at least.
He pondered whether he should offer him some sort of comfort to relieve him of the sadness, but opted not to. Not because he thinks Tom should suffer this way, despite having a certain enjoyment to see him in pain, not even he would desire to see his old comrade suffer through this. He knows the feeling very well himself. But because Tord knows Tom wouldn't appreciate any sort of sympathy or comfort coming from him and would just mistake it for pity. So he left him be.
Tom continued to stare at the ground as they walked, keeping his breathing steady to calm his racing, anguished heart. I did what I had to, to save Edd and Matt. I finally did something right for once. They will get over me; I know they will, they probably already did.
Tom was so deep in thought he failed to notice Tord stop in his tracks, making him bump into the red leader. Tord shot him a small sly smirk. "We're here." They stopped before a set of metal doors that slid open with a hiss.
Tom stared in amazement as the doors revealed the room before them. A large gym stands on the other side of the doors. It has everything! Treadmills, dumbbell racks, lifting benches, leverage systems, suspension trainers; there's even a track field! Tom stared at the scene before him in awe, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Tord grinned, suppressing his laughter down as he watched the eyeless man's reaction to the room.
"I take it you are impressed, now." Tord smirked triumphantly as the doors slid firmly shut behind them.
Tom regained his composure, shooting Tord a slight glare before crossing his arms and looking away with a scoff. He followed Tord into the room, still observing his surroundings in awe. He understands that Tord is the leader of an army, has multiple bases and whatnot, but he clearly underestimated his budget. Most items and apparel in the gym looked shiny and brand new. Did he have all this set up just for him?
Now that he got more used to his surroundings, Tom realized it wasn't just him and Tord in the room. He recognised the large, bushy eyebrows from afar. Paul was standing there, a few feet away from them doing push-ups and warmup rounds. He wasn't wearing his usual cobalt blue trench coat. He was only in his red sweater and dark pants, no shoes either, just socks. Tom was just about to question his reasoning for being there when he remembered what Tord told him the other day. Oh yeah, Paul is supposedly in charge of my physical state or something. He recalled dryly. Despite the hard feelings he still bares towards Paul, he was not going to argue. At this point, Tom is just glad he gets to interact with someone other than Tord now.
Paul had his back towards them, but he looked over his shoulder when he noticed their approach. "Ah, good morning sire! Good morning Thomas!" He cheerfully greeted them, still stretching his arms. "I hope you had a nice rest and you're ready for today's schedule."
Tom shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and narrowing his gaze at the soldier. "Oh yeah, I just had the most pleasant sleep in a long while." He spoke sarcastically. "I don't know about you, but I just love being induced to sleep after getting electrocuted until I pass out. It does wonders to you!" He glared at Paul, then turned his dark, empty gaze to Tord. "Maybe you should give it a try sometime."
Paul's smile faltered slightly, and Tom could see him visibly sweat drop. Tord, on the other hand, kept on smiling. He gave Tom a half-hearted pat on the cheek, making him fume in anger. He wished he could lash out and defy him, but he knew that he could keep this up just for so long until Tord gets fed up with him, stops playing "nice", and goes complete sadistic mode. Tom knows better than to cross that line. Ever. He just grits his teeth and growls as the Norsk ruffled his hair before leaning away from his filthy touch.
Paul clasped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. "Okay then. Let's get this started, shall we?" He prompted, motioning for Tom to come closer and, presumably, join him. Tom was just about to head over when a hand clamped down on the back of his hoodie, making him halt. Tom shot a questioning glare at Tord.
"I don't think you need me to remind you the consequences if you do anything remotely funny." Tord reminded coolly, letting go of his hold on the Brit's hoodie.
"What is this, the fifth time you tell me this?" Tom complained, about to walk away when Tord blocked his path with his robotic hand. He groaned in annoyance.
"Consider this your last warning then." Tord hissed into his ear, his tone laced with authority. "Play nice, or else."
He finally pulls his hand away, allowing Tom to pass. He rolled his empty sockets and walked away, making his way to stand right next to Paul. Tord watched his movements with a calculating gaze, opening his jacket to pull out the tablet from his inner pocket.
"Now Tom, for today we're gonna-"
"ARGHH! Dritt!"
Tom and Paul simultaneously jumped, startled by the sudden loud curse. Something fell and slammed to the ground, shattering in the process. The two of them whirled around. A tablet was broken and lying on the floor, the screen completely cracked. But what really got their attention was the red leader himself. He was hunched over, face scrunched up in pain as he gripped his robotic arm.
Tom raised one eyebrow as he noticed the way the red, metallic hand twitched and clenched, seemingly all on its own.
Paul quickly left his side and hurried over to Tord. "Is everything alright, sir?" He asks worriedly, helping his leader stand upright.
Tord hissed, leaning over Paul slightly for support before pulling away. "I-I'm fine Paul. Thank you." He muttered, still clenching his synthetic arm. "It's just the glitch acting up again. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" Paul prompted, clearly still worried for his leader's well-being. "Would you like me to escort you to your quarters, sir?" He offered.
Tord shook his head. "No. It's fine, I'll walk there myself." He reassured, making his way out the room. "You stay here and go through with the routine you planned for test subject #1826. When he's done, give him his uniform and send him to see Pat. I'll come back to check on you later if I fix the glitch in time." He waved away with his good hand as he stepped out of the room before the doors slid shut again.
Tom continued to stare at the door with intrigue. "What was that all about?" He prompted Paul, as he re-joined him.
Paul shook his head. "Boss's arm has a lot of uses aside from just being a limb replacement. Surely you must've noticed it by now." He murmured, scratching the back of his neck uneasily.
Tom recalled when he communicated with Pat after taking his deal, making the chair he was tied to into a wheel chair; and most recent, electrocuting him via the connection with the chip implanted on his spine. Tom inwardly shuddered at the reminder. Just the thought that Tord held so much control over his life was bad enough, but knowing he could do anything to him at any given time thanks to the stupid chip just made his situation a whole lot worse. He wondered what other things Tord's arm could control, and what other commands the chip was installed with. On the other hand, he doesn't want to find out.
Tom nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. What about it?"
