When it Rains

Part 4


With Peter safely gone, I straightened my clothes, cleaning up as best I could, and returned to the work I had been doing before he'd arrived, taking a moment to put the rose in some water in a beaker, in the window of my office proper even though it wouldn't get any more sun there than anywhere else. I pressed my lips briefly to the fragile petals with a soft sigh, then turned and went back into my office.

I didn't have long to wait, before the little spy was back with the sheriff. His posse was with him, as they always were, silent and foreboding behind him.

"Mister -- Hand. What a nice -- surprise."

They didn't generally have a knack for human expressions, but somehow over the years Mr. Hand had perfected the ability to look throughly unimpressed. "I think We can dispense with the formalities, yes? It appears We were not completely clear to you in Our instructions yesterday, Doctor. We must rectify this immediately."

I felt my stomach twist in fear at the thought of further pain at their hands, but tried to hide it, to play innocent. "We will imprint the man -- tonight, correct? No more -- transgression."

"Come, Doctor." He turned without acknowledging my words, disappearing out the door and expecting me to follow. I did, knowing the alternative was to be dragged.


They took me down to the center of the underneath, overlooking the machine, and he pushed me face first up against the metal wheel, the others quickly buckling my wrists and ankles tightly to it, legs spread and arms outstretched, helpless. It was, shamefully, a familiar position for me, for whenever they were displeased with me, whenever they deemed that I was not being cooperative enough. Whenever I needed punishment, like I had yesterday. I heard the whisper of metal on metal as he unsheathed his knife behind me and held as still as I could, body trembling already from the discomfort of the position, trying to balance my weight on uneven legs that were stretched out so uncomfortably far.

The tip of the knife pressed to the back of my neck - not to cut me, though they'd used that as punishment at first, and occasionally even now, when they wanted to see blood. No, first my lab coat and the shirt underneath had to go, the knife slicing easily through the fabric like water, the tip scratching my skin just lightly, just enough to sting. I bit my lip on the whimpers, closing my eyes, the cold air hitting my skin as fabric seperated to hang open, then fall to the ground as he cut down the arms and across my shoulders. The belt was next, a sharp tug to slice through the leather, then down the back of the leg, trousers and shorts falling to bunch around one ankle on the ground.

My back was still stinging, still raw from what they'd done to me the day previous, despite the numbing ointment. My body's fear responses were already active, adrenaline pumping through my veins, breath coming in soft gasps. "Mister Hand. I am not a strong man, I -- may not physically be able to -- stay conscious if you -- correct my error again - "

"We are fully aware of the limits of the human body, Doctor. So you can cease your attempts to bargain, yes? We merely need to start with a blank slate." There was a warmth on my back, an itchy, crawling sensation that I tried to squirm away from, and within minutes the pain and tenderness from before had faded completely. I wished I could have taken relief from it. Before I could respond, I heard the crack of leather, felt the lick of flame against my still tender skin, and I clenched my jaw hard on the cry of pain that it drove from my throat. All I had to do was breathe and endure, like I had before. I'd known, been prepared for it to come to this again when I saw Peter in my office, regardless of whether or not we'd been intimate. I'd chosen to steal those last few moments with him. I could endure this.

After five strikes, however, he stopped. "Explain to us, Doctor. You know the rules. You are not permitted to tamper with the experiments in any way. We cannot permit you to taint the data. And yet you continue, you invite it. After being expressly instructed otherwise, you see this subject again. Why?"

I cried out as the leather licked my skin again, chest heaving, shuddering, gasping for breath. "I'm sorry -- I didn't intend -- he found me somehow, I -- Ahh!"

"You instigated this, doctor, you continued this. Why?"

Another lick, again and again, pain like fire lancing through my skin and deep into my aching muscles, my body jerking, writhing on the wheel in a futile attempt to evade the agony. "Why?" The question, again and again, punctuating each lick as the leather tore at my ass, the tops of my thighs, travelling up my spine, stroke by stroke. "Why? Doctor! Answer Us!"

