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RUBATOSIS || chapter two: bloating

PAIRING : Dr.Gaul's Assistant!Coriolanus Snow x Experiment!Reader-Insert ( afab, they / them, sometimes it, no explicit use of y/n )

RATING : 18+ ( tw body horror / slight sexual content )

WORD COUNT : 20, 501

WARNINGS : infidelity ( coryo's engaged to livia ), power imbalance, unreliable narrator ( it's 3rd POV but focuses on coryo's view ), unhealthy dynamics, dehumanizing language, medical experimentation, operation treated as a metaphor for sex, sexual disassociation, body horror-esque, coryo and gaul are messed up in this fic, he's more like his book version than movie

SUMMARY : 🙶 rubatosis - noun. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 🙷

Fortune, marriage, and success - all within the hands of Coriolanus Snow, and it still isn’t enough to satisfy him. Tigris has grown distant and Livia is far more trouble than it's worth. 

Dr. Gaul has just the solution for him.

A/N : Sorry for how long this took, work has kept me busy. If there are any mistakes let me know, and I hope you all like chapter two.

[ If you want to read it on AO3 instead ] [ chapter one ]

bloating || skin slippage - stage two of decomposition 

By now, he was already starting to feel ill. 

The beaded drops of sweat that started to latch itself onto the bare palms of his hands made them feel all the more off-putting. It made the effort of wanting ( at least, an attempt of so ) to keep a grip on the smooth skin between his fingers a far more burdensome task than needed. His hips shifting back and forth to meet with Livia’s; every single moment of their flesh meeting together, every moan and airy breath that was drawn out of her, it never failed to make him internally recoil. Since adolescent age, he always expected sex to feel passionate, the shot of nerves as if they were on fire from sheer pleasure. Festus had spoken such a great deal of it during meals at the Academy, leaning down into the group of their male peers and speaking in hushed whispers in fear someone nearby would listen in. It was hard not to feel delightfully shocked, with the flushed color on Festus’s cheeks, the juvenile gleam in his eyes. 

What a liar. 

Never once had he engaged in sexual activities himself prior to… to his graduation from the Academy. Only some heavy grabbing between perspired kisses, and maybe a rut, or two, with another. Livia had been his first, when it came to full on sexual intercourse. 

And what an exhausting experience it was! 

All that sweat, the cum, having to kiss Livia repeatedly to get the room a bit more quiet - he felt like he had been robbed. Was this not supposed to be some pivotal moment? That some inner, ‘carnal desire’ that others had boasted about would be satiated the moment he lost virginity. Yet, in the end, all he did was feel more empty, starved than he was before having sex with Livia. Starved he still was, when he walked in and out the doors of Pluribus Bell’s nightclubs. Coriolanus wondered at times, where he found himself bare and pressed against another, if there was something wrong with him. Or if maybe, if it was someone else, had it been any one of those two, would he have felt anything.

He didn’t want to question it further. 

In the end, Livia always rested on the other side of his bed satisfied. If he was lucky enough to cum himself; he’d try to either sleep the experience off, or leave his place quickly with an offhand excuse, depending on the time. 

His tired eyes gazed up from the expanse of Livia’s back. Coriolanus was grateful that today Livia and him fell into a position where the both of them didn’t have to make eye contact with each other. If he stared too long at just one thing, there was a chance his eyes might just become blind from desensitization. Peeks of daybreak managed their way through the dark, rich curtains of his bedroom window. The light casted over his bed in a restrained fashion, hitting his right bare shoulder and slightly onto the lower spine of Livia. He’d soon have to get ready for work after this was all done. 

What a freak, he sounded like. 

That he was far more excited to be working than being caught by the charms of another woman. A woman that eventually, in just a few months, was going to be the wife, the mother of his children, the one he comes home to. It felt like a nightmare. Maybe this was the “ball and chain”; that the breathing fossils in suits would harp on about at social functions, emptied bottles of posca rolling beside their sleek shoes on the floor.

Lazily, he slid his left hand up from its gripped position on Livia’s waist. The sweat between them making the glide smooth, as he ran his fingers up her shoulder blades. In all their mornings and nights, spent wrapped in the sweltering sheets, Coriolnaus doesn’t think he’s ever seen any noticeable blemishes on Livia. No freckles, no moles, no beauty marks. Not even a small scar from playing too rough in the playground. There was no argument that could be made: Livia Cardew is the perfect Capital woman. The clean expanse of flesh and the untainted blood that ran underneath spoke levels enough. 

But, it also made her obscenely bland.

Sure, she’s ambitious. 

Livia could be quite the cutthroat when needed, if it meant the spotlight and praise was on her. It was the few things they had in common. Though, there was no physical sign to her character, aside from her sense of fashion and the style of hair she did each morning. Even then, anyone with half a mind might protest if any of that really was part of her. Livia’s never shy when it comes to chasing the current trends of Panem. But, what’s so good about being a trend chaser if you don’t even anything else more remarkable? By all means, become the beacon of hope to the everyday Capital citizen. Tell them that with enough wealth, maybe they can buy their way into a personality, too. 

Grimacing, the sensation of Livia’s body tightening around him brought him out of his daze. She was close to finishing. Meaning he was closer to being able to leave. Though, a crumb of uncertainty lodged itself into Coriolanus. It was something he dealt with before. 

There was just a small window of time to decide: should he try to finish alongside Livia, or should he cum alone in his bathroom, after. 

Maybe if she stopped moving her hips so wildly against him, it’d give him more space to think. His fingers slid back down her spine, the faintest shape of the laminae was jutting out, as Livia arched her back against him. Coriolanus leaned his face down, starting from the bottom of her spine he pressed his lips against her skin. Trailing open-mouthed kisses up, the salty taste of her perspiration lingered itself on his tongue. It made him internally recoil. 

He’d have to scrub his teeth a bit more thoroughly, before he headed off to work. 

Coriolanus felt bad for Livia’s parents. They most likely hoped that by setting this arrangement with Livia and him, that eventually, the two of them could become obsessed with each other. The truth of the matter is, sex between them both was just more so a formality. Something to give this engagement a sense of normalcy. He definitely wasn’t Livia’s type, and she wasn’t his. His type was… Coriolanus wondered, if Livia carried more imperfections on her, would she have appealed more to him?

He tried to see it. 

What would he have here instead, if not just the vast expanse of soft skin. Sheltered away, easy access to the finest things Panem had to offer a girl. Would some blemishes be nice on Livia? It could be cute, if she was flustered about it. A mole? No, Coriolanus wouldn’t consider that an imperfection, unlike Livia. Maybe a scar? That could be interesting, they usually carried a story. Some uneven patches of skin that haven't healed perfectly, possibly from a botched stitch job. 

His hand reached up to brush aside the sweat soaked ends of Livia’s hair, away from her neck. He could see it now, the image of that messy, metaphorical scar. The slight discoloration, the dip in the muscle, showing him just how deep the wound went. Coriolanus kissed the nape of her neck.

What would it be like to run his tongue along it? 

The hand that was so firmly placed on Livia’s hip, left its spot. Instead, he moved it farther down and under her. How would Livia react, if he put so much attention on an imperfection of hers? Would it draw a choked out sound from her, an embarrassing reaction? It would be so different from the prideful image she carried everyday. Livia’s hips jerked against his own, as his fingers slid themselves between her soaked folds and up. Reaching her clit, his middle finger played with it to help her between the gasps of breath. They both hated each other, but Livia could never call him a selfish lover. Even if he wished for more from her. Even if he desired to see her as someone, something, different as she fell apart under his touch. 

How funny would it be, if he took a page from Dr. Gaul’s book. Have her undergo a similar treatment to Project Prometheus, let her be redone as a blank slate. Coriolanus thought about it for a second; the lines of stitches that he traced so carefully under his gloved fingers. 

The pace of his hips stuttered. 

A sharp intake from his nostrils, Coriolanus quickly bit down on Livia’s neck to prevent the sound of a moan leaving his lips. He could feel the discomforting sensation of the condom filling up. It made his body shudder at the feeling, Livia’s back pressed flush against his chest. Slowly, gradually, his teeth removed themselves from Livia’s skin, taking steady breaths between his lips to try and collect himself. He brushed back a curled strand of golden hair from his forehead, the hair slightly soaked from sweat. 

Well… Isn’t this just humiliating for him? The briefest thought about work somehow got him to finish. 

He really was a freak. 

Not that he’d tell a soul on earth about this. Imagine the stares he’d get if he confessed that thinking about work gets him to cum. Not the body of his fiance, not a pretty face under dark lights. Work. They’d be convinced that it may have been a better option to have abandoned him at District 12, rather than bring him back to the Capital. Coriolanus moved himself away from Livia, lifting himself off of her to stand his back tall once more. He grimaced throughout the entire movement, as the sweltering touch of their skin together was becoming far too noticeable for his liking. He was reminded again, about how much he could withstand Livia before his patience wore thin. 

“That… was interesting…” Livia spoke in a breathy tone, a slight whimper at the end as Coriolanus pulled himself out of her. 

He offered the back of her head a brief glance, before continuing to pull the condom off of him and tie it. “Something wrong?” He never really bothered to speak enthusiastically to Livia. The one time he did try to talk softly to her when they were alone, she threw him a look of disgust and told him to stop. That she found it ‘creepy’. 

Livia shifted herself further into his bed, bringing her arms under one of his fine cotton pillows to nestle her face further into it. She stretched her limbs out, ankles crossing over each other. Great, she was making herself comfortable. 

“No, nothing’s wrong.” She must think she’s hilarious for playing coy. “I’m just surprised you managed to stick through the entire thing. For a moment, I was almost worried for your health. You know, impotence is not just for the old.” 

“Very funny, Livia.” 

He wanted her out already. 

Doesn’t she have any friends she should go visit? Or a family waiting for her?

He didn’t bother to look at her, instead getting up from the bed to move to his nightstand. Coriolanus grabbed the alarm clock that rested on it, holding the smooth frame of wood in his hands. Checking the time was far more interesting than participating in this conversation. It was pointless banter, with Livia just trying to get a rise out of him. 

“I should say the same to you. What happened to ‘just wanting to rest for the night’?” 

It was just shy of six thirty in the morning. 

His ears picked on the sound of Livia sucking her teeth a few spaces behind him. Coriolanus rolled his eyes, placing the alarm clock back down with a quiet thud. Quietly, with steady steps, he walked past the lush, wine-colored carpet under his bed and into the connecting door that led to his bathroom. He turned the light switch on, its warm hue from the intricately adorned wall lamps illuminated the entire space. 

Before, it always used to be a jarring experience to feel the icy tile of the bathroom floor, it was a miracle if the heater didn’t manage to bust down during the night. Now, stepping his bare foot in without a care, the mosaic marble floor didn’t make him want to jump out of his skin. There was an adequate warmth from the heaters lined at the bottom of the floors. Though, he did slightly ( barely ) miss the cold. If his alarm clock failed to jolt him awake for class, he could always depend on the freezing appliances and water to finish the job. He turned, facing the large sink vanity. The top of the sink was made from sleek ceramic marble, with the cabinets beneath it being made from polished blackwood. Lined against the wall under the vanity, stood a multitude of care products he had taken to purchase for himself. However, something curious caught Coriolanus’s eye. Livia had made her own small collection here, too. Not as plentiful as he had, considering this is his bathroom, but she had her own products that she often left behind. A ‘just in case’, when she stayed nights here.

Coriolanus was half tempted to tell her to get rid of them. If the products were that important, she could carry it in a duffel bag when she came over. Or, she could just handle doing a brisk walk of shame to her chauffeur's car, so she could go home and wash herself. His home wasn’t her extra storage unit. 

Outside his bedroom door, he could hear just the faintest sounds of someone moving on the floor below. It was very quiet, the slightest noise of clanging pots and pans. The warm smell of coffee being brewed and warm cooking oil bled through the halls of the estate, and seeped under the cracks of the door. Perfect, the cook came in just in time. If he was lucky, the cook would finish his breakfast just before he came down and he’d be able to finish it quickly before work. Just before Livia could come down. He hadn’t forgotten her actions previously, he noticed how eager she seemed to make a pattern. 

Wasn’t this supposed to be his place of comfort? 

Here he was in his new home, trying to get some independence away from his family and a woman he didn’t even love was intruding upon it. Coriolanus took the toothbrush from its ceramic holder on the wall, wetting the bristles under the turned on faucet before applying the paste. Bringing it up and into his mouth, he started to scrub thoroughly. The phone connected to his bedside had started to ring. Coriolanus made a gesture to move his body to get it, but Livia beat him to it. 

He’d let her take it, for now. He wasn’t fond of it, but if his fiance was the one answering the phone, it’d sell their image of a ‘perfect marriage’ better. 

He glanced from the corner of the doorway to see Livia take the handset of the black dial phone in her hands, before he went back to finish brushing his teeth. She answered in a faux sweet tone: 

“Livia Cardew, soon to be Livia Snow, speaking.” 

Ew. 

Just broadcast to the whole world at this point. Hearing her say it aloud brought a chill down his spine. It was true, but it still was a jarring reality to accept.

“Oh, Tigris! Good morning, how are you?” 

Coriolanus quickly spat out the paste from his mouth, the mixture of its foam and his spit splattered against the drain. 

“Coriolanus? He’s in the bathroom right now. Do you want me to go grab him for you?” 

Was his heart racing? He felt like his heart was racing. 

His hand gripped at the edges of the marble top, while the other reached to turn back on the faucet. Trembling, his fingers, wrapping around the lever to lift it up and twist to warm. It had been a moment since Tigris sought to call him. Since he left home, it’s always been him to reach out. If he just left it up to her, he feared that he’d only hear from her once a year. She’d probably like it to be that way, too, knowing her. But, he’d never let it happen. He was always going to remind her of the fact that the both of them are family. Regardless of what he did, what he’ll do, the connection of blood between them was never going to diminish. He had lost them, he wasn’t going to let himself lose her, too. 

Maybe he should wash his mouth out quicker, to go and speak to her, Coriolanus reasoned. 

His hands cupped around the running water, bringing it up to his mouth to swish it around. What did Tigris want to tell him? Was it something mundane? Did she want to check on him? But, it was unlikely, unless Tigris miraculously had a change of heart through the night. Which meant most likely she was calling for an emergency. That made his heart sink worse at the thought. Had Grandma’am’s health declined? Did a doctor notice an abnormality in Tigris’s body?

“You just wanted him to relay something to me? Well, I’m here now, I’m all ears.”

Coriolanus spit the water out his mouth, and grabbed the mouthwash for extra measure. 

…So. 

She didn’t want to speak to him. 

She just wanted him to play sweet messenger boy for Livia. 

Taking the small amount of mouthwash into his mouth, he closed his lips to swirl it around the crevices inside. The sound of Livia’s conversation with Tigris began to drown itself out into a white noise. Coriolanus didn’t really care what they were talking about anymore. It wasn’t for him, so it really didn’t matter. He should’ve expected the result. But, it stung just a bit, knowing that she preferred Livia over him. He never expected that designing one dress somehow endeared the seamstress to the client. 

What did that mean for him? Tigris had designed, fixed, and traded the majority of his clothes. Was there a limit? Too much work, and suddenly the seamstress only answers calls when the full moon is out and the lucky lottery color of the day is green. Coriolanus spit the mouthwash out into the sink, the strong taste of medicinal mint left on his tongue. Not a single trace of Livia’s taste remained. His hand held onto the faucet’s lever, twisted it back to turn it off. The sleek, cool material of brass slipped out from his fingers, as he brought his palm down. Across the smooth marble top and down to grip at its edges, where it hung just a bit over the blackwood cabinet. Distantly, he watched the remnants of water slowly leak down to the drain. 

