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 Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 7:49 am
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 8:41 am
Asera Ura I'm consciously unconscious.  It has been three years since her mother's death. The whole thing wrapped in mystery. An accident that left her mother dead and her father in some deranged state. Experiments that one read in horror stories had become her life. And now. Now she was in some weird hospital. Her father had left her here with the receptionist. The old woman was a demon. She had seen it, as she sees everyone's true form. Humans were humans but a demon can't hide themselves. The woman at the desk was horrid looking. Asera couldn't bring herself to keep looking. Her foot tapped a rhythm on the tiled floor and she hummed softly.
A doctor came out of the elevator. He had giant headphones on his ears and looked... different. She couldn't quite place the creature he was but he wasn't human. With a plastered smile, he motioned for her to follow and she knew this was the last time she would see this place. There wasn't a way out for her. But, she followed.
Asera was led down a hallway on the third floor. She heard screams, she felt terror. What did everything mean? Where was she? What was happening to those people to make them scream? The doctor stopped at the room marked "XIII" and opened the door. It was a small cell, walls padded. The bed was low to the ground and held stark white sheets. This whole room seemed depressing. he gave his name but she wasn't really listening. He shut the door and the light dimmed. She wasn't submerged in complete darkness but it might as well have been.
She sat on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Where was her father now? Would this be a better place to be than in the hands of her insane father? She started to sing a soft lullaby, trying to soothe herself.
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2010 12:59 am
Dr. Mikhael Volkov “He who moves not forward, goes backward.”
Mikhael’s office was silent. Not a natural manner of silence, a type of silence that was crushing for anyone to experience. It was a small container for the doctor, but it was his sanctuary. The office was meticulously arranged, perfectly furnished to suit its owner’s needs. A thick oak desk held countless reams of notes and research, case studies and reports. The only window was sealed off by blinds, the fluorescent lights above providing pale illumination. The doctor himself was an uncommon sight in the asylum, usually remaining on the second floor. Black hair framed his face loosely, perceived as a fashion statement, but actually a result of reclusive behavior; he hadn’t had a proper haircut in months. Two grey-blue eyes sat behind thinly rimmed glasses, studying the newest subject brought to him for testing.
Asera Ura, aged twenty-two, blood type O-negative, previous history of severe familial trauma, suspected delusions, possible schizophrenia. He looked over the file several times over, going through the motions. It was all routine for him in this hospital; mental instability, eventual decrease in cognitive faculties, leading to a complete comatose state or permanent illness. One more test subject for his purposes, in his mind.
For the entirety of his research in St. Sabbas, he had been fixated on completing a medication to repair the strongest cases of schizophrenia. He had begun to believe he suffered from the illness; after years of misophonia that bordered on zero sound tolerance, he had also begun to suffer from night terrors and other delusions. Now, he was as desperate for a cure as his patients were. That was where the Protocol Psyche came into the picture. His masterpiece, meant to be a panacea for mental illness, which forced the brain to undergo self-repairing processes. The effect hoped for was that, except in the cases of severance between parts of the brain, the medication would rebalance all chemical structures within the brain. Unfortunately, up until now, five subjects had been experimented with, and all had perished in the testing. The medication, it seemed, was far too powerful. When introduced to the brain, it interrupted so many functions at once that the medulla oblongata was overloaded – in short, the subjects instantly, and violently, short-circuited.
Now, it was time to visit his newest patient. He sent a signal to the nurse staff with a push of a button on his desk, alerting them that it was time for a visitation. He got to his feet, and pensively made his way into the hall, making certain no one else was present before walking to the patient’s room. Two nurses were ready with syringes of anesthetic as he entered, looking at the girl before him with steely eyes.
“Good afternoon. My name is Doctor Volkov, and I will be monitoring you during your stay.”
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Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2010 10:37 am
Asera Ura I'm consciously unconscious. It hadn't been long. Asera knew that much. But this room seemed designed to make the patient believe it would be forever until someone came to them. Her clothes were unable to keep the chill of the air out. Her breath starting coming in a little heavier, her body starting to shake from it. With frozen hands, she picked up the blanket and wrapped it around herself. Shockingly, it worked. The cold was still in the air but wasn't effecting her as much.
Her breathing hadn't regulated when the doctor came into the room. Where scared her was the appearance of him. He wasn't normal, at all. Something made of shadows. Though, it kept flickering between that and a human form. The human form wasn't so intimidating. Black hair, glasses. Though it wasn't exactly easy to tell. She couldn't focus on him when there were two nurses behind him with needles.
"Is it the afternoon?" She had been in here longer than she thought. She had to remain somewhat positive. This place wasn't welcoming but it couldn't be any worse than her father, right? "Doctor Volkov? Why do those nurses have needles? Their forms didn't flicker. No, these nurses were something out of a nightmare. Asera wasn't fighting. She wasn't being hostile or crazy. Was it needed to have them ready? What had her father told them? She let out a shaky breath. Her breathing was still slow.
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Posted: Mon Feb 01, 2010 4:52 pm
Dr. Mikhael Volkov “He who moves not forward, goes backward.”
Mikhael narrowed his eyes momentarily as he surveyed the girl in front of him, seated peacefully, yet tentatively, in the padded cell. She was shivering, even though the ambient temperature was more than comfortable. Her eyes darted between him and the nurses, as if seeing something she didn’t understand. And when he addressed the time of day, she was at a total loss of comprehension; all signs of possible mental instability, or possibly a simple matter of educed hallucinations. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been admitted to the asylum only to test positive for a cocktail of narcotics and alcohol.
He stepped forward and stood before her with analytical eyes scanning her features, constantly marking notes on the clipboard in his arms. She could see a chain dangling from his neck, a lone silver pendant resting against his lithe chest on a field of pinstriped shirt. “You have been admitted to des’ hospital for analysis and evaluation,” he replied in a soft voice, his faint accent unavoidable when a word was too heavy on consonants. “I will be de’ administrator of any tests dat follow.”
He paused for a few moments, the nurses both watching the patient closely for any signs of aggression. Finally, Mikhael returned to her and canted his head slightly, squinting one eye behind his glasses. “I understand you have been experiencing anxiety. I would like to ask you several questions, to help with de analysis.”
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Posted: Tue Feb 02, 2010 7:38 pm
Asera Ura I'm consciously unconscious. What was Asera supposed to say? There was no way the Doctor was going to just let her out. And there was no need to fight him. It would lead to nowhere. So, she watched him. His form flicking from normal to some form of creature. It was one she'd never seen. When it came to seeing people's true selfs, there was no telling what she would see. This was different though. There weren't really demons in the world, were there? Not possible? Then what was he? Why was his true form something that seemed out of a nightmare. Her breathing started becoming more shallow in her fear.
She took a deep breath to no avail. Nothing was helping her. The needles scared the hell out of her. Who knew what the nurses had in them? Perhaps an anesthetic. Perhaps a poison. It was obvious to her that there was something different about this hospital. From the receptionist, to the owner, to this doctor. Would her own form warp and twist to something she didn't recognize? Something she didn't want to be? Only time would tell but how much time did she have?
Asera cleared her throat at the doctor's statement. Why would he need to ask her questions? And what tests? Did her father not give them all detailed descriptions of his failed experiments? The woman shifted her weight, clutching the cloth of her shirt. "I will do my best to answer them as best I can." Her throat felt very dry for some reason. Her eyes wide and focused on Mikhail.
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