"I need him -!" I gasped before I could stop myself, and my shuddering breath gave way to tears, helpless sobs at the humiliation and pain, the desolation of losing him.

There was a pause, just momentary, the only sound the echoes of my choked, broken cries. Then I heard the crack, felt the blows strike harder, faster, and it was all I could do to stay conscious, hands clenched at the metal of the wheel so hard that it bit into my skin. Over and over, so sharp that I knew he must have drawn blood, leather tearing through my skin, jolts of pain shaking my body, stealing my breath.

Finally, it stopped, and I saw Hand, walking a slow circling around the wheel so I could see him through the gaps between the metalwork, regarding me silently for a long moment before walking on.

"You are a curious man, doctor. Perhaps We should have studied you, instead of them. You are well aware of the consequences of your actions, and yet you disobey. Why? It seems only to appease an unnatural, deviant sexual urge. Not even to procreate, but just for pleasure. Why?"

I was silent during his inquisition, trying to catch my breath, my entire backside burning from the lashes, letting the words wash over me. They couldn't understand, they would never understand....

"Answer us, Doctor!" The impatent probe came with another strike against my ass, and I cried out, hands clenching at the iron.

"Please stop -!" I gasped. "You do not care about -- my answers!"

"We assure you, Doctor. We do. Now speak, for if you really do understand the human mind as well as say you do, you can certainly analyze yourself, can you not?"

I closed my eyes against the hatred I felt for him, for them. "We aren't meant to be alone," I gasped finally. "You have forced me into -- behaviour that is not natural -- for my kind. We do not share memories, share -- a mind like you do. We must reach out to others for that -- connection. Surely you have seen that -- by now."

There was silence for a long moment, cold and calculating, and it only made me shiver more. Then I felt a hand, ice cold, laid on the small of my back, igniting agony from the lacerations, and I screamed, trying to jerk away, eyes shut tight against it. "Stop!"

"Perhaps our actions have been amiss, yes? Deprived you of something essential to your kind?"

I made no reply, just trying vainly to catch my breath. No matter how I answered, he would use it against me.

The hand at my back didn't move, though the pain had dulled, slightly, somehow. "Perhaps we should rectify the situation." I hardly had a moment to wonder before I felt that tingle over my skin that meant Tuning, but this time it shuddered across my skin to my groin, blood rushing down to....

Oh god.

"Stop - !" I gasped without speaking, trying to jerk away from hand on my back, somehow stop what he was doing. Yanking at the belts that held my wrists frantically with every remaining bit of strength, the leather cutting into my skin, my joints aching from the force. Terror running through me like ice. "Please don't!"

His hand moved to between my shoulder blades, pushing me hard against the wheel, immobilizing me. "Don't?" I was fully erect now, pressed achingly hard against the metal under me, and I shut my eyes tight in revulsion, drawing breath in shuddering gasps. Praying that he didn't, couldn't mean to do this.

"I won't do it again." I whimpered, then heard myself give a little squeak of terror as the wheel shifted, the cold metal against my pelvis moving away, the loss of constrition leaving my erection to stand stiff in the chilly air. I felt him pull another leather belt from the metal, fastening it tightly across my back to keep me immobile, the pain from the tight leather on my raw skin burning through me, making me buck and cry out under him.

"Hold still," he ordered, and I felt his hand between my trembling thighs, ice cold fingers running over my skin almost curiously. Taking hold of my testicles and massaging them with his fingers, tugging gently. Pulling them back a little as he reached to press his thumb against my opening, firm but not invading. "You take pleasure from this?"

"No!" I gasped helplessly, shaking harder under the invasion of his touch, how his cold fingers almost burned on my skin. "Not like this, never - oh god please stop-!"

"We think you do," he mused, and his other hand slipped around me to take hold of my cock, fingers stroking slowly up and down, and the invasion broke me, gasping breath giving way to shuddering sobs. "We think you need this," he continued, and then the fingers holding my sack pulled away, "and when you have this, we think you will be able to behave yourself perfectly, yes?"