Paul walked past him, heading over to a pile of exercise mats and dragging out two of them towards the centre where there's more room for them. "It wasn't programmed for this, originally. But leader is stubborn, and insisted on installing a bunch of commands and gadgets to better control the base." He continued, setting down the mats as Tom watched him. "The arm gets overworked at times and glitches. Sometimes it's just merely stiff clogs and bad wiring; but worst case scenario the arm gets overloaded and causes a haywire on the whole base."
Tom raised an eyebrow at this. "Is there anything in particular that sets it off?" He asks, voice laced with concern; when in reality it is merely used to conceal his immense interest in that bit of trivia.
"Not that I know of. It happens at random it seems, and always catches the boss of guard." Paul mumbled, not really paying attention to Tom as he prepped the mats down; unfolding them neatly on the ground.
Tom made a mental note of that. So far he came to realize Paul is incredibly ingenuous, not once suspicious of his questions or cared too much if he gave away any pivotal information regarding his leader. Which could be a good thing, considering Tom still has lots of questions and he is sick, and tired of Tord. Maybe he could use this as a chance to learn more without making any stupid deals.
Paul dusted his hands. "Alright Tom, please take off your shoes, get yourself on the mat, and then we will begin." He instructed.
Tom was about to step in when he says this. He halts and brings his foot up, clumsily taking off his shoes. "So, hm, what exactly are we doing?" He could help but ask; placing his shoes aside near a bench. After all the sh#t he went through in these last couple of hours, heavy exercise is the last thing going through his mind right now.
Paul seemed to have noticed his lack of enthusiasm, and offered him a friendly smile. "Don't worry. It's nothing too complicated." He assured. "Because of your current state, we can't risk you do any activities that might go beyond your physical capabilities."
Tom processed this. "So… No running or weight lifting?"
"Nope!" Paul smiled, emphasis on the "P". "So until we get any sort of change on your condition, we'll be doing simple stretching and warm up exercises."
Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He never been really fond of physical activity, and was always a strain to him. Maybe as a kid he might've once liked; when he was young, naïve and energized. But now that he is older, drunk most of the time, and an honest to god mess by every definition of the word; he simply didn't have it in him to do much most of the time. Two push ups and he is out cold. Unless his life is on the life he won't do much. And even then, that might not even be true anymore.
Tom stepped on the mat, taking his hands out form his pockets as he stands next to Paul, waiting for his instructions to begin.
"Alright, let's start off with something simple. Step your right foot all the way forward, and lower the rest of your body into a lunge. Place your fingertips on the mat." Paul ordered, doing the same to show Tom how exactly it is done. "Like this! Stay like that for 30 seconds then switch with your other leg."
Tom did as he was told, and copied Paul's movements; getting into position. But his mind wasn't focusing on the exercise. What should I ask him? He contemplated. Who knows how long it will take Tord to fix the glitch in his arm, and he may not get another chance to talk with Paul on his own.
"So, uh, where do you guys get most of this stuff?" He opted for a more ordinary question to test the waters. According to what Tord told him, they had multiple jobs to pay for the equipment because it's more low-key than simply stealing the stuff they need. But even so, he never specified from where he got them. Tom doubted Tord would waltz into a store and buy this sh#t like a regular person; specially with his face splattered everywhere in wanted posters.
Tom shifted his position as the 30 seconds were up, and changed to his left foot on the front. "Oh, most stuff we have here was already in the base when we found it." Paul responded, also changing his position. "Though back then it was a complete dump with dust and cobwebs everywhere." He joked.
"Wait, you guys didn't build the base then?" Tom asks, glancing back at him sideways.
"Nah, this base is old. It was built during the first world war, improved in the second but then it was left to rot; gathering dust and forgotten through time." Paul replied, standing upright. "Alright, now stand with your feet tucked close together, and raise your arms straight above your head. Clasp your hands together, with your fingers interlaced and pointer fingers extended. Inhale as you reach upward." He instructed. "Breathe out as you bend your upper body to the right. Take five slow breaths. Slowly return to the center. Repeat on the left side."
Tom did as he was told, gathering his breath and leaning to the right with his hands clasped together above his head. "Like I was saying; the base was here this whole time. When Tord bought the location from our supplier, we cleaned this place up and made some improvements to better support the army." Paul went on. "That's why this base is our main one; it's the biggest one we have and is right in red leader's home nation."
Tom whirled around, so fast he nearly got whiplash. "Wait! What are you saying?" He exclaimed in shock. "You mean that, we aren't in England?"
Paul looked back at him, startled by his sudden reaction. "We are in Norway, Tom." He answered, as if the fact was obvious. "Did red leader not tell you this?"
Tom shook his head. How long had he been asleep since the incident in the pub? To travel from England all the way to Norway, and not once waking up. It seems Tord thought up of everything in order to make Tom's capture a success. Even if he were to escape, he would have nowhere to go.
"Are you okay?" Paul asks worriedly, watching his expressions carefully. "I'm sorry, I thought you already knew this."
Tom put his hand up, gesturing him to stop. "I-It's fine, I just- I guess I just wasn't expecting this. But knowing Tord, really, I should've."
Paul shot him a sympathetic look. "Are you going to be okay?"
Tom nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'll be fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just… Get on with the exercises."
Paul looked at him with concern but didn't say anything. He nodded and went back to the stretching exercise; starting to count his breaths from scratch. Tom followed suit, stretching his arms and leaning to the left. He felt his shoulders crack as he stretched his limbs. It's been a while since he did anything of the sort. Back home, he spent most of his time drinking and watching TV; among other activities… Even when he did leave his house to make short walks to the market or the bar, it still wasn't enough, and now his joints feel like cracking so effortlessly.
After he was done stretching, and frankly, cracking most of his joints at this point; Paul turned toward him once more. "Okay, now stretch your right arm ahead of you, and fold your left arm beneath it to support it; Like this!" Paul demonstrated the move, showing Tom how's done. "Stay in this position for 20 seconds then switch arms."
Tom did so, his eyes furrowed and his mouth drawn in a frown. "You mentioned something about a supplier."
"Ah yes, they have been a great help to get the army to its feet." Paul commented. "Not sure how red leader met them, but ever since we struck a deal with them our armoury and tech have gotten a whole lot better."
Tom switched his arms, listening intently to all the information he was being given. "But wait a minute, isn't Tord supposedly a genius or something?" He inquired. "I mean, if he could build a giant robot, sofa cubes, and… the serum. Surely he would have been able to improve stuff around here on his own."
