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Angst Party With The Boys

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C-R2d's head slammed against the hard concrete floor as he was shoved into the cell. He felt the skin split on his forehead, plunging his skull into fiery pain. His arms were tied against  his back, almost too tight. He managed to push himself off the floor and into a sitting position. The burning pain in his forehead didn't help things, and neither did the blood blinding him, but it didn't seem too serious an injury. The ties encircling his wrists were cinched way too tight, the cold floor chilling him straight through his paper-thin clothes. If only he cooperated, they said, this wouldn't happen.




L-L3e was exhausted. Blood dribbled out of his nose as the cracked bone throbbed under his skin. Cuts and bruises littered his body, decorating it in a much more bloody way than his tattoos. His hands were restrained behind him, his feet below, and a strap forced his head forward despite his aching neck begging to get the strain off. He had been trapped there for days. 

The man stood there, observing him. 


L-L3e watched with tired eyes as the man lifted the hammer again, his shallow breath the only noise as he pulled it up in anticipation. The man carefully looked over his body for something unbroken. He decided on L-L3e's left hand. The man strapped it down. L-L3e let him. Putting up a fight was a fruitless effort. It would only deny him necessities. The man swung down. Hard. L-L3e felt the bones crack, and the pain erupted again. He barely let out a whimper. 




M-P6rt could feel the dull burn of his empty stomach as he choked up nothing. The nausea assaulted his body, eyes watering as he dry-heaved. The woman with the clipboard scribbled a few notes and watched on as M-P6rt struggled to stop coughing. Sweat dripped into his eyes as his forehead burned. M-P6rt could do nothing but choke on oxygen and struggle to stay conscious. 

His skinny legs burned with the effort of supporting him, and he collapsed onto his side. He choked up some spit, but that didn't satisfy the nausea, only exacerbating it as his vision started to blur. 

He could hear the click of heels as the woman approached him, clipboard in hand. He could barely see, and the headache blasting through his head didn't help him concentrate. He coughed one last time. M-P6rt felt a hand shaking him. He heard a voice shouting something, then nothing. He submitted to unconsciousness.




A-V1 was curled up as best he could with the chain pulling his arm up. He didn't want to. He really didn't. But that didn't matter to them. He felt a hand pulling on the chain forcefully. He must've taken too long to stand up, because he received a harsh slap to the face and a yelled order in a language he didn't understand anymore. He stumbled, unable to see where he was going, the sting still fresh on his face. 

How long had it been since he was taken here? He really didn't remember. He didn't remember a lot if things. He didn't remember his own name, he didn't remember how to talk, he didn't remember his life before this. But I guess that's what they wanted. 

He was forced to fall onto his knees and hands, the chain cutting unpleasantly into his wrist and the rough floor scraping his knees. He felt someone pull off his thin shirt, and stick something onto his back. The electric shock pulsed through his body. 



D-De3 sat in his dark cell. Blood leaked from his nose as he concentrated on the image of that one wild-haired subject he'd seen getting led away. Remy, his name was, and D-De3 remembered the situation quite well. The man was yelling and fighting against the guards, but he was sedated quickly and, D-De3 knew he would be tortured into submitting, like they always did. He did.

He wiped the blood from his nose, though it hardly mattered. He was already coated in other dried liquids, what difference did it make to add to that? He couldn't remember the last time he was clean anyway. 

D-De3 heard the pounding footsteps before they opened the door. 

"Get up!" He remained sitting. "I said get up you useless testie!" 

D-De3 ignored him. He was quite used to threats. 

"Hey, you're the one with the fancy scales huh? The lab's gonna have fun with you today." 

This scared him. He backed up, scooting away from the two guards, ready to fight. 

"Aw, poor little testie. We ain't got time for this, come on!" The guards approached him. 

It had been ages since he last spoke, but he had too. Maybe he could make them listen.

"N-no-" he croaked out, raising his arms defensively, but then were instead grabbed by the guards. They dragged him up, not hesitating to bruise him along the way. 




Remus's fists swung fiercely from the moment he was taken. He rebelled against them at every turn, trying desperately not to give them what they wanted. He wouldn't answer to the stupid code name they gave him, he wouldn't address them, and when he did he called them Dr. and Dr. Asshole. He was impossible to work with, and he liked it that way. He wouldn't give in. 

They couldn't kill him, so they strung him up in the most painful way they could, muzzled him, restrained him, tried their very best to break him, but they couldn't do it. He wouldn't be broken. He wouldn't be beaten down by them like so many before him. 

Remus simply wouldn't.