"Interesting," a hoarse voice mounted as Doctor Shrill drummed his fingers along the desk, sizing up Vance. The feeling left the latter highly uncomfortable. His body almost felt molested by the penetrative gaze, as if it were inspecting him on a level far deeper than what the normal eye should allow.
"How is he?" Balgur's rough voice rang out. He expectantly waited for a brief summary of Vance's condition.
Bobbing his head, Shrill continued scrutinizing Vance before straightening his posture and addressing Balgur.
"The kid seems fine. Just a few weird things occurring around his body. Anyway, you guys can leave now. I'll take it from here and inform you when I'm finished with him." He ushered the two out, giving them no chance to even speak as he eyed Vance with intrigue.
"Good. We'll be taking our leave, Doc. Cecilia will pick the kids up later," Balgur briefed before exiting behind Ares, who seemingly couldn't bear to stand another second in the room.
Not before leaving a few words floating in the air, however.
"Take care, kid."
Vance nodded imperceptibly before turning to the only remaining occupant.
The entire situation reeked of one without any form of control.
What form would the assessment even take? There wasn't really much to think about anyway, as there was literally nothing he could do. His fate had been sealed the moment he passed through the gate. Sighing inwardly, he shrugged before turning to Shrill.
Hopefully, this would be an experience as far removed from a regular doctor's visit as possible.
"What's the general situation, Doc?" Vance asked.
"Not too bad for an unascended," Shrill smiled as he gestured toward a seat. "There are, however, a few questions I'd like to ask before we go any further."
Nodding, Vance leisurely approached the chair, which seemed more like decoration than something frequently used. Based on Shrill's personality, he doubted the doctor had much use for it. Taking a seat, he made himself comfortable, patiently awaiting the questions he had already anticipated.
The specific ones, however, were not what he expected.
Shrill rummaged under his desk, pulling out a stack of papers. Mid-motion, he paused, his eyes flickering with curiosity before he asked, "Are you even human?"
Then, reconsidering, he reworded the question.
"No, wait. Better question. What are you?"
Vance shrugged. "I don't know."
An answer that made the former burst out laughing.
"Good, good." Neatly adjusting the papers, Shrill sorted through them before handing one over.
"The signing of this form is required to allow you into the military construct necessary for your appraisal, since you are not yet under the ownership of the Militarium," Shrill mouthed.
Vance visibly paled.
This document was about to be a mindfuck, wasn't it?
Briefly glancing over the otherwise ordinary-looking paper, he winced. Signing and dealing with documents was one of the things he hated the most. Even more so when he saw all the clauses about non-disclosure, the lines that could be easily misinterpreted, and the sheer amount of text needing to be read. It left him grimacing mentally.
Shrill smirked, watching the gears turn in Vance's head. He leaned back slightly before offering some advice.
"There's nothing too strict on it, so no need to worry too much, kid," he said, stopping briefly to release a hearty laugh before continuing. "It's not like you're signing the contract of the Stellaris, after all. You'll still have all the rights given to dregs. It's just that you'll be open to the possibility of execution or possibly being given to the Labrator for some sick scientist or Primogene Engineers if you run your mouth to non-ascended."
Hearing this, Vance immediately gained a much deeper understanding of his situation as several puzzle pieces seemingly clicked into place.
Based on what the doctor was saying, it seemed he was in quite the unique position. The use of such technology was highly restricted, given only to those who signed a contract with what he assumed was a military force or some governing entity.
This also meant he had no real choice in the matter. Given his current state, he had neither the ability to resist nor the means to escape. He was quite literally cooked, as Blake would have put it. His apparent revival, or whatever these people assumed, was something he was sure stemmed from their lack of knowledge.
His true method of recovery, as far as he understood, was tied to his transmigration into this body. If that was ever revealed, wouldn't that completely seal his fate?
Keeping his sanity would be the least of his worries.
Regardless, his options were already predetermined.
Taking up a white pen, he quickly found the signature line among the endless amount of words. What amazed him even more, however, was the text itself. The symbols replacing letters looked like a mix between Chinese and Arabic script. Yet despite this, he could still understand it.
Shaking off the thoughts gnawing at the back of his mind, he quickly signed his name before alerting Shrill, whose head was already bobbing up and down.
"I'm done."
The latter responded immediately, his voice laced with barely contained zeal. He didn't even glance at the paper.
"Splendid. Now, follow me."
He set off toward the area beside a device that Vance found eerily similar to a modern-day washing machine. Shrill continuously beckoned him with impatience, placing his hand along the wall.
The wall parted like an elevator, releasing a strong scent of herbs and medicine into the air. The frigid temperature within sent the hairs on Vance's arms rising.
Taking a step inside, his mind immediately changed.
Without hesitation, he spun on his heel, making a rapid 180-degree turn to head straight back into the office.
A hand that felt as if it were made from iron itself, however, gripped his shoulder blade the second he was about to take a step.
"Don't be a wuss now, Vance. They're all alive… or most of them, at least," his sentence trailing off with a rather dry laugh.
The color drained from his skin as Vance immediately doubled down on his desire to flee. There was no way he was going in there with the creepy folk.
His body, however, refused to move under Shrill's hold. Taking a deep sigh, he slowly turned around to eye the doctor. This time, however, his eyes were glazed with frantic trepidation.
Nodding slightly, Shrill turned around before continuing toward the room. Frankensteins lab, as Vance would have called it.
Steeling his mind, he followed after Shrill with slow, heavy, deliberate steps that echoed increasing reluctance with each step. This became even more prominent when the image of upright pods lining the walkway came back into his vision.
Their glass structures gave all who stepped into the room a visceral image of beings floating in a green substance, with bubbles arising from the bottom continuously.
It was not the pods themselves, however, that gave Vance such a feeling of dread, but instead the large amounts of dismembered body parts connected by various cables that seemed to defy the rules of life and gave their hearts, clearly separated from their bodies, the ability to beat without lungs.
Was this his inevitable future?
Physically tensing, he prepared to lash out the second this doctor uttered any strange sentence, regardless of his earlier display of power with Balgur.
He was currently weak, but for sure, not completely harmless, nor a meek sheep.
With clenched fists, Vance followed after Shrill for what felt like hours before the latter came to a pod similar to those from before. This one, however, was empty and lacked any form of liquid.
"This is it, kiddo," he muttered, stroking his chin as he sized Vance up and down with poorly veiled amusement.
"This will be your new home for a few days. Say hello to Pod 07," he gestured toward the construct, before continuing by pointing at a pod beside it containing a single brain and nothing else. "And also greet your neighbor, Emmy."
This time, barely able to conceal the laughter, he burst out in a loud, piercing fit of coughs interwoven from a laugh poorly held back.