What had he done? Coriolanus genuinely wanted to know.  What had he done, personally, to Tigris, that made her so distasteful towards him? 

Ever since he had come back from District 12, when he had told her that he was to be accepted into the University and work under Dr. Gaul’s assistant full-time, Tigris had spoken to him so meekishly, so quietly. When he, on the other hand, had hoped to share this joy with his beloved cousin. Having been recently discharged from that hellscape, and finding new success by his merits finally being acknowledged, Strabo Plinth taking him on as a replacement son - he thought she’d be happy for him. That with their penthouse now off the market, that it spoke to a new wave of golden years for the Snow family. They could finally go back to where things used to be. No longer did they have to worry so much about helping Grandma’am up the stairs, when the elevator broke down. No more, did Tigris have to go through tight street corners and rusted alleyways to exchange goods. Was this not what they wanted? What she wanted? 

Coriolanus’s jaw locked into a grit, his knuckles tightening in grip. 

Did she just want something new to coddle and dote on? That maybe, rather it being something wrong with him; he just no longer appealed to her naive delusions. Was he not still, the same young boy who’d hold her hand during festivals…? Something glazed over his eyes and he blinked it away quickly, raising his head back up to look at his own reflection. 

No, this shouldn’t discourage him. 

If anything, it should invigorate him more to proceed with this damned wedding. If dangling Livia on a hook was what it took to keep Tigris still in contact with him, then so be it. And if she grew tired of Livia, then he’d bring her a new one. The pound never ran out of pets to parade. 

Coriolanus walked over to the shower, turning it on. Sliding open the glass panels just a smidge more, for his body to slip through. He let the shower head rain over him, wetting his pushed back hair; the combed out strands starting to curl under the exposure, falling along his forehead. Coriolanus was thankful, for the beating sound of water hitting the tiles. It drowned out even more, the noise of Livia’s voice. Her obnoxious laughter was almost non-existent at this point. His hand reached out to the indented shelf built into the shower wall, touching the honed, pine green porcelain tiles. A different focus was what he needed. He needed something else to think about. 

Grabbing the bottle of body wash, and the hanging shower luffa, he popped the bottle open. The smell of vanilla and roses touched the steamed air. Lathering the luffa against his hand, when the foam of soapy bubbles finally formed, he brought it towards his body. What a luxury it was, to be able to use things like shower gels and brushes, rather than a bar of mediocre soap and a worn-out rag. He scrubbed the luffa against his body, ‘til his skin started to look red and it felt sore against the hot water. The Citadel didn’t necessarily carry out a specific requirement of cleanliness, but working with other researchers and touching dangerous materials and waste alike; a thorough wash seemed second nature for the job. And the easily swooned crowds of Capital elites always enjoyed a well-groomed figure to stand behind. 

If he showed up and greeted Dr. Gaul with the slightest speck of dirt under his nails, she’d chew him out viciously. He’s seen her humiliate workers for less at the Citadel, forcing them to endure the embarrassment of washing their hands in front of her until she’s satisfied. Coriolanus feared that due to their ‘friendly’ bond, she might even go as far as to wash his hands herself. Dr. Gaul’s pruned hands touching his own? He shuddered. A grimace forced his lips into a frown. Closing his eyes to chase out the thought, he brought his head under the water. He scrubbed the conditioner out until he no longer felt any residue in his hair.

He wanted to focus on something else. 

Watching the suds of soap slowly enter the drain, he tried to think of Livia. When he dried off, would she still be in bed? They’ve seen each other naked plenty of times, but getting ready together… That felt like a level of intimacy that Coriolanus was not keen on sharing with her. She might even feel the same. He hummed quietly to himself as he turned off the hot water. When they eventually move in together, he should consider making her a personal room in the mansion. He could only tolerate sharing a bed with her some nights. It wasn’t everyday of the week she stayed over, which is why he never spoke out before. Sighing through his mouth, his hand rubbed the bridge of his nose. He slid open the glass shower panel, extending his arm out first, to grab the crimson, cotton towel from the brass hanger. The soft towel was promptly wrapped around his head to shuffle around his wet locks, drying it just well enough before stretching out the fabric to wrap around his waist. Mist from the shower followed after him, as he stepped out of it. 

As he made his way back to the sink vanity, he noticed the vague shape of something left next to the sink bowl. He picked it up in his hands, the discarded, salmon colored toothbrush of Livia; wet in his hands. Coriolanus’s face pulled a frown, placing it back correctly. Since when did Tigris and her finish talking? He barely noticed Livia entering and using the bathroom while he showered. Grabbing onto the doorframe of the bathroom, he peeked his head out slightly. 

No Livia resting in bed. 

His clothes for the day were already picked out for him, laying there instead at the foot of his bed. A relief he didn’t know he craved, filled him immediately. 

Blue eyes moved to another target of focus, noticing quite clearly the empty space where one of his robes should very obviously be. And the dread had made its way back into his system!

Coriolanus zipped his head back into the bathroom. 

Quickly, he thought. Quickly, he needed to finish getting ready, grabbing the bottle of moisturizer in one hand and plugging in the blowdryer in the other. She is trying to corner him at the breakfast table today. What more did she want? Does she need a favor? Is it another ‘date’? He prayed it wasn’t the latter. He wants to go into work on a good note. Coriolanus checked his face in the mirror; clear of any new, stray hairs around his lips and chin. Flicking out the tooth comb from its place, he took a small amount of pomade and brushed his ( mostly ) dried hair back and to the side. The curls in his hair smoothed themselves out against the comb’s teeth. In his transition back to his room, the towel that loyally clung to his hips was left discarded on the bathroom floor; his legs swiftly moving to slot themselves into a new, clean pair of underwear. He didn’t think much as he put on the ironed white button up, adorning the fitted waist vest over it and matching deep-red colored trousers that hid the black, cotton sock garters underneath. Carefully, he looped the rich black leather belt through the loops of the slack, a satisfying clink from the buckle when he locked in place. With one last look in the mirror, necessities all gathered, and a spray of cologne, he fit himself into his shoes and went out the bedroom door and where he knew Livia was waiting for him.

“Chef, if you could please, pack my breakfast and coffee to go. I have to head into work soon,” Coriolanus actually had thirty minutes to spare. Frankly, he could lounge around and start up a new book if he wanted. 

“What? You’re not even late, you’re perfectly on time!” Livia cried out, her head turned to his figure now entering the room. 

Sitting just right across from his usual seat, she was wearing the oh-so-familiar robe that was missing before. The entire round table, covered by a white table-cloth and a vase of freshly plucked white roses at the center, was filled to each end with an abundance of food. Varying ranges to pancakes and crepes, bowls of yogurt and sliced fruits, to freshly cooked eggs and meats such as sausages, sliced ham, and bacon. He wished so badly that he could take his time to pick out his selection and eat. But, alas. Coriolanus walked over to Livia, his overcoat and gloves already being put on. A hand against the top of her chair, he leaned his head down to give a kiss to the side of her cheek; Livia grumbled under her breath in response. The cook he hired belonged to him, they would never snitch about the facade between them, but one was never too sure. 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Gaul called me in,” A lie, but nothing outlandish. “You know how she can be, I don’t want to keep her waiting.” 

Livia rolled her eyes at him before going to pick at her plate, her fork poking a bit at the strawberries and bananas she had on her pancakes. He raised an eyebrow, faking a questionable gaze. Internally, however, he was gloating in self-satisfaction. His fears in the morning shower were shown to be warranted, as he watched her. Livia looked akin to a spoiled child who had just been told no. 

“Is something wrong? What happened?” Coriolanus brought the hand away from her chair, bringing it down to touch her shoulder. He gave it a small squeeze, an extra effort to really upsell his image of a ‘loving husband’. 

A sigh came from Livia’s lips. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Then she should stop throwing a tantrum. “I was just hoping to talk to you about my wedding dress. Tigris finally secured all the material, so she wants me to come in to do some fittings while she gets started on it.” 

So that’s what his cousin wasted his call-line on. For something so trivial, too. The Cardew’s home-line should be working just fine: or did Mommy Cardew waste too much money on her trophy of a husband and neglect the phone bill?

“Really? Well, that’s great news, isn’t it!” Coriolanus laughed at the end of his words. Frankly, it was terrible news. It just reminded him constantly of the looming date. It hung over his head like a jail sentence. “What do you need me for? It seems you two have it handled here,” He tried to make his words sound encouraging, but he couldn’t help the slight envy that skipped in his tone. Livia knew it too. This time, she was the one raising a brow back at him.

“I thought you’d be curious to see what we planned. I have the sketch Tigris drew up right here,” 

Coriolanus’s brows creased, the smile dropping slightly off his face. He gave her a look of confusion. He wasn’t really quite sure what she was expecting out of him seeing her dress. Validation? Praise? Or, could she see right past him. Maybe she had sourced out the root to his bitter tone. He wondered what Tigris and her spoke about in these appointments. They likely gossiped about him. No doubt Tigris gave her pitiful woes to Livia, how terrified she was to see him again in person. That even a phone call with him had her fingers trembling when it spun the dial. And Livia, undoubtedly ate it all up. It’s why she wanted to show him the sketch. Show him just how close the two became. Coriolanus grinded his teeth internally, the slightest nudge of his jaw ticked.

Her hands reached into his robe that she wore, the sound of paper being shuffled and rustled around being heard. Did she keep other papers in there? She couldn’t possibly be turning some of his belongings into hers. Maybe he should think twice about leaving Livia alone in his home. With manicured nails, Livia pulled out a folded piece of sketch paper, a slight crease at the edge. Opening it up, she placed the paper on the table first. With one hand, Livia did her best at smoothing the edges out before handing it over to him. A simple ‘Here’ was all she said. 

Coriolanus accepted the paper, embarrassingly quick, soaking in its details. 

The paper was made of coarse, recycled sketch paper, giving a tan hue. There was a smell of graphite and ink that lifted off the paper. Scribbled in the corner were small, little drawings. Variety of poses and designs that have crossed out under ink, ideas that no longer worked. The drawing that had taken the majority of the page was a quick mock sketch of assumingly, Livia. Her hair was pinned up in a stacked bun style, with a pearl caul piece on it. Pins of white roses and buds placed at random adorned the head. Expectantly, the veil was made to match it. A mesh see through material, with rosebuds and pearls scattered around, lace at the ends of it. A pearl necklace was adorned on the sketch’s neck. The dress was a sweetheart neckline, plunged and fitted at the top with white embroidery. The fabric near sheer underneath, turning more opaque when it hit the waist, fitted all until the ankle, where the dress flared and spread. White rosebuds were sprinkled around the calf line, blooming into full flowers as it reached the bottom. Curious though, that the white rosebuds gradually transitioned to red flowers when it touched the ends. It gave the silhouette of Livia’s pure white dress having been dragged through blood. Coriolanus couldn’t understand why Livia would agree to the design. It felt like Tigris was trying to push some personal agenda forward by doing so. He knew there were few elders who still carried the belief that wearing red at a wedding meant something scandalous. Back before, when Panem had yet to be made. Something about being intimate with the groom? Livia is his fiance, so most attendants would hope they’ve slept together. 

Did Tigris believe he was supposed to be promised with another? 

He ‘dated’ ( was used by ) only one person.

Coriolanus sucked his teeth. 

“You don’t like the dress?” 

“No, that’s not it,” He might downright hate the dress, actually. If his assumption is right. Coriolanus paused in between his words. Usually, he’d have no issue throwing verbal jabs at Livia. It was a thing that both did to each other. However. It’d be humiliating for him to admit out loud that she needed to change the dress because of a past ex. He sighed, 

“I just… slightly regret not asking Tigris to design my suit, too.” Ugh, that sounded too vulnerable now. He needed to reel back in. “Thank you for showing it to me, though. I’ll send you the name of my designer later to send it over, it’ll be nice to have matching attire for our wedding.” He handed the paper back to Livia. Her eyes had an unreadable look to them, as if wanting to say something else. His skin itched under her sight. Don’t say anything. Don’t say–

“Mr. Snow, I have your breakfast packed and ready,” 

Eagerly, Coriolanus diverted his gaze away from Livia, giving her the briefest ‘apologetic’ glances before turning his head. Emerging from the connecting hall that led to the kitchen, the cook had taken a step forward towards him. In one hand, they held two breakfast sausages, each one wrapped with an omelette; they were held in tight, folded wax paper to avoid the food’s oil spreading. The other, held the mug of coffee, and a folded, square, white box carrier made of cardboard on their spare fingers. The carrier held minimal, barely any, patterns. Small etchings of abatina flowers and leaves on it. The corners of lips ticked up gradually at the sight of it, a hint of teeth poking out from his smile. His mood had started to turn itself up slowly. The situation just seconds before, now was taking a backseat in his psyche. This, needed his attention. And he’d gladly give it. He didn’t want to think about Tigris anymore. He didn’t want to think about the wedding. Coriolanus reached his hand over to take his belongings away from the cook. 

Just think about work today. 

“Thank you, you know I always appreciate your work here.” They were getting paid a hefty paycheck, he’d sure hope they were putting their best in everything. “If you mind telling me, what’s in here today?” He was gesturing to the carrier. Lifting it slightly in the air with his finger to emphasize it. 

“It’s a cheesecake, with a slightly burned outer layer.” 

His eyes creased slightly with his smile. 

“Perfect, thank you.” 

Coriolanus turned his head back to Livia, who had finally started to eat away at her plate, rather than play. Catching her mid-bite, he asked, as any future husband would: “Will you be here when I come back?” If the cook wasn’t here, Livia would’ve sneered harshly at his feigned curiosity. 

“We’ll see. I have some extended family visiting today after my appointment with Tigris,” Oh, so the circus was getting back together. “If you get off work early, you should come by. They’d love to see you.” He’s sure they would. 

“We’ll see,” 

He repeated the words back to her, before dipping his head back down to give her another kiss. This one just shy above her lips, before pulling away and finally leaving the estate’s premises. Coriolanus hoped his displays of affection ruined her morning, just as her presence ruined his. 

The crisp, cold air outside waited for him, keeping him company as he made his trek to the Citadel. Weaving carefully through other citizens, it was thankfully less crowded than normal. He managed to avoid the morning rush of workers; a consolation, that he didn’t have to worry too much about accidentally bumping into someone with his full hands. The steady buzz of the moving trolleys, the humble, yet luxurious cars that drove through Panem’s streets, was at a far lower frequency. Low, and only the occasional loud noise from shops and stores getting to open, the bells of the door a distant chime. He felt almost alone. A great contrast from the minimal chaos before. It gave him space, it gave him clarity. The quietness gave him time to think. Coriolanus tried to ease himself down, as he took his first sip of coffee. He should find the change of scenery liberating. If he stayed any longer in that suffocating environment, he feared he would have snapped right then and there. The headlines would be clear as day: ‘Snow & Plinth Heir Strangles Fiance in their New Home’! He’d lose everything if he couldn’t keep his patience in check. The tightrope he walked on always was fine, and narrow. Everything he did had an audience, and each step he took had an effect. All he wanted was just a moment to breathe. 

A steady exhale from his mouth, careful to not be so loud in the tame atmosphere. The movement causing the carrier in his fingers to jostle a bit. 

That’s right, he still had this under his control. 

It’s such a simple thing to bring his thoughts back down to the concrete path he walked. The weight of the carrier in his hand felt significantly lighter, easier to hold amongst the other things he carried. It gave his tense mind a small fuse of excitement. Curiosity lit his neurons anew, wondering what Subject A01’s reaction would be to the ‘gift’. He had the cook make it specifically for them. Since he held the first exam for the subject, he’s made it a habit to visit it. Not too often, to not cause a rise of suspicion, but enough to satisfy what he needed. Three times a week seemed fair enough. It had only been just a month since. 