Paul laughed; not mockingly, but a genuine one. "The boss is good, but not that good! He still needs the right equipment and tools to create things. He didn't create that robot out of nothing!" He answered in amusement. "Not even the serum itself he created on his own! He has a good knowledge on chemicals and that sort of thing, but he still needed the primary element-"
"Primary element?" Tom exclaimed in confusion; more questions swirling through his mind. "What's the primary element?"
Paul stopped, looking at him with an expression of nervousness mixed with concern. "What's in this serum anyway?" Tom demanded, stepping closer to him with narrowed eyes. "And who is this supplier exactly?"
Paul rubbed the back of his head uneasily. "Uh, look, please don't take this personally; but I'm not allowed to talk about this sort of thing with you. Red leader's orders." He admitted hesitantly, as if he were afraid to accidentally trigger the Brit's rage. "I shouldn't even be mentioning this stuff to you in the first place! I guess I got a little carried away there, and to be quite honest I am not exactly the best person to answer these questions anyway." He smiled sheepishly.
Tom clenched his knuckles in frustration but did not say anything against the soldier. He looked down in disappointment and backed away.
"If you really want to know these thing, then you should ask Tord himself." Paul suggested. "You may not believe this, but he likes it when you ask him things; especially if they are about the army!"
Tom rolled his empty eyes and scoffed. "Of course he likes it! Because that gives him a leverage to ask things from me in return with his stupid deals!"
Paul fumbled with his hands nervously, shuffling his feet with his gaze cast downwards. "Come on, let's go back to the exercises." He nudged him gently. "No more questions for today."
As he began to instruct on the next couple of positions, Tom's mood quickly fell. He had a silver platter of answers, practically handing itself to him with no strings attached; and yet he managed to screw it up for himself. He should've controlled his eagerness to know more, but he couldn't help it. Paul was being so nice and giving away answers so freely he got enthusiastic. Dam it! He seethed silently.
The rest of their exercises went on quietly now that Tom was no longer pestering Paul for more answers. It went calmly, and in Tom's opinion, kind of boring. Just stretching the muscles in a bunch of different positions. Kind of awkward as well with the silence. Then Paul changed tactics a bit and made Tom do 35 jumping jacks. And here he was thinking he would get only a session purely out of limb stretching. He was already out of breath by the tenth, and he was completely red and sweaty by the time he finished. He felt like he was about to pass out.
Then Paul ordered him to do ten push-ups. Tom could barely pass the first one before his weak arms gave out underneath him and he fell face first into the mat. He groaned and laid there for a while, trying to catch his breath. Paul looked down at him with concern.
"You know, I think that's enough for today." Paul concluded. Tom quickly figured the soldier was pitying him and his miserable state. "Why don't you go take a shower, and then you can go and see Pat."
Tom breathed heavily, slowly nodding in agreement to his suggestion. He struggled to get back at his feet; feeling his muscles burning and sweat drenching most of his hair and face. From the corner of his eye he saw a hand extended out towards him. Looking up, Paul was with his hand outstretched in his direction and a friendly smile; lending him assistance to get up. Tom hesitated a little, but took the offered help anyway. Paul hauled him up, making him stagger sideways.
"The showers are back there." The soldier gestured in the direction, keeping a hand to steady Tom from falling back down out of exhaustion. "You go ahead, and when you're done you can change into your new clothes." He turns back momentarily, and hands Tom neatly folded clothes consisting of a white shirt, dark gray pants, and a pair of socks.
Tom takes the clothes from him. He stares down at them in thought, giving a curt nod in response. He walks away and heads to the showers as Paul puts back the mats in their proper places. Swinging the restroom's door open, Tom followed the white-tilled corridor, turning the corner he was met with a startling sight. Himself. He gasps out of surprise and backs away, hiding behind the corner and pressed his back against the wall. He takes a moment to calm down his racing heart. It's been a while since he last saw his reflection; and for good reason.
When he deemed himself calm enough, Tom walked out from the corner but kept his gaze casted downwards. Don't look at it. He repeated the thought in his mind as he walked past the mirrored wall to his left, and made way to the shower stall at the far end. He sets his clothes down by the sink, when he notices an air vent standing above him. Careful to keep his gaze away from the mirror, he narrowed his eyes at the vent. It's small, and yet big enough for him to fit in. If he was ever thinking of escape, he would try using the vent. But since he wasn't, he wouldn't bother with it. Tom knows there is no escape for him at this point. Alive anyways.
Rather reluctantly, Tom took off his clothes and headed into the shower. The warm, steaming water fell over his back and drenched his hair. Tom flinched at the contact at first; the heavy torrent against his bare back, but eventually settled in with the pain that ran along with the scars and bruises scattered all over his body. He closed his eyes and just stood there, feeling the water run over him. It was strangely soothing. Or maybe it's just the fact that he hadn't showered for such a long time, that could probably have something to do with this feeling.
After the seemingly long shower; consisting mostly of Tom just standing in the steaming water deep in thought, he dried himself with the fluffy, white towel; still making sure to keep his gaze away from the mirror. Don't look at it. He had the urge to slam his fists furiously against the reflective, glass wall but he reframed. Paul would undoubtedly hear the commotion and barge in on him with a towel. He doesn't want to go through this humiliation, even if it were to save him from looking at himself again. And even if he weren't to hear him shatter the mirrors, someone would notice sooner or later and confront him about it. He doesn't want to explain himself or give Tord more leverage over him.
Tom starts to put on the new set of clothes given to him when he stops rather abruptly at the sight of his new shirt. It is short-sleeved. The simple white shirt has a name tag with his subject numbers #1826, and even though it made Tom feel more like a prisoner than he did before, it's the sleeved that got him most peeved. He put on the shirt, feeling it be rather loose on his thin frame, and stared down at his own body. He can't possibly wear this! The short sleeves displayed his injured arms like a sore thumb. They will question him about it, and what will he tell them? Tord knows him too well and would pick up any lies from a mile away. He already knows of his malnourished state; granted, it doesn't seem like he connected the dots, yet, but he will see the various bruises along his arms and he will know then that something bigger is up. Tord can never find out.