There was a moment of stillness, of nothing but his hand whispering cold over my cock. Then his free hand gripped my hip hard, and I was being violated, his cock thrusting deep and rough into me, hard and icy cold, the temperature so much of a shock that my body clamped down in fear. He continued regardless, bucking hard into me, and I was sure that he'd already torn me from the force of it. Part of me, still rational despite the terror, felt relief that I'd been so generous with the glycerin in my office, know that without it and the remains of Peter's seed inside me, this would be excruciating, entirely unbearable. The rest of me was frozen in terror and pain, a broken, keening cry escaping my lips with each thrust from the agony that ripped up my spine, adding to the burning pain from the leather of his clothes scraping roughly against my tender backside as he fucked me.

"You work for us, Doctor." His voice in my ear, eerily unaffected by his exertions. "You exist only because we need you. We see to your needs, no one else. Substance, shelter, money, and since it seems to be necessary, sexual intercourse. Do you understand?"

I didn't, couldn't respond, so he asked again, punctuating with a harder thrust, making me cry out helplessly. "Yes - ! Please stop, god - !"

But he didn't stop, and didn't speak again, just continued, hard and deep and fast. Ice cold fingers, slowly warming from my body heat, continued to pump my cock, and somewhere amidst the agony and humiliation, biological response took over, the mechanics of his touch and stimulation activating the pleasure center in my brain despite my sobs, despite the pain. Perhaps because of the pain, my body unable to process the difference in the intensity of sensation. His cock, still cool but not painfully cold any longer, still brushed against my swollen prostate, still drove the same helpless pleasure from me.

I closed my eyes tight against the humiliation and gave in. Let him fuck me, let him pleasure me, let the hard pulse of his thrusts build the knot of arousal and sensation inside me. Let him command and coax my body again and again, pulling me to the brink of climax and then stopping, holding still inside me, hand tight on the base of my cock.

Shamefully, I squirmed. I cried, I tried to rock back against him, body shuddering and craving release, begging with a helpless sob before I could stop myself "Please - !"

"You see?" His voice, still low and calm, though he didn't move. "You did need this. Just as you needed to understand that We will be the only ones to give this to you, yes?"

I gave a shuddering sob, just wanting it to be over. "Please, just - "

"Please, Doctor? You desire this? To surrender your needs to us entirely?

"Please," I gasped again, body aching, shuddering, tears of frustration and humiliation escaping my lids. "Yes, please just finish this!"

The slightest movement, rocking slowly in me, teasing my need, which was already pulled as tight as a bowstring, shuddering, craving release. "Promise it."

"I promise!"

"Promise what, doctor?"

"Only you," I gasped, words a sob, the skin on my back in agony as I writhed helplessly against him. "Won't disobey you again. God please - !"

"Please?" his voice questioned again, breath cold on my ear, hips grinding up against my ass just a little more, torturous, and I cried out in frustration.

"God, just let me come!"

Perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed almost amused. He pulled back, just a little, and then the onslaught returned full force, pounding into me hard and fast, fingers jerking my cock. "Come then, Doctor. You've earned it." And I did, bucking up into his hand as my body was pulled to climax, shuddering and helpless to the sensation, climaxing slick in his fingers, eyes clenched tight and crying out with the release.

"How messy," he muttered, and pulled away, painful against my hypersensitive nerves, leaving me to hang limply on the frame, my body shaking as I gasped for breath.

I felt the belts around my ankles pulled undone, then a warm, tingling spread slowly over my skin, inside me and over my aching back, touching the bruise on my cheek. The pain faded to a dull ache, surprisingly much more bearable than how they'd left me the day before, almost whole. I didn't question it though, too overwhelmed by the shame of what had happened, taking the clothes they offered me with trembling fingers and pulling them on. One of my suits, I realized with some faint relief, and when I was dressed again, I felt a little more myself.

"Doctor." I turned at his voice to see hand with papers in his hands. "You must prepare the templates for tonight's subjects. You may wish to take care with this one in particular, yes?"

He handed me the work order, and I took it with trembling fingers, looking over it. A man named John Murdoch. A serial killer and rapist. I felt my world spin at the realization, at the thought of -this- for my Peter. I almost dropped the paper, clutching for support at the wheel that had just moments ago been my prison.