Coriolanus saw a first glimpse of how Dr. Gaul had conditioned it and affected its mind with only simple verbal conferences. He wanted to take that approach and raise it further: the introduction of spoils to Project Prometheus. 

It started small. First, it was small things like hard delights. Hard caramels, strawberry suckers, or tart lemon candy. He’d speak to it, asking questions and probing, coaxing more answers out of them. Coriolanus noted before how limited and short the subject’s responses were. When the subject had started to speak more, he brought them more elaborate sweets. Moving away from candy, he re-introduced simple, but satisfying delicacies back to their tongue. Butter cookies, bites of meringue, and pieces of milk chocolate. He knew that the subject was being fed enough at Lab C09, the fact that their bones didn’t protrude abnormally back in the exam showed that. However, he knew it most definitely wasn’t enough to satiate. He knew hunger well, he’s starved through these familiar streets before. But, even when he had to succumb to the bland boil of potatoes and dated cans of food from the Dark Days; his young self always craved more. Reminiscing of times of sweet toffee and rich peanut brittle he used to eat at festivals while feasting on dubious scrapped food. Project Prometheus’s brain was a blank slate so, infuriatingly, memories of such possible past luxuries meant nothing to them. But, it was smart enough to see the obvious difference between bland slop for meals, and carefully crafted desserts. 

It’s so funny, Coriolanus thought. How malleable they’ve become under his hand. 

Ever since he started this routine of greeting them, engaging in conversation, smiling at them, giving them a treat at the end; he noticed how much they’ve changed since then. While still very transparent with him, they used to be more withdrawn, he observed. They still have an issue with being more expressive facial-wise, but he could sense the bits of shyness now within their body language. Everytime he comes to Lab C09 and they see him walking past the glass-pane walls, they eagerly wait for him. It did something to his ego, to see this thing be so excited by his mere presence. Sitting on the examination table, its legs kicking back and forth in the air as it waited idly. Or sometimes, on occasion, he’d find it napping on the exam table. He was more partial to the latter, the silence, the resting expression, completely unguarded; it was almost beguiling. All of it far more tolerable than the people he had to deal with outside of the lab. The subject should feel honored. A former rebel was somehow more pleasing to share a space with than most Capital citizens. He knew he felt so honored, when he was with it. Unconsciously, Subject A01 had begun to revere his presence. He could see, in the small pauses of conversation, it was internally salivating. Waiting for him to show the next gift he had for it. Kind, that was the word Project Prometheus had called him. 

And was he not the kindest person in the Citadel, maybe even Panem, for doing this? 

Coriolanus doubted any other person would ever think to feed a prisoner. A former rebel. They’d run the moment the subject tried to touch them. He’d even bet some would shriek when they saw how disheveled it was. And yet, here he was. Feeding it like he would a pet. Except this one could communicate back. It told him its favorite color, the animals it remembered, what sweets it preferred from the array he brought in, and the temperature it liked in the lab. Things of personal interest were hard to answer, due to the lack of memory. To make it up to him for this, it described other things to him. It said to him how almost the majority of Lab C09 was renovated for them. Specific doors that tunneled them into different rooms: the examination room, the washroom, the operation room, and its cell bed. It believed that it was for its ease of access. Coriolanus deduced it was to avoid having Project Prometheus use the same halls as the Citadel workers, keeping its movements restricted and monitored. The subject made it a habit to head to the examination room everyday, as that’s usually where Dr. Gaul would be. If something else was needed, the Peacekeepers spoke to the subject through intercoms to notify it. He had asked if it ever tried speaking to the Peacekeepers personally. It hadn’t, finding itself too paralyzed to try. Perhaps a muscle memory, trauma from when it was taken away. He asked if it did anything to stave off the time. 

It told him that it would just wait for him. 

“Good morning,” Coriolanus spoke with a bright smile on his face, greeting the front desk of the Citadel. 

The clerk’s eyes widened at the sight of him, having been in the middle of taking a sip from their mug. Quickly, swallowing it down, dabbing the edges of their pink lipstick with a napkin. “You’re here early, Mr. Snow!” A laugh came out from their slightly smudged lips. Had he really come in that early? Coriolanus knew it was a bit much to expect levels of professionalism at all hours, but if they were in a work setting, there should be some self-imposed standard. He always sees the clerk so put together at all times, a few minutes of difference shouldn’t change that. “Good morning to you, too and welcome back!”

The usual hivemind of workers that he saw every time he came in was far more dwindled down, right now. The smell of coffee beans brewing had yet to stain the air, only wisps of it on occasion. People were still getting their day ready before the clock started. The underlying scent of chemicals was far more prominent, with nothing to hide it. To any outsider, it would’ve been nauseating. But, it gave a heavy-handed reminder to guests the purpose of the Citadel.

“Is Dr. Gaul at the usual?” Chuckling at the end of his words. Coriolanus pointed at the top of his upper lip, tapping it, indicating to the clerk the smudge. Did they not own a mirror, or compact, of sorts? 

“O-Oh–!” They quickly dabbed their lips again with a napkin. Much better. He gave the ‘ok’ sign with his fingers. “Y-Yes, she should be.”

“Thank you, you have a good day,”

With one last smile to the front desk clerk, he turned his way to the direction of Lab H05. Heading down the familiar hallway, only a few workers occasionally passed by him. With no rush on either side, they could take the time to exchange pleasantries. Saying good morning to one, complimenting the other on their makeup, and another giving flattery to his choice of apparel. Often, Coriolanus never really bothered himself with things like this. A nod and a smile was enough to make the others feel special. Today’s different, he supposed. Or, maybe it’s something gradual that has been building up. He felt fine for the most part, but maybe that was a trick of the mind. The sign that his mind was on the verge of collapsing soon. There was so much already piling up on him and the clock hadn’t even struck eight yet. Coriolanus worried if he was going to be able to come back home mentally sound by the end of it all. Would Dr. Gaul ever fancy the opportunity of playing therapist for a day? She could be dependable. She’s seen, and made some, if not almost all, the skeletons in his closet. 

No, Coriolanus feared if he went to her it’d just make him worse. If he admitted to her aloud that he trusted her as a confidant, the disgust he’d feel at her uncensored glee. 

Maybe he really was going crazy. 

The warmth of the Citadel was starting to feel sweltering beneath the layers he wore. Coriolanus could feel the slightest damp sensation building at the back of his neck. 

“Are you here, Dr. Gaul?”

Coriolanus peeked his head into Lab H05 through the doorway carefully. Catching the familiar silhouette of curly hair through his gaze, he knew the gleam of red, latex leather flexing under the fluorescent lights. 

“Coryo,” The breathy, saccharine way she said it still brought him waves of nausea. His stomach turned. Whatever happened to the benefits of exposure therapy? Were they just never going to reap in this case? “Please, come in.”

Taking full steps in, there hadn’t been much change to the facility. Only that more shelves had been placed in, making two passageways that were farther against the walls more crowded. Dr. Gaul’s projects were her trophies, and she loved to show off. Even if it made her the weirdest one at parties. She sat at the center of the lab, where all the shelves slowly faded out and stasis tanks became more prominent, perfectly lined up. Of course, an egotistical lady would want her work to quite literally center around her. On a chair of fine, navy leather, bounded up by wheels on the bottom, she sat beside a decently sized writing desk made of dark, walnut wood. The desk was placed near the edge of the center, close to the large stasis tanks that held larger specimens. They lined the edges of the circle, as if a far more grotesque equivalent of statued idols. Their height was impressive, how they almost halfway reached the ceiling, dwarfing almost anything nearby. At the sound of his shoes closing in on her location, she turned in her chair, facing him entirely. Smile and all, with her dazzling row of teeth on display. 

“My, Coryo… Has Ms. Cardew turned your alarm clock back a few minutes?” Coriolanus was thankful that Dr. Gaul didn’t refer to her as ‘Mrs. Snow.’ “How sweet, the stage of couple mischief has already started.”

“I suppose you could put it like that.” With a laugh, he wanted to leave it at that. 

Coriolanus could see the way Dr. Gaul’s brows lifted in curious glee when he spoke. He’d let her mind run with whatever conclusions it jumped to, seeing how much fun it brought her. It must be hard to find entertainment in old age. Taking another leather chair besides Dr. Gaul, this one lacking the back Dr. Gaul’s chair had, resembling more of a cushioned stool; he took his seat next to her. He placed down the coffee, carrier, and meal at the table, away from the documents Dr. Gaul was bent over moments before. Taking off his leather gloves, he folded it in his overcoat pocket before taking off the overcoat and folding it as well, besides his belongings. Coriolanus made himself comfortable, and with a quick glance, he peeked at the documents. There, sat a manila folder, a report, with familiar font and writing he knew well. His hands fingered its pages often, looking through it. 

Project Prometheus’s folder. 

… Had there been new developments? 

Why else would Dr. Gaul have its case file open today. He couldn’t imagine something bad happening, physically. By the looks of it, the subject had no ounce of rebellion left, it couldn’t comprehend a reason why to fight anymore. It surely had to be something mental. Had the subject’s mental decay reached a point of no return? Had it forgotten Dr. Gaul, now? Him? He’d be pissed, if so. All that sweat, blood, and effort wasted away because Project Prometheus couldn’t be bothered anymore. It said to hell with not just the past, let's get rid of the present, and future, too! Coriolanus was going to murder it, he was sure. He couldn’t lose his stress-release now. Especially when he needed it most of all days. One brow rose inquisitively, looking back up from the file to Dr. Gaul. She responded only with a widened smile, her eyes creasing at the pull of her cheeks. Rotten woman, wanting to keep him guessing. Forget his mention of Gaul being a confidant. Livia and her might as well share a coin together. 

“Want to share breakfast with me?” 

It was the best thing, for now. Extending a hand out to her, the folded wax paper that contained sausages and omelettes. They still had warmth radiating from it. Not as hot as it was in his estate, but still adequately warm enough to eat. A twinkle went through Dr. Gaul’s eyes that made Coriolanus internally gag. She couldn’t actually be delighted by his request? For goodness sake, does everything he does endear her? Others would think that as he rose in power, the more serious people would take him. On Gaul, it had an opposite effect. It made her want to coo at him more. The sound of leather shifting was quietly heard, as she brought her fingers close to his outstretched hand, before halting. 

“Do you have napkins?” She asked. 

“I have spare handkerchiefs.” 

Better than nothing, unless she wanted to wash her greased hands in front of him after. 

Reaching into his pockets, Coriolanus took them out. Alternatives, he kept. He always carried a main one, something Tigris made for him as a gift to celebrate his return after losing his father’s back in the Academy. It was made of simple, off-white linen, with carefully stitched embroidery of foliage and bugloss flowers, and his initials tucked in the inside. His favorite, that he kept ironed, pressed and without a stain. He’s never let anyone use it since. As a result, he’s had to buy miscellaneous extras, for occasions like these. When he had to give hand-outs to a woman who believed herself to be a replacement for the mother that was most definitely rolling in her grave right now. He placed in Gaul’s hand a mauve colored handkerchief, and himself an aegean blue, both made of light muslin. No embroidery, and no personal touches. Simple, and cut perfectly. 

Dr. Gaul gave him a delighted ( gross ) thank you, taking the handkerchief to pick up one sausage and omelette. Carefully, she took a bite, not wanting to ruin the dark, red lipstick she had on. He followed in her example, taking a bite of his own. The salted taste of the omelette touched his taste buds immediately, mixing in the delightful savory-sweet bite of the breakfast sausage, the red bell-peppers and green onions used balanced well. He almost regrets giving the other to Dr. Gaul now. He didn’t realize how hungry he was before. A silence had fallen between them, with the occasional sound of their chewing sneaking its way through. Coriolanus stretched his legs out a bit, from his seated position, staring at the stasis tanks that surrounded them. 

He wasn’t really sure what he was hoping for, staring at revolting oddities encased in amber resin. Maybe that they’d blink? Surely, that’d be leagues better than this. To stare at Dr. Gaul while they both ate seemed like a daunting feat. She’d most definitely stare at him back unwavering, and that possibility horrified him more.

“So,” 

Dr. Gaul started her words, Coriolanus turned his head back to look at her. Dr. Gaul rubbed her gloved figures on the mauve cloth, the entire breakfast he had given her already gone. Does no one feed her? “Are you excited for the wedding? I can already hear the ceremony bells coming closer and closer with each month.” 

A misidentification from the chimes of her coming death. Coriolanus was understanding. It was very easy to mix the two sounds up, they do sound slightly similar.

Finishing a bite and swallowing, he held a hand over his mouth, “Only eight months away now,” He smiled politely. Dr. Gaul was always so prying when it came to the details of his life. It frustrated him that she’d never let sleeping dogs lie. 

“Livia is the most excited between us. This morning she showed me the design of her wedding dress. Roses and pearls all around,” His finger made a circular gesture in the air, emphasizing the last part. Coriolanus noticed how Dr. Gaul’s eyes slightly narrowed as he spoke, her grin still ever present. He wasn’t quite sure if his words were selling it. Then again, Dr. Gaul always managed somehow to see through him. Gaul rested her elbow against the table, propping her hand up to lean her head on it. Legs shifted under her long amaranth dress, the fabric shifting as she crossed them. He took another bite of his food to stave off this constricting feeling building in his chest.

“My… That cousin of yours works rather quickly. She must be elated for your union,” Sure, let’s go with that. He continued chewing. “Have you gotten your suit designed yet?” 

In one gulp, he swallowed the food down. 

Coriolanus looked back up at her, a shared look between the two. They both knew the answer to this. He didn’t know why she was asking. If she needed to remember it, might as well just give him a notepad and pen so he could write it down for her. He’d gladly fold the paper too, to put it in her pockets. Lips pulled into a polite smile, a pause before speaking:

“No. I haven’t had the time to seek out a designer just yet.” 

There was plenty of time, he just didn’t want to do it. Seeking out a seamstress would only just solidify this grim situation into reality. To put in any effort into this grotesque ceremony would do that. 

Gaul tutted at him. 

“That’s no good, Coryo. You can’t just leave that for the last minute.” 

She still sounded amused, despite her words speaking of disapproval. A woman like her should have no effect on him, but she did. It had an effect on Coriolanus. Livia and Tigris had taken so much of his energy this morning that it left him vulnerable in front of the lion’s mouth. He wanted to retreat into himself, his ears slightly burned in humiliation. Was he not an adult? The ripe age of twenty one and here he was, feeling like a child being scolded for not completing their chores. Her words made him feel small. But, it also made him want to spill so easily in her hands, tell her about the utter exhaustion he felt from early this morning. It sickened him, the ways Gaul made him feel. Coriolanus fought back against the frustrated flush that threatened to spill over to his cheeks, keeping his gaze steady with Dr. Gaul's eyes that only sparkled with delight and play. 

That’s right, play, he reminded himself. 

She’s only playing, that’s all she does. That’s all she wants. He wanted to save face, but a part of him feared that Dr. Gaul would scold him further if he did. The smile never left his face, but his eyes decently narrowed in warning. It was the most he could do to stand his ground. Dr. Gaul’s smile widened, incisors hidden under her lips, brimming. 

“Quite the set of daggers you have there,” The tight sound of pressure applied to latex was heard, thick and suffocating. Gaul raising one hand to bring close to his face, and he could only stare at its unnerving red color. Off-white blue lights from the lab reflected on its shiny material. Her pointer finger touched the center of his eyes, the region of bare flesh and nasal bone underneath. “Those aren’t for me, are they?” Her voice spoke more softly, just a hushed whisper. Coriolanus dared to raise his gaze off her finger, and to Dr. Gaul’s eyes. At usual, they were wide, showing the full, yet limiting, range of her heart to others. Yet, here there were, eyelids half raised. The muscles in her smile barely pulled at the zygomaticus. There was an unreadable look to her, but Coriolanus knew it wasn’t anger. He couldn’t fathom what it was. It made his chest feel tight, the action to take steady breaths proved itself a challenging feat that it was painful. 