That's when Tom quickly solved the issue, by putting his blue hoodie back on. Sure, it stinks, he hadn't washed it in weeks, is torn in some places with a few holes from being worn out so much; but he frankly doesn't care. It's his best solution at this point, and if anyone asks he'll say he doesn't want to let go of his hoodie for personal issues. Fake a sad look, and anyone will believe he's talking about his previous life. Besides, with Tord gone he only has to convince Paul to keep the hoodie. Easy peasy!
He straightened the edges of his hoodie, making sure his sleeves are down and covering his scars. Once he was content with his clothing, Tom walked out of the restroom. Paul was still there, looking around at the gym equipment; making sure everything is in their proper place and in nice condition. Tom cleared his throat to bring his attention.
Paul turned back to him with a look of surprise. "Oh, are you done?" He notices the dirty blue hoodie clinging to the Brit's frame. Tom nodded in response, feeling uncomfortable under the soldier's curious stare as he went forward and placed his shoes back on.
"Yeah I'm done. I hope there's no problem in keeping the hoodie, though." Tom spoke before Paul could question him about it. "You understand, don't you? It's the only thing I have left of my friends…" He trailed off, faking a sad expression on his face for effect. That seemed to do the trick, as Paul gazed at him with sympathy and a small frown on his face.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "W-well, I suppose the boss won't mind…"
Tom inwardly cheered, keeping his deadpan façade on de outside. "Thanks."
Paul nodded back in understanding, smiling slightly. "Now that you're done here, I will escort you to Patrick. He's waiting for you and your appointment." He says, walking by Tom's side and nudging him forward.
"Appointment?"
"Hm! For your mental evaluation protocol, remember?" Paul reminded him eagerly. "Pat's put in charge of your mental state to make sure you are up for the experiments."
Tom kept his face neutral, but he inwardly cringed and groaned at the motion. Thankfully he's dealing with Patrick, not Tord in this situation. And speaking of the devil, the horned bastard himself was standing right outside the doors as they slid open. Tom nearly bumped into him if it weren't for Paul keeping one hand to steady him.
"Oh? You two are already done?" Tord questioned, tilting his head slightly. His eye narrowed, however, as it fixed its steady gaze on Tom; looking down at him in a somewhat scrutinizing manner. "Why is he not wearing the uniform?" He inquired.
Tom intervened before Paul could give a proper response. "I am wearing the stupid uniform underneath the hoodie." He answered irritably, lifting up the bottom of his hoodie just enough to show he's telling the truth. "Chill out, will yah?"
Tord kept staring at him, his eye calculating and cold. "Take it off."
Tom reared back in surprise, bewildered by the sudden and blunt request. "What?"
"Your jacket is a mess, and smells absolutely putrid." The norsk leader stated simply. "Take that off."
Tom backed away nervously. "Uh, I was wondering if I could keep it? You know, for sentiment reasons and stuff?"
Tord's gaze softened a bit, but he shook his head. "You can keep it, but at least take it off now so we may wash it." He pointed out. "It's dirty and a complete mess."
Tom's nervous look turned into irritation. "How do I know you'll give it back after washing?" He argued. "As far as I know, you could just trash it and not even care."
Tord sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a similar expression. "I give you my word we will give it back to you as soon as it gets cleaned and mended."
"I don't believe you!" Tom spat, glaring at him.
"Enough! Take the hoodie off, Tom." Tord demanded, his patience running out. Paul watched the two of them anxiously, feeling the tension rise between them. But Tom was not going to back down. Not this time.
"No."
Tord's expression darkened. "What did you say to me?" He growled, stepping closer to him, stiff with fury rising inside of him.
Tom was not intimidated. On the contrary actually; he felt confident and angry at the same time, and he directed everything toward the person standing right in front of him. "You know what? I had it with your stupid ways and rules! I'm not listening to you anymore!" He snapped, glaring at the Norsk with pure hatred, and one finger raised in his direction as he marched towards him. "You think you are so special with your stupid army, ridiculous position, absurd goals of taking over the world, and sh#ty fancy base? What are you without any of these things?" He continued to shout, stepping closer and closer to Tord, without noticing the sense of danger looming over him. Tord's face darkened more with each step taken, each word spat his way; he felt his anger boil more and more. His hands clenched tightly into fists, and yet his face is neutral, and devoid of emotion.
"I'll tell you what you are without any of these things; and that is NOTHING! You are nothing more than just some scared little kid, trying to act mighty and tough, hoping in vain that he will be anything of value in the future." Tom was now just inches away from Tord, and he glared up at him without fear in his dark orbs. His vision is hazed and tinted with a certain darkness that made it focus on solely at the source of his anger, which in this case, is Tord himself. But the haze, despite hurting his head and pulsate with something indescribable, it made Tom feel better; strong and powerful. He finally is on top of things! "Is that why you ran away like the coward that you are? Is that why you abandoned Edd, Matt and I for? Because you know you are nothing without this stuff? Well, because guess what? You are still NOTHING!"
Then the next few seconds happened in a blur; it all went down so fast Tom's mind barely registered until it was too late. The foggy haze in his mind was gone, and it was replaced with confusion and fatigue. He was panting heavily, not sure what just happened. Strangely enough, he felt a soft fabric being held in his left hand. He looked down and felt his blood run cold. In his hand, he held a black eyepatch dangling between his fingers, and his nails have small traces of blood on them. Tom began to tremble at the realization. Oh f#ck, it's getting strong again. But that's not the only thing that got him worried with apprehension.
Tom looked up, seeing Paul's completely horrified face as he covered his mouth with both hands and stared back at him wide eyed. And standing right in front of him, stood the worst. Tord had his face turned away, his right side facing him. The scars were shown more prominently now with the absence of his eyepatch. A ring of bloody nail marks surrounded his exposed eye, which was clenched tightly shut. His eye suddenly snapped open and Tom felt his heart stop and lose his breath. Tord slowly turned to face him, a scowl present amongst his features. His right eye, which was previously covered, was exposed for Tom to see; displaying the glazed over and scarred eye which despite being obviously blind, still managed to set its sights on Tom.
Tom tried to back away, find some sort of excuse for his sudden erratic behaviour. But there's no going back now. Tord lashed out at him with his metal hand, and gripped him tightly by the throat. Tom choked and tried to pull the hand away to allow oxygen in his lungs once again, but his grip on him only tightened.