"The people here," Hand said simply, "Are Our constructions, Our property, same as you are. They are who they are because We made them this way. You would do well to remember this, Doctor."

"I -- understand," I whispered, but while on the outside I gave every expected sign of compliancy, these actions had woken in me a shuddering rage, stronger than any anger I'd felt toward them in a very long time. Stronger than my fear.

I'd been complacent long enough. I would make this end tonight, or die in the attempt.

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For the rest of the day, I went about my work unemotionally- albeit rather stiffly - like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t angry at all. Underneath the calm facade however, my mind calmly and efficiently put a plan into motion that had been brewing for a very long time.

They had taken my memories from me, everything from before they had taken us, from before they had forced me into this life of servitude. But they hadn't taken my knowledge, my skills. My ability to analyze and remember, hypothesize and conclude, and secretly, quietly I had been researching on the side, without their knowledge. Slowly, ever so slowly so as not to attract their attention, I used small amounts of their chemicals - waste, garbage, things that wouldn't be missed. With the things that they'd taught me, and the knowledge I had, I came to understand how they worked together, what they did. How to disassemble them into their base components. How to reassemble them, how to change them.

How to use their technology.

Before they'd taken us, I had been primarily a research scientist. I'd been trying to understand memory, unlock the potential of the brain, stem back disease that would threaten it. My research now was not a stretch - to unlock the power of the mind. When one of my lab rats walked through one of the dividers of the maze, I knew I had found success. I put it to sleep before they felt the change, before they realized it, my poor rat. But I knew I'd finally found the answer that I'd been looking for.

I didn't make the John Murdoch imprint. I wouldn't have given that identity to Peter in a million years, not for any reason at all. Instead I quietly, carefully, crafted a new set of memories. I had to use Murdoch as a template, of course. Had to give it some humanity. So I took the boy Murdoch, and instead of turning him into a murderer... I taught him how to tune.

It was a gamble, I knew. There was no way of telling if the effect my research had on the rats would be the same on humans, and it made my heart ache that I would have to take this chance on a man who'd shown me nothing but kindness. But I wouldn't let him become a murderer. I couldn't.

I returned to my lab before the tuning, and recovered the syringe. Then I went out to meet them, bag in hand, just like any other night. I ran a little late on purpose, so that by the time I reached the hotel where they had set up the experiment, they had finished, and left me behind in the green tiled bathroom, Peter still asleep in a bathtub full of lukewarm water. Bastards couldn't even give him a proper hot bath.

I knelt beside the tub, looking over at the still figure in the water with a soft sigh. I didn't have much time, but perhaps I could indulge, just for a moment. I cupped his cheek with one hand, wishing I could look into those green eyes again. "You recall your -- promise to me? Now I shall -- take care of you. I just hope that some part of you -- can remember how much -- I love you." I leaned in, then, kissing sleeping lips, lingering just for a short time, knowing it would very likely be the last. "Goodbye, Peter."

I took the extra syringe from inside my jacket breast pocket, full of liquid that was almost clear. The results of over a year of careful collection and secret work in the lab, in order to refine this much from the small amounts and waste chemicals I managed to steal from them unnoticed. Forcing myself not to hesitate any longer, I positioned it carefully, and injected Peter with the power to change the world.

The syringe with the lessons was in the bag, hidden in plain view. I took it out and positioned it carefully, but had barely pressed the plunger when the man's eyes flew open, body struggling. The syringe shot from my fingers to smash against the wall, the precious memories spilling amidst broken glass and bathwater, ruined.

I jerked backwards, hitting my head on the hanging light as I stood, staring at him in horror. That the injection had taken effect so quickly was alarming enough, but now he had no way of knowing how to control it - or even memories of who he was. And he had woken up, and altered reality.

They would sense it. They would come for him. And if they found me here... they would know.

And so like a coward, I caught up my bag and ran. Ran until I could figure out some way to re-create the lessons, to teach the man who had been my lover how to control the abilities I'd given him.

~~~~~~~~~~~