He wanted to bite her finger off. 

“... No.” 

It felt like the words were fighting themselves to get out. He had to stop himself from saying it between gritted teeth. 

“Never towards you.” 

Coriolanus wanted to throw up with how softly he breathed these words out to Dr. Gaul. The saliva in his mouth tasted acidic. 

Why was he reassuring her feelings? He’s the one who’s getting married to the physical embodiment of a leech, and he had to placate the fickle feelings of a woman with ‘baby fever’. 

“The planning of the wedding is… just a bit of a sensitive subject, right now. For both Livia and I, considering how much is being put into it.” Saying those words aloud did nothing to alleviate the feeling. It only just made them that much heavier. The hand that held his handkerchief of food folded the fabric within itself, clenching carefully before folding it. Coriolanus still made sure to keep his head in place as he did so, his gaze steady on the other. Uncertain of whether it was okay or not to pull away from her touch. The steady warmth of Dr. Gaul’s finger had become unbearable. He wouldn’t be surprised if it left a burnt imprint on his skin when she eventually lifted it up. A silence had consumed them, with Gaul’s head slightly tilted up, as if to carefully look down at him. As if he was just another specimen whose temperament she was testing the boundaries of. Would she hope that he bared his teeth, too? 

After careful examination, she let out a small hum. 

“Good. I don’t need a rebellious assistant. One was more than enough,” 

Excuse you? 

Opening his mouth, ready to question more, Gaul’s finger slid down the bridge of nose, over to his lips. The motion silenced him, the weight pressed against the two pink muscles. She’d give him no room to speak on it and he had to obey that. Lifting her finger off, immediately, it sent signals to his entire body to ease itself back. Muscles were still taut and ready, rigid to keep his image, but the pressure before was no longer weighing it down. Rather, it transferred itself into his cerebrum. The words just spoken casted over his head in anxious anticipation. 

What did she mean before?

 It never once occurred to Coriolanus that Dr. Gaul had more assistants before him. With how much praise she spoke about him to others, calling him her ‘victor’; his high off the approval blinded him from ever looking too deeply into Gaul’s own history. She knew so much about him, but he hardly knew anything intimate about her. Was this assistant from a long past? Someone that spurned her, and flipped the switch in her mind. Or just a low-level employee that couldn’t rise to her expectations. Coriolanus knew Dr. Gaul wasn’t done just yet, seeing how her hand had moved to the file so carefully placed on her side of the table. Dragging the folder closer to her, the sound of the manila folder being dragged against the rich, wooden table. Curiosity beckoned at him, however, he only placed the muslin cloth on his own side. Placing it down on the table, he reached out to pick up his coffee instead to drink. This was just another game for her. Fitting for her title as Head Gamemaker. If he was to take her seat when she retired, he’d need to learn to play just as well. And that started by giving Dr. Gaul the bare minimum of what she wanted. 

“How do you feel about the subject of pets?” She opened Subject A01’s folder, her fingers flicking through pages held together by a single paperclip. 

“In general, or something specific you have in mind?”

She should save her spiel of human versus animal to the lecture hall, not the Citadel labs. If Gaul could step away from the foreplay and get onto her main point, that’d be fantastic. They both had limited time. 

“Just curious, considering you have such an aptitude for taking care of them.” Fingers stopped moving through the pages. Off-colored eyes rose up from the file, properly, to gaze at him. 

Of course, she knew. 

Thankfully, his body didn’t flinch. Rather, he remained seated in his leather stool. Arms crossed over each other, one hand holding his coffee, his legs slightly spread out, holding her stare passively. Yet, under his skin, it was like a match striking against a fuse. Something lit his veins on fire. Coriolanus could feel the muscle under his flesh being so warm. Was it fear? Adrenaline? He hoped it didn’t show through. Pulling at the tendons of his jaw, his lips pulled back to show his own set of canines. Coriolanus smiled at Dr. Gaul. 

“What let you on?” 

It wasn’t an outright admittance to guilt. He’d rather not say anything specific in case Gaul was accusing him of something else. 

“When the dog hopes it’s someone else walking in.” 

“Is that so?” His laugh sounded so delighted, it almost surprised him. It felt nearly genuine. Was it genuine?

How strange. Hearing that Project Prometheus was now so eager for his presence, that it started to act less excited around its ‘caretaker’... The confirmation that it was him that it liked being around most…  A warm bloom of pride surged through his chest. He had done that. He was affecting them. How long would it be now until Project Prometheus started referring to him with a familial label? It already was talking about him with others who cared to listen. Right now, he should feel terrified. His boss caught him interacting with a rebel prisoner outside of his assigned tasks, he was surely going to be chewed out. Yet, all Coriolanus felt was a sick glee that tempted him to bounce the heels of his shoes, knowing what’d he done. What he accomplished in such little time. It almost made him forget everything else before. Almost. Maybe he was right to place his bets on having the subject be his new stress-ball. After work, he’d make sure of his visit to Project Prometheus. 

Dr. Gaul joined in on his laughter. 

“You’re quite the twisted man, ‘Dr. Snow’,” She waggled that wretched finger in his direction. It made his skin crawl to hear her refer in the same manner as the subject. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. By all means, I encourage you to explore further,”

Ears picked up on a familiar set of letters; Dr. Gaul called the subject by its name. He raised his eyebrows at it, but made no verbal cue to question it. Project Prometheus was affectionate to a degree with Dr. Gaul; did Dr. Gaul reciprocate similar sentiments?

“It’s cerebrum, as you expertly noted…,” Call it by a name, but still refer to it as if it was only a thing. “Its hippocampus suffers a bit due to the stress regulation from the pFC,” The prefrontal cortex. “But, as a result, leaves the Project akin to a batch of fresh clay. Easily influenced, and susceptible to any new stimuli.” Dr. Gaul closes the file between her hands. Outstretching her arm, she extended the report over to Coriolanus’s end of the table, she was inviting him to take it into his own hands. And who was he to deny her request. Placing his coffee back on the table, he took the manila folder into his hands, and proceeded to open it on his end. His hands flicked through the pages, seeing the most recent update. The pain scale, the number five on it circled on it. His signature now tucked away and marked within the prisoner’s file. Coriolanus traced his clean nails on black ink. He was now part of this project. He made his first mark.

That familiar feeling of pride escalated again. 

“I’ll still be an overseer, but… I’m curious as to what your influence will do to it. You must make any observations, notes, all of it.”

Well, that feels a bit voyeuristic. Has she always been so eager to lend away her mutts?

Dr. Gaul grabbed his chin with a light touch. Forcing his focus away from the slightly stained papers and back to her, where her gloved thumb gently stroked his jaw. The trail of sensations that her own hand left behind made his skin prickle under his layers of clothes. Her touch was sickening as it was caring, leaving Coriolanus unable to decide if he should lean in, or pull away from her touch. So, he remained pliant. Letting her take the lead. 

“I made you into my victor. I want to see what you make Project Prometheus into.” 

He desperately wanted to see it too, Dr. Gaul. 

Reality was, there was no end product in his mind. All he knew was simple, base desires. To use the subject to stroke his own personal ego. Coriolanus didn’t know what would happen at the end. Did he honestly even care? If it ended up better, or worse, it didn’t matter. The subject would still be in Lab C09, sitting idly all alone on the exam table until someone took it out of its misery. Maybe that was it. Dr. Gaul wanted him to put all his effort into shaping Project Prometheus into something worthwhile; then, put it down like a dog after he was done. The thought of it made something deep within the confines of his ribs itch. He wanted to scratch at it. 

What a merciless, cruel thing to do. 

But, something exactly right in Gaul’s alley. Shame, what a waste of resources. The Citadel had the money to burn, Coriolanus guessed. It was an inconvenience on his end, though. He’d have to go and find a new stress-toy after this project was done. Hopefully, this wouldn’t become a pattern in the future.

“When I bring the results to you, what happens? Does the project end?” 

The steady thrum of machinery flowing through the Citadel’s walls was deafening. Straining his ears just enough, he could make out the brief sounds of employee shoes walking past the open lab doors. The leather soles squeaking and tapping against sleek flooring. Painted, red lips smiled, but this was different. So empty and void of any perverse glee, it almost surprised Coriolanus. 

“The project doesn’t end until there’s nothing left to reap.”

Until she got bored. That’s all his ringing ears could make of. 

If he were to control its lifespan; something would have to be done to keep Gaul’s intrigue up. Proposals for new ideas, possibilities, he’d have to draft them up. Coriolanus felt like he was back in the Academy all over again, writing essays and prompts for Dr. Gaul to read. Later, he’d need to remind himself to call an Avox. Give them the errand to go buy him a ‘do not bother’ sign to hang in his home office. He was going to need it for all the brainstorming he was going to do whenever Livia dropped by. 

“That’s why, I think I’ll have you conduct another exam. Don’t worry about your other tasks, I’ll have someone else take care of it.” 

Dr. Gaul was too kind. Saving him the trouble of making time out of his day to visit Lab C09.

“You remember last time, I had you do a test on the subject’s external pain receptors, right?” He doesn’t think he could ever forget such an experience. “Today, I want you to do an exam on its internal pain receptors.” 

Coriolanus blinked. 

Internal? 

Did she mean conducting an exam on its insides?

Coriolanus prayed it was something more specific. Internal was just too broad of a subject. There was so much going on in the inside of a living being, it’d be almost dizzying to focus on every single nerve ending that each part had. The digestive system, the endocrine system, pons, medulla, the list can go on. A touch of fear sprouted out the back of his head; the real possibility that Gaul may just ask him to perform an exam on the entire internal structure of the subject. The entailing of all that blood and mess. He pitied the custodians that’d have to clean up after him. He must’ve surely pulled a face, a grimace perhaps, as Dr. Gaul’s eyes lit up in amusement. Letting go of his chin, she smacked against his cheek lightly in her mocking laugh. Coriolanus only half-enthusiastically joined in, still hesitant on the whole prospect. And a bit offended at the casual slap.

“Have you ever done an exam like this before, Coryo?”

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, no.” 

The University offered cadavers from the Districts to examine and explore in open lab hours, sure. But, there was a difference between a corpse and a living thing. A cadaver didn’t squirm when he poked and prodded at it with a scalpel and toothed forceps. Well. Project Prometheus was a five now in its external sensitivity scale, so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Coriolanus thought back to the cake he brought in for Project Prometheus. Would the subject even be able to eat anything before, or after the operation? He didn’t want to risk aspiration during the operation and they’d likely pass out after he was done. Coriolanus wanted to suck his teeth. He brought the cheesecake for no reason at all then! God, he needed another sip of his coffee. 

“You’ll be a natural. It’ll be just as similar as the exam before, just…” Bright eyes rolled to the side, her tongue paused. She was tasting the word on it. “Messier.” Finishing it off with a rich chuckle, wiggling her nasty fingers against the air to put a bit of ‘pizzazz’ to it.. 

Coriolanus frowned a bit deeper.. 

“Usually, this is something I handle, but, considering recent developments between you and the prisoner; why not let you take the reins?” 

He supposed. 

Better him than Dr. Gaul, right?

The sight would be like a nightmare if Project Prometheus gazed up, flesh open, and the first thing they saw was the horrific grin of Gaul. Coriolanus could understand in that sense, why he should be the one performing the operation. It dubbed him with the ‘gentle hands’; unlike Gaul. Citadel cameras only knew how cruel Dr. Gaul can be when handling the prisoner’s insides. She probably gripped exposed tissue and sinew with her bare gloves. He’d only use the medical instruments that were best appropriate, when exploring around. Yes, it was definitely better that he was the one doing this. 

“I understand.” Sighing in ‘defeat’. “I’ll do my best to make you proud.” 

Gaul’s smile stretched wider when he said that. It pulled at the muscles of her cheeks, making her eyes squint and crinkle. 

“You always do, Coryo. If you need any guidance, instructions are written inside the report.” 

Covered knees knocked against his own in a brief, playful manner, his legs retracting back quickly from its stretched position. Dr. Gaul turned her seat back around to face her desk. Already, grabbing at another case file to look at; she took the discarded, uncapped pen that laid on the side. She shooed him away with her hand.

“Off you go. You can leave your things here, if you’d like.” 

Not even going to walk him to the elevator? And he thought Gaul and him had something special. 

Obediently, Coriolanus raised up from the stool, the leather cushion whining from it. Closing the manila folder, he tucked it under his arm and placed his coffee on the table. Spreading out his belongings around his side of the desk, he wanted to get a clear grasp of what he had. What was going to be needed, while he would be toiling away in Lab C09 for who knows how long. There was his Citadel Work ID, his keys, his coffee ( he didn’t trust leaving his drink unattended with Dr. Gaul ), the lab key, and… His hand hovered over the carrier, the one made of white cardboard that held the cheesecake. Coriolanus was still unsure if today was even possible, responsible, to give Project Prometheus this. Knowing what was to be done, there was no promise that he’d come back with an empty carrier. A slight twinge ached deep in his chest, the feeling of it lightly suffocating. An irritating sensation. He conditioned Project Prometheus to expect sweets from him; how sad would it be if he showed up empty-handed?

Coriolanus thought about it. 

Had he… ever seen Project Prometheus disappointed? It talked about feeling it, when Gaul would be silent, or ignore them. But, he’s never seen it. That smothering sensation from before began to ebb away. It made his imagination go wild, trying to imagine the subject’s sad face. Would it twist ugly? Would it pout, biting its chapped bottom lip, try to hold back a tear? Or become more withdrawn, silent and moody? Coriolanus wanted to know. Fingers curled around the handles of the carrier, pulling it up from the table. From the corner of his eye, Coriolanus noticed Dr. Gaul take in his action curiously. The sound of pen etching on paper stopped. With only a smile, he waved a free hand goodbye to her:

“I’ll be back, Dr. Gaul.”

And off he went, taking himself to the darkened corners of the lab where the elevator was tucked and hidden away. Greeted by the recognizable sight of sterile, stainless metal, he pressed his finger down on the button for the lower levels. The harsh, red light brimming brightly under his touch. With a ding to cut through the air, the elevator doors open almost immediately for Coriolanus. Bright, white lights flooding out, but it could only light up the dark corners of Lab H05 so much. It barely reached out to even three feet outside the door. Taking his step in, he pulled the familiar key Dr. Gaul had given him just a month prior. The key to Lab C09. After the first day, Coriolanus took it upon himself to clean it as best he could. It was his key now, so he tried scraping off as much rust and dried blood as he could. The key was still a rancid, dark color, but at the very least, it no longer felt so textured. With the key still warm in his palm, he inserted it into the elevator’s panel, twisting until the latch popped upon. He pressed for C09’s floor. 