Tord brought him closer. "You really shouldn't have done that." He snarled to his face.
Quite unexpectedly, Tom felt the room whirl and swirl all around him before the pressure on his throat was released and he was suddenly thrown away. He landed on the stack of dumbbells, breaking the shelf in half, and most of the heavy weights landing on top of him. His back hurt from the heavy landing and he felt stunned by the sudden hit. Before he could have a chance to recover, Tord was already towering over him and he attacked. Tom and Tord were stuck and locked together in a furious, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the gym. Tord punched and kicked, trying to rip off Tom's hoodie by force; while Tom clawed and bit back in defence.
Paul watched them from the corner, wide eyed and shaking in apprehension as he wasn't sure what to do in the situation. He pulled out his communicator from his pocket, and pressed the call.
"Patrick, we got a problem here!"
"What's going on?~"
"Red leader is going absolutely berserk!" Paul flinched as Tord threw Tom across the other side of the room. "Test subject #1826 provoked him and ripped off his eyepatch, and now red leader is giving him a beating!"
"Stop him then!~"
"I-I can't!"
"What you mean you can't?~"
"I don't know what to do Pat!" Paul cried out, trembling with nervousness as he kept an eye on the ongoing struggle. "If I stop I will be defying the boss's orders and he will get angry! Well, angrier than he already is."
"Believe me when I tell you, he will be a lot worse once he realizes he accidentally killed his last test subject.~" The voice answered through the static amidst the commotion. "I'll be there in a jiffy. Try to keep Tord at bay from harming Tom any further until I get there!~"
"Roger that!" He turned off his communicator, ending the call.
Tord got Tom pinned against him, his arms encircled tightly around Tom's waist and chest as the he struggled against him. Then Tom felt the collar of his hoodie get pulled back forcefully and tighten around his neck. Tord had gripped the collar with his normal hand while his robotic one kept its hold on Tom's waist, and he was tugging hard on him. Tom felt a terrible pressure on his throat. Unable to breathe, his survival instincts kicked him and he started to panic. He writhed and twisted in the Norwegian's hold, but each movement only made the pressure worse.
Retching and gulping for air, Tom summoned up all his remaining strength to pull away from Tord's grip, but to no avail. He noticed how the way that Tord was holding him up, off the ground, was meant to choke him while the bottom part remained free; leaving a spacious area which he could easily slide through. He knew this is part of Tord's plan, to force him out of his hoodie. But his instincts to survive were stronger. So with a last deep breath, he kicked back hard into Tord's leg, earning a hiss of pain from him and loosening his hold. Tom took this opportunity to slide out of Tord's grasp, pulling away from his beloved hoodie completely.
Tord stumbled away from him, fumbling with the mess of blue cloth in his hands. Tom remained crouched on the ground, taking in ragged breaths of air. His relief didn't last long, however, as a heavy weight suddenly slammed on his back and pinned him down. He got dazed by the blow, and was turned around; his back on the floor and face up.
Tord was straddling him, with his legs positioned on either side of tom's ones. Tom tried to land in a punch, but Tord easily caught it with his robotic fist and grabbed both his hands in his grasp; keeping them raised above his head. Tord glared down at him with a somewhat mischievous smirk, as his gloved hand rumaged through his uniforms inner pocket.
"Remember, you brought this upon yourself." Tord spat, pulling out some handcuffs and some strange looking collar. Tom struggled underneath him but it was futile. Tord easily overpowered him and got both his wrists shackled together. Then, once he was deemed immobile enough Tord bent forward, nearly laying on top of him, and clasped the metal collar around Tom's neck before pulling away.
Tord got off of him, standing up, while Tom sits up to catch his breath. His face is completely bruised due to Tord's assault on him, which went along nicely with his other bodily injuries; thankfully to which Tord still had yet to take notice of.
"I run an army, Thomas. Don't think that I don't know discipline." Tord growled, towering over the shackled, and bruised Brit panting heavily on his knees. He narrowed his eyes; gripping Tom's chin harshly with his normal hand, he lifted his head up to look directly at him. Tom met his cold gaze with a glare of his own, baring his teeth at him in a snarl. "If you're going to behave like an animal, I can treat you like one."
Tom's only response was a deep growl rumbling in his throat. Tord narrowed his eyes further before pulling away. "Maybe this will teach you a lesson then." He says, as he raised his robotic hand up and pressed one of the buttons.
Suddenly, the collar around Tom's neck started to tighten; the pressure getting increasingly larger by the second as his air cavity was blocked. Before long, Tom fell down to his side and started to writhe on the floor; fighting in vain for air. He choked and gagged desperately, trying to claw at the collar with his shackled hands but to no avail. At one point, amidst his struggle, he locked eyes with Tord who was watching him in morbid fascination. Tom, despite the pain and lack of air, still managed to throw him a mocking smile. "K-kinky." He choked out, his vision blurring with black spots.
Just as he was about to succumb to the approaching darkness, the pressure was suddenly lifted away, and air immediately flooded his lungs. Tom snapped his eyes back open and took large gulps of air. He felt relief for this, but couldn't help but feel disappointed as well. So close!
He sat up and looked around the room. Tord was being pinned down by Paul, who held him face down and one hand securely placed upon the deadly, metallic arm. Tom was watching them when a new set of hands clasped his shoulders and gently heaved him to his feet. Looking up, he discovered the owner of said hands is none other than Patrick; his face was full of concern but also held irritation in his expression.
"What do the two of you think you're doing?" Tord growls out, glaring back at the both of them. "Let go of me!"
"You've gone too far, Tord. You can thank us later for preventing you from doing something you would've certainly regretted." Patrick stated, still keeping steady hands on Tom so he wouldn't fall over from fatigue.
"I am your leader!" Tord continued to struggle. "You do what I say!"
Patrick shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Not with that kind of attitude." He decided. "Paul, please escort him to his office and give him something to calm down his temper. I will go ahead with Tom to our appointment."
Paul gave a curt nod of understanding. "Yes, Pat!"
Tord trashed around even more fiercely at this. "Treason! Mutiny!" He spat at them. "You dare go up against the words of your leader?"
