Day: 8

Waylon felt like he was dieing during the early engine therapy. The coppery taste of blood sitting at the back of his throat since yesterday. He breathed heavily, feeling like he wasn't getting enough oxygen in. when it was over the doctors did the same as always, dragging him into the medical room.

They took blood tests, brain scans, then left him strapped in a chair. Doctors were fussing over the new tests. Waylon knew by there frustration that something changed. They were going back and forth between the new and old tests, marking things. Andrew was getting angry with each mark on the paper work.

The doctors swarmed Waylon again. Shining lights in his eyes, taking more blood, and stabbing into his arms. The doctors took him away for more scans and x rays. After the x ray on his chest the blood building at the back of his throat finally came up. He leaned his head over the side of the table, letting thick blood pour out of his mouth.

Doctors started yelling and fighting with each other. They all stopped when Andrew turned there anger onto Waylon. He was yanked off the table by Andrew, forced to stand as blood was still dripping from his mouth. Accusations of him faking his health were tossed at him.

"you were sick by the engine this whole time! you faked your good health so we would waste our time on you!" Andrew yelled at him. Waylon knew he was still unaffected by the engine. The sickness was from multiple surgery's, stress, and injections, not the therapy. He knew to keep his mouth shut about that information.

"admit it!" Andrew snapped at Waylon. Waylon stayed silent, refusing to answer the doctor. Talking wouldn't help him anyway.

"talk you rat!" Andrew yelled before punching Waylon. Waylon fell to the floor, barely able to sit up for defense. He coughed up more blood from the back of his throat. Luckily he was left alone as doctors started arguing about files.

Things would need to be changed, new reports, back tracking there research. Waylon stayed still on the floor, watching the arguments. He flinched when they grabbed him again. They yanked him back onto a medical table, setting him up for operation.

They ripped him open, looking over his sick organs. They did more sample scrapings and stomach pumped him. Blood was removed from his stomach and lungs. They gave injections which stopped the bleeding. By the doctors comments, Waylon heard, his blood had thinned.

The thinned blood was leaking through his organ walls. Although late, the fixing of this problem was better done now then realized later. If not, Waylon would have bled out through his eyes and skin once his blood thinned enough. It also explained his low oxygen, thin blood making it complicated to pass it along.

They took new pictures of his opened organs. Dissecting him for the new file update. The doctors were rougher with him then usual. Yanking things that needed to be moved or pushing him. They continued to blame him for there mistake. He had been sick a while, but they refused to see it.

Now that they couldn't ignore it, they were panicking. All the files and paperwork they passed with progress would have to be cleared. They built there falsified files on a tower of cards. This back track would be looking for someone to blame.

It was all there fault, but Waylon will be there scapegoat. Blame him for wasted time, say that he bluffed a serious illness. It wouldn't make sense, but Murkoff wouldn't care. Patients were easily replaceable, scientists that can keep a dark secret weren't. Waylon wondered if he would have still sent that email if he knew this would happen.

If he didn't, he would have just endured working there for another 5 months. He never thought ahead, lisa was better with that. If he could have talked to her, she would have told him not to. Now that he had all the time to think, his mistakes were obvious.

All he had to do was wait for his contract to end. He could have left and told the world then. Then again, the Walrider caused the major breakout days ago. He would have gone through that suffering no matter what it seems. Maybe he would have even died. The Walrider attacked the lower levels first, where he was usually kept around for work.

If he did manage to survive, maybe he could have just escaped. Or at least not be on the engine therapy. Would that be worth it? Forced to still work for these sadists. Forced to help in the experimentation he was now under. Now that he had felt all the pain and torture, he would have only sent that email faster.

"SOMEone has to be coming! my wife, a reporter, news crew, police anyone that could stop this! A riot of maniacs, a killer swarm of nanobots couldn't have possibly gone unnoticed. ... Could it?" Waylon thought, not realizing he had shut his eyes too long for the doctors liking.

"wake up lab rat!" Andrew said, slapping Waylon "awake". Waylon opened his eyes, wincing one closed from the pain on his face.

"stay awake!" Andrew snapped at him, as he worked more on Waylons organs.

Waylon glared at him, still feeling pain in his face. A bright red mark went across almost the entire half his face. He stayed still and kept awake till the doctors finished. Yanking him around again when the stitches were finished.

They dragged him back to the engine therapy. He was left to endure the excruciating pain for another 4 hours. They only stopped to force feed him that junk in a tube. Waylon was surprised when he actually fought against them. He knocked the slop away, spilling it across the floor.

This didn't go very well for him after. Doctors beat him and forced him to the floor. He ached everywhere, covered in layers of large bruises. His exhaustion making him unable to fight or move as they forced the new food down his throat. He closed his eyes for a second.

They opened in shock as a bucket of freezing water was splashed on him. He jolted up, finding out he was in his cell. He had blacked out earlier and was moved back to his cell. The door closed as a officer left. Waylon watched the door before looking at his soaked patient uniform.

He thought the idea was disgusting. he had no idea where this shirt had been, but he was thirsty. It was at least better then the water on the floor. He sucked water out of the damp fabric, gaining a little taste back from hydrating his tongue. His mouth always felt like sand or cotton balls, his tasting lost with no spit. Swallowing felt like barbwire down his dry throat.

The minimal water he obtained from the fabric was like a oasis in the desert. His mouth was able to make spit again and his tongue no longer stuck to the roof of his mouth. He practically sucked the shirt dry by the time he was done. The taste of blood had been strengthened with the new moister. It made Waylon gag a few times.

He started to gag so much, he leaned over the bed. His body had finally lurched its stomach forward enough. Waylon felt excruciating pain from it, and swore his stomach turned inside out. All that cement, mud black, puree powder came out of him. It stuck together just like cement or mud would. Vomited up into a tall mound on the floor. Waylon watched as the dark mound slowly spread on the floor, sinking down slowly.

Waylons body felt so much relief from the removal of that lead heavy mix. He felt 30 pounds lighter, his stomach no longer a knot. He laid back against the wall on his bed. Closing his eyes to let exhaustion take over.

thank you for reading and please comment. =]

poor Waylon, the doctors are gonna be worse from now on. and Andrews got a surprise for him next chapter. *evil laugh*

unlike the original and sequel, this will require 4 comments(1 per person) per chap to continue!

1 chap = 1 Waylon and Eddie POV