In the meantime, Coriolanus opened Subject A01’s folder. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, one foot crossed over the other, he shifted his belongings into comfortable holdings in his arms. Flipping through the pages, he tried looking to see if Dr. Gaul left a sticky note giving him instructions. She had done it for him last time, so it wasn’t outlandish for him to expect another. But, no. Nothing of the sort. A heavy breath deeply sighed from his nose. How was he supposed to be a ‘natural’ when he had no guide to what he was doing? Fingers flicked through the pages quickly, looking for anything to give him a clue on what he was supposed to do. Maybe he needed to look back at previous updates. Heading back to the early pages, Coriolanus’s eyes flitted around until he found it. There. Tucked behind a faded, pale blue divider; labeled under: 

PROJECT PROMETHEUS’S EXPLORATORY LAPAROTOMY

OVERSEER & SURGEON: DR. VOLUMNIA GAUL

The date was recorded back from two years ago. Meaning that the subject’s NTRK1 gene was still under foreign modifications. Coriolanus, for a second, felt a bit hesitant. But, only for just a second. He flipped back the divider, and what did he know? His guess was right. There was Gaul’s written report on the side, what he wanted to read in the first place, but the photos… Numerous that were held onto the report in various placings, held on by rusted paperclips. He could recognize the subject by mere beauty marks, the same ones he traced with ink just a month beforehand. The photos were visceral. Subject A01’s bicipital aponeurosis, extensor retinaculum, patella, lateral malleolus, and sternohyoid were tied down to the operating table by tight, black leather straps and buckles. There were bright splotches of purple and red, areas where the bounded limbs had started to bruise, or bleed. Or both. Coriolanus wasn’t sure if this was caused by struggle before the operation began, or during. He was inclined to believe during. As in each photo that displayed its most intimate internal makings, where the rectus sheath had been peeled back and spread out, the subject’s eyes were still open. It did not look at the camera. How could it? Dark irises gazed listlessly off to the side, reddened orbital adipose to suggest dried tears but, he could still make out a faint sheen to suggest it hadn’t finished drying just yet. So much of the subject’s blood was shown in each photo, splatters that no doubt made it to the operation floor. Most likely from both Dr. Gaul’s indifference, and for the subject putting too much of a fight. 

Thankfully, he wouldn’t be dealing with that today. 

The subject’s cerebrum had been altered far too much to be in the same state it was in the beginning. Or, at least he hoped it was. Coriolanus let out another heavy sigh, his eyes leaving away from the photos to read the report Dr. Gaul had written. 

“06/30/XX

Patient Name: ⏹⏹⏹⏹ ‘SUBJECT A01: PROJECT PROMETHEUS’ 

Patient ID: ⏹⏹⏹⏹⏹⏹⏹⏹

Objective: Assessment of Internal Pain Receptors

First Exploratory Laparotomy conducted. 

Subject had to be forcibly escorted out of their room by Peacekeepers  ⏹⏹⏹⏹ and ⏹⏹⏹, to the Examination room. Attempted to assault Peacekeeper ⏹⏹⏹⏹, subject was forced down onto the Operation table to be restrained. Administered drug ⏹⏹⏹ and ⏹⏹⏹⏹ to avoid need for an endotracheal tube & general anesthesia during surgery. 

To be able to accurately record the fluctuation in Subject A01’s internal nerve system, the subject must remain conscious throughout the entire procedure. While examining each organ, a timer is a set for every ten minutes to gauge how the subject is feeling, if the scale is changing, or if it is still conscious. Exam ends when the subject is no longer responsive. 

Subject was only able to withstand thirty minutes of the operation before passing out entirely. Was difficult in communications, did not respond properly when asked. Had to lean in multiple times to listen to the subject, and could barely hear it between fits of crying. Currently listed at a 10 for pain tolerance–”

Coriolanus stared at the block of text. 

Having the exam run until the subject passed out felt a bit overkill. Just how long would he be staying in Lab C09? The first operation was thirty minutes, with the average pain scale of 10. Project Prometheus was now a 5 in the pain scale. They handled the external nerve exam completely conscious, but that was just needles poking and prodding their skin. How long could they last now, with their organs on full display and his surgeon tools prodding around? But… Coriolanus reminded himself; this project is their punishment for rebelling. So, he could understand why the procedure was conducted in such a manner. He shifted the weight of his posture, crossing one leg over the other. The warmth from before, from under the stifling layers of his winter wear, still had yet to completely fade away. It made him just the slightest bit uncomfortable still, knowing there were faint traces of heat still radiating from him. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to sweat through his button up. 

The familiar ding cut through the silence. Instinctively, Coriolanus closed the manila folder as if on command, tucking it under his arm. Lab C09’s natural rusted, nauseous smell welcomed him in. Stepping past the doors of the elevator and into the floor, he needed no guidance to take him where he needed to be. He was well intimate enough with the layout of the structure. Well, the more ‘medically functional’ areas. Project Prometheus’s room was still something he had yet to visit, but that was something to see for another day. The messy bloodstain on the floor was still there, not yet cleaned up. Now that he was ‘in charge’ of Project Prometheus, he supposed he could make the order to clean this up. Yet, something about it felt so familiar to him. It was one of the first things he saw when he first entered Lab C09. Maybe it was Project Prometheus’s first waking moment in Lab C09, too. When they had attempted to escape out of the Peacekeepers’ grasp and make a dash for the elevator. Reaching the corridor hall doors, he greeted the current guards on duty, a brief hello and a curt nod before entering the new hall. 

Back where he was on that day, back at the start. 

Coriolanus moved his feet, standing where he assumed he first was, when he first entered here. The large glass window that encompassed one side of the hall, where he stood and got his first glimpse of the subject. It wasn’t quite right, he wasn’t so close to the other side of the wall; but, neither was the other side of the glass. To any other eye, the change wasn’t too noticeable. Small difference of details. But, Coriolanus noticed the change immediately. His blue eyes dragged up towards the empty space of wall hooks that once carried the room’s surgical tools. They used to hang up so high, just out of reach so the subject didn’t try to reach for it themselves on its own time. But, there they were. Next to the center of the room, the surgical tools had been placed neatly on a large, rolling surgical tray that was beside them. 

Subject A01, Project Prometheus. 

Coriolanus’s breath felt a bit heavy, difficult to take in. All he could focus on now was the sight of them, taking in their form. It still hadn’t noticed him, a pleasing change of pace from before. They were seated, as it was expected to do, on what used to be the examination table. The leather cushions that covered it had been removed, revealing the sleek, stainless steel operation table that was hidden underneath the comforting material. Coriolanus took small, quiet steps further, careful as to not alert it. Project Prometheus had a penchant for being the observant type. The subject was sitting mostly upright, but there was a slight slouch to its shoulders. Arms brought forward, its hands pushed between the small space of its thighs. Bare legs dangled off the edge of the table, stitches decorating the expanse of skin. It still had some remnants of bandages wrapped around, particularly around the left brachialis area and its right lateral malleolus, tight and clean. The subject’s dark irises stayed down on the gritty, tiled floor; not bothering to look around. 

Project Prometheus still hadn’t acknowledged him yet. 

He didn’t know if it was on purpose, or purely accidental on its part; but he understood one thing. And it was the familiar lick of irritation that touched him. What was so different here? All he needed to do was breathe wrong and the subject honed in on him like a hawk. Has something happened? Was Dr. Gaul wrong in her assumption of the subject favoring him? Did he need to condition Project Prometheus longer than he anticipated? The fun of being a passive observer had worn off, the longer he gazed at them. He needed Project Prometheus to look at him, to focus on him. Fingers tapped on the glass lightly, a significant difference, a restraint, from the buildup dwelling inside him. A distinct sound was made, enough for the subject to snap its head up. 

For Project Prometheus to look at him. 

It stared at him with such wide eyes, their slightly reddened, chapped lips slightly agape in a small ‘o’ shape. There was a small kick and sway to their dangling feet, now. For a brief second, he saw the subject’s eyes dart quickly to the box carrier in his hands before focusing back up on him. The muscles of his cheeks started to pull back into a grin. 

Exactly what he wanted. 

Satisfaction easily oozed into him, embarrassingly so. But, he got what he was looking for. Project Prometheus’s eyes were now solely on him, not off in some dissociative mindscape. 

Coriolanus gave them a wave through the glass, mouthing to them: ‘I’ll be in soon’ before stepping away and further down into the hall corridor, where the examination room door was. Taking the surgical uniform that hung beside the Peacekeeper keeping guard, Coriolanus placed his belongings down to the side to put the attire on. Slipping the surgical gown, cap, goggles, and tightening the gloves onto him, his blood was running high. Coriolanus couldn’t fathom why. Maybe it was the nerves. In just a few moments, he’s going to head in there, break its heart about giving them no dessert, tell them he’s here for an exam, then perform a gruesome operation on them to add the cherry on top. All of it was nerve-wracking. They seemed to be quite obedient, but who's to say this wouldn’t be their final straw? And if they accepted it, taking his surgical exploration with no objection? The bones in his hands only felt like formality, with how much fight he was doing to just keep them steady.

There was so much blood he could feel running through his veins.

“I’ll be conducting an operation today, keep your ears alert for anything unusual.”

The metal door moved open from its tight seal, Coriolanus stepping through before it closed behind heavily with a hefty thud. Muted sounds of bare feet touching the floor; the patter careful to make a noise above a pin drop, slowing down to just a whisper. And then, falling entirely into silence. 

“Good morning, Dr. Snow.” 

There it was. 

Their presence, it was just a few ways behind him. It was faint, and hard to realize at times, but he was getting accustomed to it. Unlike others, where there was a palpable weight to the space they took up in the air, Project Prometheus’s presence was noticed through feelings in the gut. Intuition, maybe. But, Coriolanus could pick out on how whenever the subject was near, his blood would run so cold, yet the adrenaline in his veins made his heartbeat beat faster than ever. It felt almost primal, savagery at its finest. Reduced to relying on his own bodily instincts and survival skills to learn more about a mutt kept behind bars. 

“Subject A01,” He called out pleasantly. His restraint was being kept taut on a leash.

Coriolanus smiled behind his surgical mask, turning his body around to finally look at the subject and not the dreary door. There, they stood before him, hands awkwardly stood at their sides, clad in the same thin patient gown. They must’ve been cold sitting almost bare on the operating table. The subject gazed at his gloved hands immediately, after only just briefly looking at his own eyes. There was only the project report and his coffee in his hands. He decided it was best to leave the carrier outside. For a second, he watched how Project Prometheus's stare was unchanged, nothing to indicate on their expression that something had gone wrong in their mind. But, he knew. Coriolanus could feel the slight shift in the air, the dejection Project Prometheus was feeling at the lack of a sweet reward. If their eyes would not say anything, it was their body. The slight shift of weight, and scarred fingers twiddling at the ends of their gown. 

His grin widened under his surgical mask. 

“Good morning, is everything alright?” He leaned down his head a bit, showing faux worry. 

Project Prometheus bit the bottom of their lip briefly, a flush of rosy hues along the cracked surface from the pressure. Coriolanus's eyes traced the spark of color on the overall gray appearance of the subject, almost engrossing him entirely. It is an absolute wonder what a splash of color could do to enhance even the most unsightly. 

“... No, everything is alright.” 

Was he dreaming, or was there the subtle carry of a pout in their tone? Ohhh, he was living such a high! “And you can call me by my name, Dr. Snow.” They both know that wasn’t going to happen. But, he supposed there were remnants of a naive idealist in its unconscious mind. It forgot all the important details, and kept the worst info. 

Taking a step forward, Project Prometheus took no step backward from him. Rather, it craned its neck up, where he stood towering over them. Fingers stopped in its fidgeting, trying to meet his stare through the difference in height. His body made a shadow over its small frame, blocking out the nauseous, overhead lights. Coriolanus stretched a hand over, touching the region of the subject’s infraspinatus with the flat of his gloved palm. Project Prometheus did not tense under his touch. He leaned down. 

“Could you wait for me at the operation table?” Words came out just slightly above a whisper, never once breaking eye contact with the subject. He spoke it sweetly, an illusion of a suggestion, disguising a command. 

Project Prometheus was silent. 

An impatient tick poked at him. Was it even listening to him, or was it trying to disassociate? 

“So, it is an operation today.” 

No, they removed the examination cushions for laundry day. 

“Yes, it is. Will that be a problem?” It better not. 

The subject fell into silence once more. Its hands shifted from its sides to the anterior, playing with the front of its dress. The ends of thin fabric was in between its fingers, the slight rise of it, had he bent down, there was no doubt he would see clear peeks of the subject’s lower half. With his brows furrowed, he could feel his throat run a bit dry. He had a drink, but it feels wrong right now to take a taste. As if anything else would ruin… whatever this was. Coriolanus shifted the weight of his posture. 

“... Have I done something to upset you, Dr. Snow?”

… What was Project Prometheus trying to play here?

Is… Is this some form of attempt at pacification? Play with the patient gown, try to flash him, and hope he bends over backwards? Regardless, the fear of losing Dr. Gaul’s respect over something so juvenile was far more humiliating than whatever… this was. It brought on a trickled feeling that ran inside his throat, something that made his ears burn. Maybe it was embarrassment he felt for the subject. Or for himself, for having to deal with this so early. Placing his hand over it, the fingers were still continuing to fidget. Gripping the appendages under his gloved grasp, quickly, he put a stop to the movement. 

“Enough.” Coriolanus gave an extra squeeze on its hand for emphasis. The subject stopped moving. Alright, that eases him up a bit. 

“There’s nothing you’ve done wrong,” He could argue for some, but he’ll save it for another day. “Today is only the internal nerve exam. Dr. Gaul asked me to conduct it in her place instead,” Unconsciously, he didn’t know why, but his thumb started to rub soothing circles on the back of Project Prometheus’s hand. Something that Tigris had done for him, when he needed comfort as kids. But, this didn’t hold the same warmth. The subject’s hand’s too cold for that, and his gloves offered nothing. 

“I promise to be kind with this.” Whispering, so that a soft voice would be the final kick for Project Prometheus to behave. 

“Okay… I trust you, Dr. Snow.” 

A terrible choice, really. 

Coriolanus almost snorted, but he stopped himself with a smile, communicating with how his eyes squinted slightly along the pull of muscle. He stopped his thumb, removing his hand off the subject’s before giving a light touch on their shoulder. A simple gesture for it to go back to the operation table, to which it followed. Attentively, his eyes followed the back of it. Never would he dare to take off his gaze until he finally heard the small squeaking sound of Project Prometheus lifting itself on the table, sitting itself fully on the stainless steel. Last time, his eyes left the subject, it gave him a heart attack moments after. The subject caught his stare, and rather than call him out for it, question him, it spoke:

“I’ll wait right here for you.” 

Did it know his apprehension? 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to be pleased, or disturbed. On one hand, the subject was following orders. The other hand, there’s a very real chance his facade wasn’t as good as he thinks it is. No, it can’t be that. It shouldn’t be. He worried his bottom lip between incisors, shifting to head towards the shelves of drugs and medical equipment. Dr. Gaul managed to see through him earlier this morning, and he knows ( he knows! ) Livia caught the envy he felt when she showed him Tigris’s sketch. There wasn't anything wrong with him. There’s something in the air today, that’s wrong here. He just needed to fix that, gain back control. Just needed to take deep breaths, he has everything under his control right now. Putting the report and coffee down on the shelves, Coriolanus pulled the small, glass bottle of anticoagulant, clean syringes, sternum wires, and the modified anesthesia out in front of him. As all surgical instruments had been placed out beforehand already, all he needed now was the roll of polymer fibers for the sutures later. Traditionally, black has been the norm. It's on the subject right now. Gloved fingers brushed against the barrel of the roll, in thought. Then, put the roll back in place, shoving past to reach another corner to the shelf. Feeling the weight of it, he grabbed it. A roll of red polymer fibers. 

Dr. Gaul’s handiwork, her mark, were those black stitches. 

So shouldn’t his mark be something more striking? Would it not show as dazzling proof of his first operation?

“Thank you for being patient,” Bringing the materials over, Coriolanus placed them evenly spaced on the surgical tray before him. “Do you remember how this procedure goes?” He wanted to make sure this wasn’t placed in the shredder of its amnesia. If they didn’t remember the previous times, he’ll make sure it remembers this one. 

“I think so,” Its dark eyes followed his hands, watching him as he took the syringe between his fingers and the anticoagulant in another hand. Pressing the bevel down through the cap of the bottle, and then taking his thumb to pull the plunger up. The barrel of the syringe starts to fill up decently with a semi-transparent liquid, the color slightly askew with a slight yellow tint. Project Prometheus pointed at it. “That’s what Dr. Gaul uses to thin my blood,” He rinses and repeats the process with the modified anesthesia. The subject pointed at the next one. “And that’s to keep me conscious, right?” 