Patrick helped support Tom as they started to walk out of the room. The gym's doors slid open with a hiss, but before they stepped out, they paused, and Patrick turned to gave one last look in Tord's direction. "Like I said, you can thank us later." He then sighed in exasperation. "Honestly sir, you really shouldn't let your anger get the best of you this way. And here I thought you were making progress."
They started to walk again, but before the doors could slid shut again; Tom risked one last look behind him. Tord had stopped struggling, tiring himself out and was left panting for breath. His cold gray eyes then locked with his solid black ones again, earning a small gasp out of him; and the doors slid shut again with a hiss.
Patrick escorted Tom to his office, letting him lean on him for support as he was limping slightly. His hands were still shackled together, and the metal collar clasped around his neck weighted heavily. Tom was still having a hard time catching his breath again. After the whole ordeal and nearly choking to death, the collar was still bothering him. The walk through the bland, gray and white corridors was long and quiet. With neither one of them saying anything.
Finally, Patrick decided to break the silence. "You are an idiot." He simply says, earning an emotionless glare from Tom. "Did you honestly think irritating the red leader would end up good for you in the end?"
Tom shrugged in response, not bothering to defend his reasoning. "Maybe if the commie hadn't insisted on something I wasn't willing to comply, none of this would've happened." He pointed out tiredly. "He should've just drop it and let it slide."
As he spoke, Tom failed to realize Patrick's eyes scanning over his form. He looked up and down at him, analysing his thin stature; but most importantly, the deep purple bruises and cuts littered seemingly everywhere along his arms. Patrick adverted his gaze away immediately when he sensed Tom's eyes shift back to him, not giving anything away with his expressionless face. But he made a mental note to inspect the bruises at a later date. You know, once Tom was deemed calm and compliant enough.
They eventually came upon an oak wooden door, out of place amongst the advanced technological setting they were in. Patrick turned the knob and swung the door open. Tom almost gasped at the sight of the room. If the door was already out of place, the rest of the room made it seem as if he just went through a portal. Wooden floor, wine red carpet, books neatly stacked on the shelves, a fireplace, glass desk, and two large recliner chairs that looked extremely comfortable.
Tom continued to look in awe around the room, as Patrick helped him in and set him down on one of the large chairs. "Sit here, I'll be back in a little while." He told the him, hurrying out the room through another wooden door.
Tom fidget in his seat a little before relaxing; sitting back, and enjoying the comfortable leather cushions against his back. Shame his hands and neck were still shackled, otherwise he would've enjoyed the feeling at its fullest. His fresh bruises also stung and hurt a little, but did not bother him too much. He was already used to the feeling, after all. However, he was used to pain being inflected on his body; mostly his arms and torso. His face is a different manner. Tom, as much as he hates himself by any definition of the word and had urges to harm his face, couldn't risk the others finding out. With his arms and torso, it's easy to hide with the help of his hoodie. But he can't hide his face from them.
Tom jumped a little on his seat when Patrick came back into the room. The Polish man approached him, holding some kind of tool in his hand. He knelt down next to him. "Hold still. I won't hurt you." He reassured him, taking the tool to his handcuffs. Tom watched him fumble quietly with his shackles before a resonating 'click' sounded and his cuffs were released. Tom rubbed his sore, red wrists to relieve a bit from the pressure as Patrick turned his attention to his collar. He craned his neck to the side, giving him more access and room to work with. Before long, the heavy clasp around his neck was relieved as well, and Tom immediately felt relief in being able to breath comfortably again.
"Better now?" Patrick prompted, standing back to his feet.
"Y-yeah, much better. Thanks!" Tom says, still rubbing his sore wrists and neck.
"You're welcome." Pat retreats back to the same door he came out previously from.
Tom tried to lean sideways and take a peek in the other room, but all he got was a glimpse of a bright room with white tiles. A lab of some kind? He heard a loud noise coming from the other side of that door, and Tom began to wonder what Patrick could possibly be doing. He wanted to get up and explore around the room during the Polish man's absence. But after going through a routine of exercises and getting the living sh#t beaten out of him by the commie bastard, his muscles felt sore and hurt just from lifting them. So Tom decided to keep still in his seat.
The door swung open again, with Patrick strolling into the room with a plastic cup in his hand; an orange straw poked out from the hole at the top of the transparent dome lid. Patrick approached him and offered the cup. "Here, drink this."
Tom shifted his gaze from his face to his outstretched hand with the cup. "What is it?" He asks, narrowing his eyes; filled with suspicion.
"I took the liberty to concoct a special drink for you. Seeing as how it's been at least an hour since your last meal, and after going through that whole dramatic ordeal; I thought you might be hungry." Patrick explained. "I put together different kinds of fruits, carrots, ginger, beets, milk, ice, a little bit of sugar, and then blended everything together to make you this healthy energy drink."
Tom hesitantly took the cup from him. He stared down into the clear lid and analysed the cup's contents. The juice inside is orange, with a few specks of red and green along with the floating chunks of blended ice. He gave a light sniff, but couldn't smell anything aside from fruit. "What else is in it?" He prompted, turning his dark gaze back to Patrick.
The Polish man sighed. "I understand your ill feelings towards me and Paul for putting you through all of this. But we already apologized, and there is nothing more to be done about it now." He said tiredly. "There's no reason for us to drug you anyway. Besides, you made a deal with red leader about the use of anaesthetics on you and that includes any sort of drugs that might induce sleep. So you don't have to be worried about us drugging your food."
He does have a point. Tom let himself relax, going with his way of thinking did make sense. He stared down at the cup again, judging and debating whether or not he should drink it. Tom realized there really is no more reason for him to be denying to eat at this point, since it will only make Tord angry and bring nothing but bad things for himself. Pat just reassured him they won't drug him again, unless he asks for them himself. Even if he hates the mere notion of feeding his suppressed side, Tom knows that there is nothing else he can do to prevent it from coming out now. His last and only hope now, is for Tord to fail his plan. If he does, then Tom will finally be free from this wretched curse plaguing his mind with horrible thoughts, voices and visions; and defiling his body in such a way. In fact, the only reason he refused to eat anything at first despite their deal was because Tom didn't want to give in to Tord so easily. But most importantly, it was to keep the beast at bay a little while longer. But now, he senses it's return.