Coriolanus blinked blandly at them. 

“How observant of you, I’m sure Dr. Gaul would be impressed that you remembered.” Coriolanus coolly replies. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, but Project Prometheus’s legs dangled a bit more in rhythm at it. He didn’t want to ask further. Dr. Gaul most likely told them all that, but he never knew when it came to the subject. They always managed to surprise him, somehow. 

And he hated them for that. 

“Can you stand up for me, please.” Project Prometheus got off smoothly from the table, placing both feet down and craning the muscle of its semispinalis capitis up to look at him properly. The tips of his leather shoes stood mere centimeters away from its bare distals. Already, he had placed down the filled syringes to the side. He swallowed down some access that started to gather inside his mouth before speaking. “Turn around.” Obediently, it turned its body around, the back of its thin, patient gown in front of him. The sheer material, kept together by two ties of strands around the splenius capitis and thoracolumbar fascia region. It always looked so flimsy to him. His gloved hand reached to touch the knot that wrapped its waist-line, trailing along the flimsy string. Coriolanus started to untie it. 

“... Dr. Snow?”

“It’s just faster if I do this,” Speaking it, he can’t fathom why, but it felt like his words were trying to reassure him. That saying it aloud made it real. He doesn’t know why. It is real. If you want it done right, do it yourself; Coriolanus knows it better than anyone, and that’s what he’s doing. This is just him controlling the situation at hand. 

“I’ll help you, then.” 

No, it doesn’t need to do that, it can just – Its fingers reached up to start undoing the tie around its neck region. If he acted just as wild as he was feeling, he’d be tempted to bite away the stitched fingers for disobeying him ( seeing as how his own hands were too occupied to pull the subject’s hand away ). Instead, he settled with a slight scolding tone when he spoke while he still continued to untie, not bothering to look up from what his hands were doing. If he looked up, he'd be stuck anxiously watching it fumble around. “That’s not necessary, I got everything under control.” It’d be nice if it could, you know, follow that. One moment, they are pliant and willing to do what he says. The next, they are moving around without his permission, doing whatever it feels like. Whenever he senses like he’s getting closer to having Project Prometheus under his grasp, following the steps that he’s laid out, they instantly slip from his fingers. It makes him feel almost insane trying to put them back in his hand. 

“But, I like helping you.” 

The knot in his gloved grasp fell loose. 

“Really?” His voice came a bit more hoarse than he’d like, clearing his throat a bit. 

The fabric around the waist had loosened, revealing the bare skin of the subject’s lower half. Lifting his hands away, it seemed if he lingered his hands longer it felt like he was treading something dangerous. Unpredictable. Project Prometheus’s volatile behavior might just be contagious, he feared. Standing so close to them like this, whatever odd energy they carried, it was trying ( and failing ) to disrespectfully invade his. Shoes making a slight sound, Coriolanus took a few steps back to give Project Prometheus some room. Their fingers finally finished fiddling with the top knot. Just like a disappearing act, the gown fell to the floor, pooling around its feet. The subject stepped out from it, gently pushing the fabric to the side with their distals. Wow, so well-trained. 

“I do, you’re always so nice to me.” Not after he finishes this trauma-inducing of an operation, he thought. Eyes transfixed, Project Prometheus never left his sight, moving to sit back onto the Operation with a push up from their arms. “So, I want to help you in ways I can.” They leaned back, kicking their feet under the table, peering back at him from under their lashes. 

Was Project Prometheus’s eyelashes always so thick? After all this time in captivity? Their family must be agonizing over such a good batch of genes wasted. 

“Thank you,” The words came out softly. “For being so good with me.” Trying to steady the loud thrumming of his veins, Coriolanus reached over his hand to the surgical tray, taking the first syringe in his hands. The thick, dark liquid jostling, catching the reflections of the ugly, overhead lights. The needle gleamed. The directions in where his blood moved felt too transparent, too obvious. An uncomfortable sensation of how… aware he felt regarding his body. And a complete lack of control to make it stop. 

“Please, crane your head down for me.” 

He needed it to stop. 

Compliant, the subject kneeled their head down, brushing their hair to the side. Seamlessly, he pressed the needle in. Pressing the plunger down, watching until the entirety of the barrel emptied itself out. Project Prometheus remained still, as he continued on with the next syringe. Taking a cotton ball, he dabbed it with isopropyl alcohol. He gingerly rubbed the cotton over the injection sites, before placing gauze over it. A quiet thank you was whispered softly under Project Prometheus’s breath. 

He took a small breath in. 

Placing a gloved hand over the subject trapezius region, another on the deltoid. Just only the slightest of push, and the subject understood his gesture. Bringing their legs up to the table, they adjusted their position to lay down on the cold, steel table, holding onto his own hands for support. Their hair haloed around their head in uneven strokes, spread out. Despite the lights completely over their entire body, their eyes barely reflected any of it. Instead, they were peering at him, focused on him. Their hands still haven’t left his. Were they nervous? 

“Is everything alright?” He asked. 

“... Can you speak to me?” 

Coriolanus blinked. He was a bit taken aback. 

“Speak to you? Aren’t I doing that right now?”

The subject shaked their head minimally. “No, not that. I mean during the operation; can you speak to me?” Their fingers tightened at the fabric of his gloves, crinkling the material. “Dr. Gaul doesn’t get very talkative when she performs operations on me, so it makes the whole thing a bit hard to ignore sometimes.” That’s the point, it’s a torture sentence. “If that’s okay with you, Dr. Snow.” He wondered if the subject was comfortable making requests to Dr. Gaul just as much as it did with him.

Sharing a stare with the subject, they both held onto the silence. 

Coriolanus breathed out. 

“Fine, but it’ll strictly be in regards to the operation, only. Nothing else,” 

For a slight moment, he didn’t know if it was a trick of his eyes, or real, but Coriolanus could’ve sworn he saw a brief glimpse of light dancing in the subject’s dark eyes. A droopy, half attempt of a small smile on their lips. Chapped lips spread, showing minimal cracks between dried layers of skin and small winks of their pointed cuspids. He felt the air stop for a moment.

“Thank you,”

Before releasing their hands from him and laying down flat against the table. 

Coriolanus adjusted the gloves back to proper fitting, stretched the latex-leather evenly. Moving slightly away from the operation table, he went over to pull over the mobile floor standing lights closer. Hanging the operating lights at just the right angle over, he placed one hand over the subject’s eyes while his other went to flick on the lights. Quietly, Project Prometheus laid. A change of pace, but most definitely attributed to the modified anesthesia he administered now kicking in. With everything in its place, it was all ready to start. He prayed to whatever was out there, that cadaver dissections in class would be enough to carry him through the entire operation. And if not… 

He’ll take whatever large stacks of paperwork Dr. Gaul had waiting for him after he was done putting the subject in the morgue. 

If Dr. Gaul was kind enough to let Project Prometheus have a moment in the morgue. 

Taking the scalpel within his hand, the gleam of the sterile steel refracted against the various angles of light. He pressed one hand against Project Prometheus against their ribcage. 

“Take steady breaths,” He needed them for himself, too. Coriolanus breathed in sync with the rising and falling of the subject’s pectoralis major. “Perfect, now, on, 1, 2… “

And in his scalpel went. 

A smooth dip in, evenly slicing through the top of the subject’s angle of louis; all the way down to the lowest part of their rectus sheath. A dark crimson streak leaking, steadily trailing after the drag of his knife. Ways from him, a small, almost quiet intake of breath was heard beside him. He almost missed it. So, the sensations already begin. But, thankfully, for now, no bodily squirming. Good, his nerves were already on edge about needing to make a careful incision. He wasn’t really interested in stopping right now to get up and put restraints on the subject. It would be uncomfortable on both ends. And the sounds so far, haven’t been… displeasing, to say the least. Not as bad as Livia sounded early this morning, so small wins for him to take in. 

Taking a breath of his own, Coriolanus continued, pressing in the scalpel a bit deeper with the slightest pressure from his hand. Another intake of breath from Project Prometheus. The pitch almost stops him in his ministrations. It didn’t scream, nor did it let out a pained groan. The sound was airy. Blood ran wildly through his ears, the adrenaline picking itself up once more. Coriolanus felt his breath take on a small weight, a bit heavy in his mask as he eased back down his heart from the sudden sound. Again, fine. As long as it didn’t move. The scalpel sliced down past the rectus abdominis, past the subcutaneous tissue, until it touched the sternum. Hearing another quiet gasp of breath come from Project Prometheus, a small splatter of blood hit back up at him. It freckled around the ends of his surgical mask. The subject’s distals flexed a bit, to restrain itself from moving an inch. The blood reminded him of how sweltering the layers of medical wear felt on him right now, tight and restrictive. 

He can’t stop now. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He hadn’t reached the moment where he could start recording for the internal exam, but suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check in. The scalpel continued to move, so that the peel back of flesh would be more clean and effective. 

“... I… I’m fine…” 

Oh, less talkative?

“… Around a 6… right now. Like… feeling something… unusual, a… and new.” Descriptions, too? Oh, they were being so good for him. This gives more to fluff up in his report after. The subject took steady breath between words, but nothing that seemed to indicate excruciating pain just yet. Rather, it felt like they were trying to speak through small discomfort. Should he look up to see what expression was on its face right now? 

“You’re doing great at staying still.” 

He licked his lips briefly, wetting them in concentration. Placing the scalpel down behind him on the surgical tray, he reached over to grab at the surgical rakes. Taking it between his fingers, he carefully dipped the rake past the crevice of an incision he made. “Stay strong for me and just keep taking steady breaths for me, okay?” Project Prometheus took a sharp intake of breath. Coriolanus had it dig into the first layer of skin, puncturing and pulling the skin back. The subject’s distals curled. Hooking the rake onto a handle of the operating table, he made sure it was kept in place. He rinsed and repeated with the other side. Coriolanus let out a small puff of air from his lips, inexplicably enraptured with the sight now laid before him. With the thin barrier now taken away, Coriolanus could see more clearly, the layers of muscle that moved in tandem with the rhythm of the subject’s steady breath. Protected by the intricate makings of the subject’s thoracic cage. A morbid curiosity to touch the layers of tissue, feel the blood pump under his gloves, but he held himself back. He needed to explore other things, not this. Blue eyes fixated on the flow of blood from the subject. The stream moved in controlled fashion. A small pool of blood was dripping down the sides of the subject, but not at levels that were concerning, yet. The dark crimson color contrasted and glimmered against the nauseating overhead lights. It looked almost black in the loud, greenish-hue of the room. 

Once again, proven right. 

He is a far better option than Dr. Gaul. The controlled, clean view he had was such a stark contrast from the violent photos shown in the project’s folder. Coriolanus was tempted even, to break his concentration to pull for a camera and take photos himself. To show Dr. Gaul, and any other doctor after him, how an operation of this level should be held correctly. A small smile grew under his mask. Reaching for the pneumatic sternal saw, gloved hands reached down to touch the sternal periosteum. Dragging his hands down all the way to the bottom of it, feeling the ridges, a discomforted whimper fell out from Project Prometheus. He shushed them quickly. 

“It’s alright. I’m going to cut into your sternum now,” 

“I… I ha… have no reason to doubt you, Dr. S… Snow.”

Raising the sternal saw, the light catching against the stainless steel material, he brought it down and aimed it just right. Before pressing down on the button and watching the saw blade activate and come to life. The whirring sound of the saw cutting through bone, in the same up and down motion he had done with his hands, he led the saw down. The sound of bone against steel drowned out any sort of sharp gasps that had been pulled out from Project Prometheus. But, he could see it. The ways their fingers flexed out and then curled inwards, trying to grip at anything stabilizing. One hand closed into a fist, and another was clawing ( and failing ) to grip onto the surface of the operation table. Only succeeding in splashing their nailbeds with their own pool of blood, scraping the liquid beside them. Yet, everywhere else was only miniscule fidgeting. 

Coriolanus’s smile grew. 

“You’re doing so good.” Praise just above a whisper, loud enough for the subject to hear. “You’re doing so, so good right now.”

Project Prometheus gave a soft exhale, before nodding as best it could

“I..It’s a 7… Ma-Maybe a 6?” The subject whined. “D…Discomfort, l-like… cracking…. joints.” The words spoke between gasps of breath. 

It was still trying its best to relay notes for him, despite it all. Coriolanus let out a sharp laugh. Something profound in him twitched. His blood felt like it was pumping all through his body at scorching temperatures, everything becoming just so loud. God, was this what Dr. Gaul feels when she runs her gruesome operations? Coriolanus understands it. He thinks he’s finally starting to understand it! For only being his first time, the operation was turning out so smoothly! To add just the cherry on top, Project Prometheus was acting so obedient for him despite the gruesome actions he was performing on its body. So malleable, so eager to please him. 

His hand reached behind him, as the saw finally cut down and separated the sternum, replacing quickly the saw with a sternal retractor. 

“We finally made it through the tough part.” Correction, he did. He was the one doing all the work. “You’re fantastic.” He let out another laugh. 

Placing it between the broken sternum to expand and create space for him to see. To push aside the thoracic cage, and give him full, uncensored access to the expanse of Project Prometheus’s most intimate belongings. The insides of their very being. Coriolanus could see it all. The varying tones of viscera that beat and moved rhythmically to the sound of the subject’s breath. All the pulmonary veins and arteries, leading up to the main center. Bright, carmine flesh that took his breath as Coriolanus could only stare, ensnared by the muscle glistening. 

The literal heart of the project. 

The sound of it was horrifically deafening. 

As if Project Prometheus’s heart had entered into inside him, beating right into his very own tympanic membrane. Something visceral was infecting his body. Coriolanus was sure of it. The rush of the entire procedure was all getting to his head. Unconsciously, a gasp of breath left his mouth. Like as if the quick grasp at air would do some good to help him. That it would clear the haze that was starting to settle in the wrinkles of his mind. Futile, he knows, but what else could he do to alleviate it. Against his better judgment, even if Coriolanus knew he shouldn’t, his eyes moved quickly to the side to see how the subject was holding up. It was only going to be brief, just a second. But, he froze at what he saw. His breath hitching, the inside of his mouth drying up. 

The subject laid immobile against the operation table, but their head was tilted to the side. Their body seemed to try to unconsciously shift away from the overwhelming sensation, but the subject was forcing it to stay in position. And their face… Coriolanus never thought he’d see this so soon, but their face looked so different from their usual expression of apathy. A healthy flush of color was spread all over, their brows twisted and furrowed in concentration. Its cracked bottom lip worried against their incisors, but not yet hard enough to bleed. Their eyes were closed down tightly, it couldn’t see him staring at them. It couldn’t read his scrambled thoughts; understand, for a second, under the warped fluorescent lights of the examination room, Project Prometheus almost looked… 

Human. 

A prisoner, a walking mutation… was looking human to him.

Aesthetically pleasing to his eyes, even. 

He was turning insane. 

He is insane. 

Dr. Gaul didn’t pick her hand around the hat and chose him as her successor because he was an ‘upstanding’ and ‘righteous’ person. He didn’t get this far by playing by the rules. She hooked her nails into him, because right now, with his gloves shimmering, covered in the blood of the subject; he could feel her shadow standing over him. Her brilliant, white teeth peeking out from the dark, grimy corners of the room, cheering him on to keep going. And Coriolanus would do anything for her approval. The movement of his gloves felt sticky, as he shifted his hand over to pull out the stopwatch from the steel tray. His gaze never leaves the delirious sight of Project Prometheus’s face. Another hand of his, reaching across Project Prometheus’s body to hold onto the edge of the operation table. Pushing with just enough weight, Coriolanus brought his leg up and over the subject’s body. And then the other, not bothering at the sounds of blood splashing against his surgical gown. He didn’t care if it breached past the layers of medical wear and stained his clothes. 

“D… Doctor… S…Snow?” 

Project Prometheus carefully opened their eyes, thick lashes framing against the dull colors of their irises. Twinges of discomfort were behind them, but curiosity burned the brightest there. 

“... I… Is ever…ything, oka–”

A sharp gasp caught off the subject’s words. 

Between them both, his free hand had reached down past the lungs, pushing the muscle slightly aside. Gloved fingers touched and traced along the endless lines of arteries. Caressing the superior vena cava, the aorta, the auricle… all the way down to grip tenderly, yet promising, at the apex of Project Prometheus’s physical heart. The subject let out a choked sound under his attention. Doing their best to get intakes of air, the lungs of the subject were expanding and retracting besides his hand for him to feel. For him to see. With just the right amount of pressure, he could exert so much damage onto the project’s body. Give the subject respiratory issues for the rest of the project, disrupt the steady flow of enzymes. Crush their heart in just one sitting. Endless opportunities, and Coriolanus knows the subject knows that. There was understanding shared in the heavy silence between them. 

But, they were doing nothing to stop him. 

No attempts to remove his hands. No yelling, or crying to tell him to get off. Just simple, almost fawn-like eyes staring back at him in hopes for an answer. He couldn’t make out fear, and it baffled him. This whole operation has been nothing short of gruesome, and here he was standing over their body, sinking into their blood, their body, and they did nothing to stop him. This whole situation would’ve been downright disturbing, yet there was a tight knot in his body that he felt unwinding. The control of the entire operation is in his hands, but control of himself was the battle he was currently fighting. And it felt like he was losing the longer Project Prometheus blinked up at him, hints of small tears on their lashes. The longer he gazed back at them, all that was reflected in its dreary eyes was the sight of him. Just him.

“... Do you trust me?” He breathed out, finally. 

The subject made an attempt at a sound, the splash of color never leaving their face. 

“Y…Yes,” 

“More than Dr. Gaul?” He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, his mouth was rambling before he could even process it. 

“...More… t…than anyone…” 

And there it was. 

The culmination of all that was building up. Those very words felt like it was undoing all the wounded up tension that had been piling since the moment he got up this morning. Coriolanus felt his muscles tremble. But, he couldn’t tell from what anymore. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to even name it, either. It’d just shatter the moment. What was there to even say to that? A thank you was so impersonal. And praise was far more than Project Prometheus deserved, at this point. They were showered enough in it already, what more could the subject want from him. To the eyes of the Citadel, the desire for the project was clear as day. But, in the perspective of a broken animal, what else could they aspire when freedom was conditioned out of them. 

Did it matter at this point?

No, it doesn’t, Coriolanus decided. Because as long as he was in the room with them, Project Prometheus' existence was to serve his own selfish interests. And it was doing just that. Coriolanus leaned himself down over the subject. Propping an elbow up besides their head, their laborious breaths closer to his surgical mask. The heated air tickled and brushed against his ears. He tapped his forehead down beside the stainless steel space beside them, letting out a heavy exhale. Standing this close, he could make out that the subject had a faint scent of simple soap. The cooling sensation of the table did nothing to alleviate the warm dizziness swirling in his head. 

Pressing down the button next to their left ear, the stopwatch started. Coriolanus spoke in their right. 

“We are now starting the timer for the internal nerve exam.”

RUBATOSIS || chapter one: self digestion

PAIRING : Dr.Gaul's Assistant!Coriolanus Snow x Experiment!Reader-Insert ( afab, they / them, sometimes it )

RATING : 18+ ( no smut in this chapter, but it's very unsettling )

WORD COUNT : 13, 776

WARNINGS : infidelity ( coryo's engaged to livia ), power imbalance, unreliable narrator ( it's 3rd POV but focuses on coryo's view ), unhealthy dynamics, dehumanizing language, medical experimentation, body examination that has... strange vibes, body horror-esque, coryo and gaul are messed up in this fic, he's more like his book version than movie

SUMMARY : 🙶 rubatosis - noun. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 🙷

Fortune, marriage, and success - all within the hands of Coriolanus Snow, and it still isn’t enough to satisfy him. Tigris has grown distant and Livia is far more trouble than it's worth. 

Dr. Gaul has just the solution for him.

A/N : This is my first time posting my fanfic work on tumblr, so I hope everyone has fun reading this. If there are any mistakes, lemme know. This is the first of five chapters!

[ If you want to read it on AO3 instead ]

self digestion || autolysis - stage one of decomposition 

Oh, he hated this. 

He absolutely despised this.

A click of the soles, stepping against the freshly clean sidewalk, rid of any possible careless litter and debris. Had it not been for others who, too, were using the same path, even if they were going in opposite directions, had he half a mind, Coriolanus would have taken the moment to prop himself against a wall and let out the loudest sound of frustration. It wouldn’t be unwarranted, it wouldn’t be uncalled for. Dare he say, he almost feels he should be entitled to it. It had only been four days, but four days should have been enough time for Tigris to get back to him already. The correspondence was not even something of dire content, at least, Coriolanus imagined so. Questions of Grandma’am, if her time with Mrs. Plinth ( he was not going to refer to her as ‘Ma Plinth’ ) had been going well, how was the solo business venture regarding Tigris’s fashion going, was there any renovations that the home needed, how were they — things that he assumed, wrongly he guessed, that would be so simple to answer. 

God forbid that he still had the decency to still check in with his family even after he long moved out into his own place. 

If Tigris thought she could play him for a fool, she was the one in the wrong; the signs were as clear as can be, that Tigris was trying to ice him out as much as she could. And after all he’s worked hard for? Fixing the home up, making sure the fridge never stays empty, stabilizing the family. He’s even gotten engaged before Grandma’am could even croak, and is letting Tigris design his fiancé’s wedding gown! What else was he supposed to do to try and gain back her warmth? Dance and clap like a District to make himself seem smaller, more dumb, to please her? There was a lock to his jaw, a small grit in Coriolanus’s teeth, as he sipped down the coffee in his hand, the other in his coat pocket. 

He didn’t even wish to broach the idea of his fiancé on his walk to the Citadel. The heavy breath, a sigh, that breached itself out his lips. A hand raised to rub a gloved thumb briefly at the bridge of his nose. 

Ugh, Livia… It was a pain to even internally taste the words of her name on his tongue. 

It was an arranged marriage of convenience that he sought after, an extra piggy bank that he could expend on; and how quickly the elder Cardews lapped up at his palm when he planted the idea of marrying their daughter. A man who was of the old guard elite families, an assistant of Dr. Gaul’s, inheritor of the Plinth’s fortune, a gamemaker in training? They were downright salivating, that he almost felt embarrassed for Livia having to witness her parents’ stripped to their barest of greeds. The keyword being almost. Coriolanus needed to play his cards right to ensure his future, it was only fair game. If that meant taking his chance with the Cardews’ and their banks, he’d be just the fool that Tigris would want him to be if he turned them away. But, he could reluctantly suppose that the arrangement could be considered an equal drain on both parties. He seized their assets and their daughter seized up his free time. How could he forget the fundraiser dinner that Livia had invited them both to later on in the evening? She was delightful enough to remind him of it while they shared breakfast together, between his bites of quiche so that he couldn’t show a hint of a frown. 

Coriolanus sucked in a careful breath between his teeth. 

If she could only put herself to better use than just the one redeeming quality of a socialite. There was a slim chance he may have miscalculated. Perhaps it would have been an easier time, having something set up with Clemensia, or Lysistrata. 

“Mr. Snow! Good morning and welcome back, Dr. Gaul is already waiting for you in—“ 

“In Lab H05, got it! And a good morning to you, too.” He smiled back effortlessly to the front desk worker, giving them a wave and just the right, charming amount of teeth with the upwards pull of his mouth. 

Entering into the Citadel and seeing the hive of workers shift from one place to another in constant movement; they all tried to keep their voices at a low volume, but there was a constant buzz in the air, as they went from one hall to the other. Coriolanus maneuvered himself around them, slipping his deep mahogany overcoat seamlessly folded across his forearm. Full-Grain leather gloves that kept him warm from the cold, taken off his hands and instead placed neatly into the pocket of his overcoat. What a marvel it would have been for his young, naïve self to bear witness the luxury of a full wardrobe he now had. Never again did he have to spend long nights studying for the Academy besides an equally tired Tigris, who busied herself with trimming down the sizes of his father’s discarded shirts to fit him for school the next day. 

It was a muscle memory at this point, the path to one of the many labs that Dr. Gaul had established her practice in. She had told Coriolanus that she had a lab for each different study and project she was passionate towards, ones that were more… presentable, to the average Capital citizen, and ones that were more uncensored. Having worked for over a year under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage, Coriolanus had seen a decent amount, the clean and the vile, but even then, he knew very well he had not seen all. He wasn’t even sure if he did want to see all. Especially regarding what happened last time he wandered around the Citadel during Academy days. The doors to Lab H05 were wide open, Coriolanus noted, seeing it in his line of sight, getting closer and closer. It was inviting, telling any worker to come in and step in at any time ( should Dr. Gaul be around ). 

The air here was entirely different from what it was in the hallway. Where the air from when he first entered had been warm, inviting from the nipping cold outside. The vague smell of coffee, and an even fainter scent of something chemical, had mingled and intertwined to give the vaguest illusion that the Citadel could pass for a workplace like any other. However, the lab was as if entering an entirely different building. The lights that shone uncomfortably glaring, fluorescent lights that were hung overhead, on the ceiling. There were small lights, embedded into the floors and columns as well, guiding the path to any who walked in. It drowned the large room in an almost blue light. Lab H05 was one of the “clean” labs. A sterile scent in the air, the chemicals that were so faint in the halls were far more prominent, evident here. But, to the trained nose, there was something faint here too. The rusted scent of iron tickled under Coriolanus’s nose, but it barely registered to him anymore as anything concerning. Seeing the endless shelves of… odd specimens, the scent of blood was the last thing that should ever scare him away. 

“Dr. Gaul, good morning,” He kept a steady tone, not one that sounded tired, nor too joyous. Being seen as her “favorite” didn’t mean he could speak to her as casually as he pleased. It just meant that he took her current attention. A fickle thing that could be stripped away at any moment if he showed any less than acceptable. 

“Coryo,” He tensed his shoulders the same time she breathed it out in loving fashion. Her back once facing him, now turned as she walks towards him to cut the distance between the two. Since the gap started to form between Tigris and him, Dr. Gaul had taken to using that nickname on him. If it was to be used in terms of endearing him to her, or to mock him with the name that ghosts had called him, none could say for sure.

Coriolanus liked to believe it to be both, if he believed his assumptions of her character were right.

He never once let his eyes leave contact with her own, but he could hear the movement of her prominent, red latex gloves being peeled off her hands. She always thought it to be ironic, to wear such a color despite her profession. It matched the dye job that she had done on her surgical gown. He felt the weight of hands touching either side of his forearms, the smile on Dr. Gaul’s face caused a crinkle in her eyes as she bared all teeth in her smile. He wondered if she knew how threatening her grin looked.

“A morning to you as well. Has it been treating you good?”  

It felt as if some sort of warm feeling was spreading out from Dr. Gaul’s hands, through his arms and into his body. What a disgusting sensation, it made goosebumps rise on his skin. 

“As well as it could be.” Coriolanus’s voice spoke softly. 

Livia drained his energy far more than he expected with her morning rambles and gossip. 

Dr. Gaul’s hands smacked against his arms in a laugh, loud and knowing, she always knew, turning around to walk deeper in the lab. “Hah! By the sounds of it, it seems you’re not getting some peace of mind when you head home,” She turned back to look at him, giving him a glance, she was prying something out of him. “That’s no good, Coryo. You need to be in top shape to work, I can’t have my assistant become so… drained.” 

The crease in her eyes showed again. 

“If this is your preferred state, there is a new species of leeches I am working on. I assure you it is far more efficient than a Cardew of species.”

Well, now it was his turn to laugh. 

A dry chuckle that slipped from Coriolanus’s lips, moving to follow Dr. Gaul. Placing his coat on a table made of rich wood, something less… aseptic looking. There were moments where he often froze under the woman’s gaze; a humiliating, bodily reaction that made him feel so small, so vulnerable as he used to be. Yet, it was in times like these, where he could understand how Dr. Gaul still managed to hold sway over people besides just exemplary displays of fear and power. There was a sense of humor to her, if he could call it that, where if a powerful woman like her involved yourself in - you felt so included, special. 

“It was nothing like that. Livia just reminded me that after work today, she and I have to attend dinner later in the evening. It’s a fundraiser for the improvement and reconstruction of the Corso.” He turned his sight away from Dr. Gaul’s eyes, not being able to keep the contact any more. Flicking to the sight of the endless, bright shelves that lit up the tubes containing various specimens and experiments. Some failures, some on pauses, some successes, and some were just creative ‘what-ifs’; that would explain some of the seemingly useless fusions, like the jellyfish that had spider legs mixed in with some of its natural lappets, now encased in a resin tube. Coriolanus can’t recall if he was employed at the Citadel yet when this specimen was made. His fingers briefly touched upon the cool glass of it. What a disgusting idea. “I almost nearly forgot about it.” Dr. Gaul hummed at his response. 

“Why, doesn’t that sound riveting! What a joy young life is, flitting from one function to the other, all the night-time glamor. You know, before I was transferred to work in the Citadel, I was the same. I thought of giving my children some of my old wardrobe from my youth, but it’s so out of the current trends, it just collects dust now.” What a blessing, for her kids. They could avoid the embarrassment of coming into the room looking as if they robbed the Pre-Dark Days exhibit at the Capital’s museum. The heels of Dr. Gaul’s heels clicked against the smooth, waxed floor. Coriolanus could feel the brief sliver of her heavy presence pass him by from behind, as she went to head over to another area in the room. It sounded vaguely close to the center of it. 

“You must be excited, Coryo. Are you going to wear,” Her words paused. She was tasting the air for something. “Ah, what’s her name… That cousin of yours, the one who started her new business a while ago.”

What was the point of this conversation?

“Tigris.” 

A brief flare tickled behind his ribs, reminding him of his thoughts earlier before. Standing up from his spot, fingers now leaving the glass of the odd ( sickening ) creature, his prints left slightly behind on the glass. Stretching his shoulders back with his arms, muscles pulled, away from their previously hunched position. Coriolanus walked over to where Dr. Gaul was, who stood nearby another table at the center of the lab. This time, this one was far cleaner, made of what seemed to be a material of stainless steel. In her hands she carried a manila folder, or two, in her hands; her painted nails sifted through the papers carefully. She was writing something quickly down inside of it. He wanted to know, but he held his tongue. Gaul would tell him if it was something he needed to be aware of. 

“And I’m not sure. Livia is still picking out her dress and I want to match with her.” He smiled at her. 

“Aren’t you a romantic,” She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, the blue one that matched his. It made his skin crawl, he hated the feeling of it. “Is your heart melting, Snow?”

Coriolanus hopes she sticks to her career as a Gamemaker, being a comedian looks like a bleak future for her. 

The smile on his lips grew wider, a small laugh at her words, his hand reaching to cover his mouth slightly to muffle the sound in the large room. 

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.” 

He wouldn’t say it at all. Livia? Melt his heart? Sure, she could melt his eardrums when she had that obnoxious snort to her loud laughs. It made her sound like a pig, shipped straight to the Capital from the farms of District 10. That would defeat the purpose of why he married her in the first place. It would be the utmost betrayal to himself, after he had promised to close himself after– 

“Since you have a date tonight,” His ears perked up immediately. “I’ll reduce the amount of work you have for today, I’ll be merciful.” He wouldn’t argue if she decided to give him more. She pressed a manila folder into his open hands, her grip was tight on it. This was a folder that not many eyes needed to be on. Taking it carefully from her hands, he raised it to his eyesight curiously, catching the sight of the project name written on top of it. 