Patrick watched him curiously, turning away to take the seat across from Tom, but never taking his sights off him. He observed as Tom kept his gaze furrowed, solely focus on the straw before he finally took the straw between his lips and took a sip of the cold drink. Tom's eyes widened, pulling away and licking his lips. "This is… Great!" He exclaimed with genuine surprised, taking another eager sip.
"I'm glad to hear it." Pat smiled slightly, pleased with himself for managing to bring out a different emotion from the test subject; other than deadpanned or moody sour. "Hopefully, if you like this drink well enough, it might be a new healthy substitute for your Smirnoff addiction." He commented.
Tom shot him a small glare his way, pulling away from the straw. "As if." He scoffed. "I mean, this drink is good and all, really freaking good; but nothing could ever replace my love for Smirnoff!"
Patrick sat back in his dark brown, leather, recliner chair. He pulled a thin pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his blue coat, and a black tablet from the coffee table next to him. He flipped the tablet open and placed the glasses neatly over his eyes. "So Tom, let's get started with our appointment, shall we?" He inquired. "Why don't you start by telling me a bit more about yourself?"
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Dinner and a movie first, buddy."
Patrick stared back at him, his face turning deadpanned. "Tom…" He started, using a lighter tone his reprimanding voice.
Tom rolled his eyes, 'tsking' in response and placed his drink on the small table next to him. "No offence, but, I don't think this is going to work. I don't do well with psychologists, and you are not even a real one!" He pointed out, crossing his arms. "Besides, you are working for commie! Anything I tell you goes directly to him, and there's no way I am telling you anything about me." He argued.
Patrick pursed his lips into a thin line, humming in thought. "Fair enough."
"Huh?"
"I understand your concerns, Thomas. So, to make this a more pleasant experience for you, I will be doing it your way for a change." Pat decided, meeting Tom's black gaze evenly. "You are already forced into this mess as it is, might as well give you a little bit more freedom; and I hope to get, at the very least, a bit more compliance from you in return."
Tom stared back at him with wide, black eyes. "R-really?" He couldn't help but stutter. Pat just gave a smile and nod to confirm. Right there and then, Tom would've rushed at him and given the polish soldier a tight hug, if it weren't for the fact he was trying to act cool and defiant all the time. Finally! F#cking finally, somebody was actually willing to hear him out for once! Not force him to do it their way despite being uncomfortable with the situation he's in. Patrick just became his favourite person in this entire base at the drop of a hat. Sure, maybe he got along better with Paul with his somewhat shy and upbeat attitude, but Tom hasn't entirely forgiven him for the pub incident, or the chip implanting behind his back. And Tord? Pfft! As if there's any contest with him around. F#ck the commie!
"So how would you prefer we do this?" Patrick prompted, fixing the glasses to their proper position on his face.
Tom fumbled with his fingers. "I will go along with our "psychologist appointment" without any fuss, if you promise me three things. Number one: if along our talk we go into any sort of topic which I am not comfortable in discussing, I will have the right to not talk about it if I want to." He demanded, earning a curt nod from Patrick. "Second: You can't tell none of the things I tell you to Tord. Real psychologists keep their sessions private, and between the two of them. So, I think it's fair you do the same. I am putting my trust on you."
Patrick typed down his demands, to keep it as reference for future appointments. "Anything else?"
Tom looked away, fumbling with his hands nervously and his face flushing from embarrassment. He mumbled something, but so quietly it was incomprehensible. Pat leaned in his seat to hear him better and requested for him to repeat it. Tom flushed more. "Have a cup of this energy vitamin made for every session." He spoke out loud, looking down at his feet in embarrassment.
Patrick chuckled in amusement, making Tom flush even more out of embarrassment. "Don't laugh at me!" He whined.
"No, no, no! I'm not laughing at you!" Pat corrected politely. "I merely find your hesitance to accept things amusing. It's okay to admit you like something. This room is supposed to be a free environment for you to speak freely without any fear of being judged. So, you don't have to be bashful in here."
Tom relaxed, feeling his shoulders sag and he pressed his back against the chair. Gingerly, he grabbed a hold of the cup and took another sip.
"Very well, Tom. I will try my best as your psychologist, to meet up with your demands." Patrick vowed. "Now that we have this settled, where would you like to begin?" He inquired.
Tom set the drink down again, his gaze cast downwards. "I guess I could talk a little about myself." He suggested hesitantly, earning a reassuring nod from Patrick in return to carry on. Tom sighed. "Man, where do I even begin? I, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Why don't we start with your family?" Patrick offered. "How was your relationship with your parents growing up?"
Tom blinked. "Right. Uh, so like I previously mentioned before, my parents were a pineapple and a bowling ball. It's weird thinking back now, but they were all I got back then and I didn't mind it." He murmured. "They didn't talk much, but they always tried their best to keep me happy."
"Any fond memories of them?" Pat inquired, typing down bullet points in his tablet.
Tom nodded. "Yeah, I remember this one time it was raining a lot. I might've been four or five at the time, I'm not sure. I used to be afraid of storms back then; cowering whenever lightning struck." He reminisces wistfully. "My parents comforted me; stayed with me the whole night, reassuring me that storms don't last forever." He remembers that night like it was only yesterday. He was just a frightened little toddler, hiding beneath the covers of his bed with his yellow onesie and light blue strap pants with red buttons. He shivered and clutched his Tomee bear tightly close to him. Light flashed across his dark toom as lightning struck outside, thunder booming loudly and he cried out in fright. His parents came into the room, hearing his cries, and they stayed with him the whole night until the storm had passed. It brought back longing memories of his childhood. The good old days when everything was simple and innocent. What Tom wouldn't give to go back to that time.
Patrick continued to type down on his notes. He made bullet points to better classify the different aspects of Tom's life. He typed down: Happy upbringing – Good relationship with parents. "That's good to hear, Thomas." Pat murmured, fixing his glasses. "Do you still keep contact with your parents?"
Tom's small smile fell into a frown, and his gaze cast downward in expressionless sorrow. "They're dead."
Patrick froze at this. "Oh, I-I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He apologized calmly; careful not to say the wrong thing by accident and set him off.
Tom shrugged. "It's fine. They have been gone for a while now, so it doesn't hurt as much as it once used to." He muttered, not meeting Patrick's gaze, sitting across from him. "My father was killed when I was eight. We were out fishing when he got shot, by all things, a bear with a gun." He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Then it was only my mother and I for the longest time. Dad's demise hit her hard, but she still managed to take her time to care for me. She died when I was seventeen, just a little after I graduated from school. But by that point I was already planning on moving out to live with my friends-" And Tord, the slimy bastard. "- Anyway."
Patrick nodded in understanding, humming along as he typed down a different bullet point beneath the family category. Possible childhood trauma? He put a question mark in there, as he still need to see any clear signs on Tom's behaviour that might point him towards this direction. So far, from what he observed from Tom's attitude and response, the eyeless man seemed cool and collected when talking about the deaths of his parents, but Patrick could still detect the sadness laced beneath his tone of voice.
"Do you have any other relatives aside from your parents?" Patrick asks curiously.
Tom shook his head. "None that I know of." He sighed deeply, closing his eyes momentarily. He went on to grab the cup and take another sip, but the straw is already scraping the bottom contents of the leftover juice. Tom whined in discontent as he felt the light weight of the cup.
"Well, is there anything in particular you would like to discuss about your family?" Pat questioned, folding his legs neatly. "Any particular issues, problems growing up, or anything of the sort?"
Tom pursed his lips, deep in thought. He recalled his childhood and all the moments spent with his family. Tom figured, no, he never had any issues with them. You know, aside from the fact they are objects and not actual people, but that never bothered him to begin with; even now when he is old enough to know it's kind of messed up. But for what they were, his parents were good and they did their best to raise and care for him despite everything. Too bad it ended up with the mess that he is now; as if he couldn't get more messed up!
"No. I think I'm good." Tom replied nonchalantly.
Patrick took his time to type something down. "Right, now how about we talk about your friendships-?"
"No!"
Patrick jumped a little in his seat, startled by Tom's sudden loud outburst. He stared at the Britt, wide eyed and blinked. Tom quickly composed himself, clearing his throat. "I, uh, sorry about that, it's just-" Tom kept stammering, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I am not comfortable discussing this now. Maybe a different day, but right now I am feeling tired after the whole ordeal with Tord and whatnot; if you don't mind."
Tom explained his reasoning, and for the most part, it is true. His head and back are still aching from being thrown around like a ragdoll by Tord, his left eye stings and Tom presumed it was at least slightly purple by this point; and not to mention his incredibly sore throat from being nearly choked to death. Thankfully, the healthy drink Pat gave him certainly helped soothe his aching throat somewhat, but he could still feel the tight clutch of the metal collar around his neck.
Tom felt immense relief overflow him when Patrick nodded in agreement. "I understand. Then I shall mark our next appointment for same day and time next week. What do you say?" He inquired, earning a nod in response from Tom. "Splendid! Though, I do hope you learned your lesson about messing with Tord. You know now he is not to be trifled with, and you're lucky to be living now after pulling that dangerous stunt with him."
Tom sniffed, but didn't reply to his remark. Lucky isn't exactly the word i would use. His stubborn side is defeated, and he might as well just accept things the way they are without complaint. Easier said than done, especially when he has no trouble accepting the facts when it's Patrick talking to him; but with Tord it would be a completely different story altogether. However, for now he wasn't too keen in getting another beating so soon; even if the pain did help him come with terms with his problems.
Tom was brought out of his thoughts by Patrick's loud clasp of his hands, as the Polish man got up from his leather seat, putting the tablet aside and stretching out his arms lazily; yawning. "Then we are wrapped up for today!"
"So, what happens now?"
"You are probably very tired by now, after everything you been through today; it's been quite eventful, I admit!" Pat commented, putting away his glasses back into his pocket. "So I will be escorting you back to your quarters, but we will have a quick stop by the lab office on the way. I need to take a few more samples from your blood, if that's alright with you."
Tom shrugged with indifference. "Fine by me, I guess." Suddenly, Tom's vision started to blur. An immense pain filled his skull and made his jaw clench. Tom moaned in pain and gripped his head, feeling light headed, swaying from side to side.
Patrick observed him with concern. "Thomas, are you feeling well?" He noted the ill look on his face, skin shade turning a sickly pale colour and Tom looked as if he were about to fall over on his feet and face plant into the carpeted floor.
Tom tried to turn around and look at him, but the dizziness only grew more intense. He moaned out a few more incomprehensible words before he fell over on his back with a loud, heavy thud, eyes shut. "Tom!" Patrick immediately rushed to his side, crouching down next to him. He grabbed his wrist to check for the pulse when he stopped and took a closer look at it. Tom's wrist is completely lacerated, with deep reddish-purple bruises all over it. The scratches even stretched out to his arms, and possibly even more along his body. Patrick was shocked to say the least. What kind of horrors has he been put through? Shaking the thought aside, Patrick focused his attention to the current task at hand. He placed two of his fingers between the bone and the tendon on Tom's wrist; breathing a sigh of relief when he found a faint pulse.
Tom moaned again, seemingly in agony. Patrick looked up and placed the palm of his hand over the Britt's forehead. He felt a distinct heat that certainly wasn't there before, but it was still imperceptible. A fever perhaps? But it was so spontaneous and sudden, without any signs beforehand that it seemed very strange. Tom wasn't displaying any forms of sickness prior, or during their session. They will have to observe him up close. Patrick quickly took out his communicator from his back pocket, pressing in the call.
"Patrick to red leader, test subject #1826 is down! I repeat, test subject #1826 is down!"
I did it! I finally finished writing this chapter!
God, this took so long. But it was worth it! This chapter is actually the largest chapter I ever wrote in any work. Normally try to keep the chapters short and focused, not with too many details so it won't bore you, the readers. But I left you guys hanging in the dark, waiting, for long enough, and I decided to expand the length of the chapter for this one. Not sure if I will do the same for the next ones, but I guess we'll just have to see.
Now that I am home alone for the next two weeks, no school, no responsibilities, no work, and hakuna matata; I get to have plenty of time to write chapter 9 and the next couple of one-shots for Eddswarriors! So keep a look out for that!
So anyway, that's it! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review telling me your thoughts, thank you all so much for the support; I really appreciate it! I hope you have a nice day, and I'll see yah all later! ;)