PROJECT: CAPTIVE – A.01 PROMETHEUS 

Coriolanus brought his gaze back towards Dr. Gaul. He assumed he slipped a confused gaze at her, because before he could even ask her, she’s already speaking up:

“This is a project I had started around the time you were exiled in District 12.” 

His jaw slightly tightened. She didn’t have to use that exact word to describe it. 

“It’s far more… unique,” Her eyes rolled around the room as she sought out the word, the moment it landed on her tongue, she locked her sight immediately onto him. Gaul’s smile pulled a bit more at her cheeks, a festering excitement that was slipping out from her internal confines. The threat of teeth in her smile was no longer an attempt of niceties, but far more sinister in its intentions. Coriolanus would argue on a good day that both were the same, that Dr. Gaul’s cruelty was her being kind. “Than my other projects. Far more different than any of my other muttations, this is a beast of a different breed, but one that you and I know intimately well.”

 So this was a human experimentation, Coriolanus deduced. 

Dr. Gaul would never dare to refer to those below Capital ranks as something human, there was always something else she had to refer to them by. Animal, beast, plague, insect, if it stripped them of their humanity, she was eager to take it. They shared similar sentiments, but sometimes, he had to give them some form of distinct name to separate them. “I’ve actually grown quite fond of it. Usually, I’d handle its tests and exams, but you seem like you need a pick-me-up.” 

It should make him disgusted at how easily she could see through him. 

The older woman stepped further away from him, into one of the dark recesses of the room. Lab H05 was one of the main center labs within the Citadel, meaning it earned itself the privilege to have its layout be connected to other rooms, outside areas, halls, and the like. It just happened to be, the darker areas that Gaul was heading in were towards the direction of one of the elevators connected to the room. Coriolanus watched her body retreat into the dimly lit area, not quite following after her. He didn’t know why. His hands felt stiff with the folder in his hands. The pounding beat of his heart in his ears matched in tempo with the steps of her heels against the floor. If he was going to move, she was going to need to ask him. She knew too, the doctor knew her own footsteps, and she was very aware when others’ joined in. Turning around to look at where he still was, standing, watching, she looked back at him. Coriolanus could make out her faint silhouette in the dark, but Dr. Gaul’s blue eyes shone brighter in the dark. As if she had tapetum lucidum, how it reflected so wildly. She was not helping the rumors made against her, that questioned if she ever used herself for a subject of fascination. 

“Come now, Coryo. You don’t want to waste time.”

A silence fell upon them both. 

“Understood, I’m right behind you.”

Walking after her, Coriolanus descended the small set of stairs that she had gone down from, he stepped into the dimly lit area. The manila folder was still grasped tightly in his one hand, at his side. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand her. Yes, she said that she wanted to cheer him up, but he’d be a fool if he was to believe that’d was to be the only reason why she was doing this. Volumnia Gaul, telling confidential secrets because she cared for his well being? No, there was always something else. An ulterior motive she wished to serve, or a lesson she wanted to teach. When he was brought back from his sentence of being a peacekeeper, it was not because her heart broke over him. She was not weeping at him having to tread his feet into the muck and grime of District 12. It was because she was holding him up to an ambition that both him and her both wished to see. 

“This one,” Dr. Gaul started her words, occasionally turning her head to the side to make sure he was still following her ( he was ). “Started out as a simple curiosity. I had to sit with myself quite a bit to figure out a punishment that would actually serve some productivity.” Her hands reached behind her, flicking at the folder that Coriolanus was holding. He opened up the folder, finally, to look through the report. Whatever the Doctor was gesturing vaguely in conversation, it would be more explicit in her writings. “Displays of cadavers, desecration of the human silhouette, trauma to the cerebrum, these punishments can only go for so long before new ideas must be made. If the rebels expect the same disciplinary action, you can expect them to gain a tolerance to it.”

Squinting at the paper, he leaned his head slightly down to get a closer look of the subject. A small photo was attached to the report by a paperclip, it was a person who seemed to be in a similar age group to his. They looked clean, proper - they wore an ironed, white button up shirt under a dark vest, with unique, yet simple earrings they donned on. Pearls and tiny opals that dangled from a gold chain earring. A family heirloom, if Coriolanus had to guess. They smiled widely in the photo. Their teeth weren’t perfect, their upper cuspid was a bit more pointed in comparison to all others. 

They had once been a capital citizen, turned rebel, to… this. 

“I wanted to truly push my mind forward, and see if the impossible would truly be… well, possible.” Dr. Gaul grinned at the end of the sentence. Coriolanus lifted the photo up, after hooking his gaze unto the former for a moment. It’s a shame, he thought to himself. How pretty they are, had they not tainted their mind with childish ideas they would have continued to live in the comforts that they were so comfortably lavishing in before. He was curious as to whose family they once belonged to. A filthy curiosity enticed him, a want to digest more at the report at the risk of tuning out Gaul’s feverish ramblings. 

“Personally, I outdid myself.”

There was a small desire to curse her under his breath, the writing for the subject’s name was far too rushed and messy to read properly. Did she want him to read the report, or play word scramble? 

Dr. Gaul’s steps had stopped, the white noise of her chatter turned to silence was enough to bring his head back from the report. She stood between him and the elevator, holding her hands in front of her, folded. Peeking to the side, the button for the down level was lit up in a glow of red. Her smile widened. 

“Curiosity eating away at you, Coryo?” 

It still made his skin crawl, everytime she used that name. How frightening it was, that it also brought him a strange sense of the coldest warmth. 

“You’ve talked so vividly about them,” Not clear enough. “I want to see what makes you so excited about them.” He wants to see if they could come close to bringing him out of his frustrations. Fingers that touched the edge of the subject’s photo twitched in tempo with the small ding of the elevator. Doors opening, Dr. Gaul stepped to the side. Hands gestured, letting him know to step in first which he obliged. Yet, no other steps than his own followed him in. Coriolanus turned around, a puzzled look on his face when he noticed how Dr. Gaul was standing in the middle of the elevator’s doors. 

“Expected me to come join you? You can’t be so attached to my hip, Coryo.” She laughed, her hands reached in between her surgical gown and work attire. Pulling out a set of keys attached to her worker’s ID, she tugged a key off. Dr. Gaul dipped her body slightly in to twist at a lock that had revealed another panel of floor buttons aside from the usual floor ones. This must have been the key designated for the Citadel’s researchers and engineers. He had a private key of his own, but that was reserved for Game Makers. Still in training, but Dr. Gaul had persuaded the others to give him his own copy. “I have other things that need tending to, so you’ll have to have your fun without me.” Pushing a floor button that was labeled C09, glowing red under her touch, she gave him her key. She pressed into Coriolanus’s free palm, closing his fingers to clasp around it. 

“You can keep this one. I’ll ask for another copy.”

Was it because this one almost seemed rusted over to hell and back? Coriolanus wasn’t an idiot. He could feel the textured sensation of something that, usually, was supposed to be smooth metal. 

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.” He spoke softly back to her. 

Dr. Gaul sent him another smile towards his way, the abominable sight of her gradually leaving his sight as the doors closed. A divide now between the both of them. 

Instantly, a breath of air was released from Coriolanus. His head reeled back, eyes closed,  leaning against the wall of the elevator. He was now by himself. Free from that imposing woman, he finally could be released from her watchful gaze. Always gauging him, examining him as if he, too, was another subject on her surgical table. Perhaps, in a strange, distant sense, he was. Which is why he likes it far more when their interactions are limited. Even if it makes him feel guilty if he hasn’t spoken to her for any prolonged amount of time. 

Another breath, he brought his head back down, eyes open. Opening his hand to where the key was held in his hand. It was frighteningly warm in his hand, most likely from when both Dr. Gaul and him held onto it. The material of the key was dark in color, rust having formed around some of the edges. Spots of dark stains marred its dull shine, it almost looks black in contrast to the key’s natural dark hue. This most definitely was blood, now dried. In his head, Coriolanus could see the vivid picture in his head: Dr. Gaul barely bothering to remove her gloves after leaving the examination room, holding the key between sticky gloves. A sneer pulled on Coriolanus’s face. He pocketed the key away. 

He wanted to focus on something else. 

The weight of the manila report at his side stuck out glaringly obvious, he still had yet to fully read through everything. His fingers were still thumbing between one of the pages, bookmarking a random place in the report. Should he wait to see the project on his own? Give himself something ‘fun’ to surprise himself with? A discomfort prickled at the hairs on his neck. No, he didn’t like surprises too much. Surprises meant no control, and no control meant chaos that wasn’t under his hand. And what more could be asked, when what he needed to know was right here. Hands flipped back open the manila folder while he waited for the elevator to finish its descent. 

On the first page, there was only one photo of the subject, before the project had started. Dr. Gaul was always so thorough, so there must have been more to see. And how he loved to be right, when the sight of more clipped on photos peeked through in between pages. He stopped at the sight of them. These had been nude, taken in what was most definitely an examination room. They must’ve been in captivity for a few days for how haggard they looked. Gleam completely gone, with only a dark emptiness seen on their face. Signs of minimal swelling on their left cheek from when they were hit by a peacekeeper when resisting arrest. Bags under the optics, suggesting either sleep deprivation or developed insomnia. His eyes lingered on the photos that took in zoomed in shots of identifiable beauty marks that were scattered around their body. One around the back of their left acromial, around the sternocleidomastoid, one on the left mammary gland, and another on the right femoral muscle. Unconsciously, his fingers traced along the edges of each photo as he examined them until they traced after the words of ink. 

The objective of the project: engaging and testing pain receptors on the subject. By use of non-licensed medication and surgical operations, the subject’s NTRK1 gene was mutated to a certain extent to gain the closest imitation to Congenital Analgesia ( while still keeping the subject alive ). If Coriolanus recalled, in his textbooks, Congenital Analgesia was a condition that always was given to a patient by a pass down from the parent. It was never really something ‘made’, or ‘given’. He could understand now why Dr. Gaul was so pleased with herself for accomplishing this feat. Curiosity was beckoning him, wanting to see more of what the report entailed. 

Pages dedicated to each operation, each test done. There were pain charts made, scales from 1 to 10, to test out the nerve receptors. Each test, the numbers on the chart went lower and lower; 10s that went to 9s, to the current lowest being a 6 for the majority of the subject’s body. The more sensitive areas, such as the frontal or the palmar of the body, were around 7 to 8 on the chart. Flipping to the back of the contents, there was a small note in Dr. Gaul’s handwriting.

Today, please take care of Project Prometheus’s nerve exams. The last surgical operation was done last month and they have just now fully recovered. Update the report by the end of today, to measure if there are any fluctuations on their pain receptors.

Sounded simple enough. If this was all he had to do today, then there was a chance he could clock out from work even earlier to give himself space before tonight’s event. A ding finally was heard from the elevator, he was here at Lab C09. Folder closed in his hands, his foot stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor. What a drastic difference Lab C09 had been in comparison to Lab H05. If it hadn’t belonged to Dr. Gaul, Coriolanus may not have been able to believe that this was an actual functioning lab. It almost seemed forgotten by the Citadel, half of the fluorescent lights not working, or blinking at different intervals. It bathed the floor in a very gray, almost vile green hue. The scent of copper and rust was far more noticeable, and the smell of medicine felt almost nauseous here. There were no grand columns in sight, and no endless amount of shelves dedicated to new specimens and ideas of creation. The floors were unkempt, specks of dirt packed into the corners of where the wall and once sleek tiles met. Occasional cracks on the floor, parts of the design broken and shattered into bits of ceramic. The halls were long, with endless doors that ( thankfully ) all were open, empty, or both. With the exception of the large corridor doors at the other end. He could make out the sight of Peacekeepers that stood on guard, near the corridor door and by the elevator entrance. 

This definitely was Dr. Gaul’s more… uncensored labs. 

Coriolanus took a few more steps into the lab and noticed the large stain of dried blood that dragged from where his feet stood, past the corridor doors. Eyebrows raised at the sight, but his eyes did not widen. Marvelous, the subject might still be rebellious. If this was to be the case, he’d be severely unimpressed. All these exams to change the NTRK1 and nothing done to affect the amygdala. 

Sloppy work here, Dr. Gaul. 

Pushing through the corridor doors, after giving the briefest of nods and acknowledgement towards the Peacekeepers, he found himself exactly where he needed to be. Entering an area that was entirely void of light, except for one thing. 

A large window glass on the other side, showing the examination room on the other side. It lit up this half of the hall, shelves of varying medicines and chemicals lined against the walls of the examination room. Surgical tools were lined up high on the wall, out of reach, not yet pulled out and placed on the side. Today there was no operation to be done. Examination lights shone overhead, and under it was the examination table where Project Prometheus sat. 

They sat down so compactly, so politely, knees folded to their chest and arms wrapped around them, their face leaned against the crevice their legs gave. The subject definitely had changed, physically, since the projects had begun. Their skin barely had the warm glow it had in their photo, had it not been for the peeks of color on their joints, he’d assume that there was no more blood rushing through their body. Their hair that once looked so well maintained, luxurious, was cut at awkward angles. Yet, it still managed to frame their face well enough. Figures, that was former Capital genes at work. Their body has taken significant damage since then. Scars of various shapes were scattered all across, bandages wrapped in some areas, and stitches that dragged around entire limbs, like their arms, thighs, feet, even one on their face. As if they were some over-played ragdoll that was patched up far too many times. There was no fight he could see from their eyes, and no anger. Was the blood on the floor halls really theirs, or did that belong to someone else?

This could not even be called anything, but a shell of a husk. 

Coriolanus stood there, watching, taking in the sight of them. It barely felt like he was breathing. And that alone irritated him. It’s like his body was trying to make itself seem smaller; as if he was somehow bothering them. He sighed out his frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t even hear him from the thick glass, what would he be so concerned with? Bringing his hand back down, about to open the manila folder once again to compare their ID photo to their current state - he peeked at their form again. 

He had been noticed by it. 

His breath felt lodged in his throat, his original action now tossed to the side, as they and him both just… watched each other. Their eyes that had looked so sullen and distant before, were so focused and vigilant of him. But, they didn’t seem scared of him. Their body didn’t look tense, their expression didn’t twist into any wrinkles. What feeling was running through their body? Could they possibly feel anything? Coriolanus stepped away from the glass, slowly, and down further into the hall, to where the door of their examination room was. A peacekeeper stood guard near the heavy door, beside them a surgical gown, cap, goggles and gloves were on a hook. Excusing the other to the side, so he could reach and grab the attire to put on himself. Coriolanus questioned, as he tugged the latex rubber gloves on, if he still wanted to entertain the idea of holding their test today. Teeth grinded inside his jaw, he hated to admit weakness, but it was no lie that they unsettled him when they had stared back. 

That probably contributed to why Dr. Gaul favored the project so much, both must take joy from bringing him such unease. A sigh hissed from his teeth, as he put the surgical mask on. 

“I’ll be back out in just a moment. I’ll let you know if an emergency comes up.” 

It’ll be easy work, and then he can leave.

Opening the door, the sterile smell of the room rushed past him as the metal door was moved from its tight seal and then closed heavily behind him. Their head had moved away from where the glass window was, turned to stare at where he stood near the door, their folder still in his hands. Thinly-veiled sweat was forming inside the gloves, with the silence that fell heavy in the room. He opened the folder. 

“Good morning, Subject A01, I am–”

…? 

Did they say something? 

“...I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Another tense silence fell in the air. 

“... That isn’t my name.” Its voice was quiet, slightly hoarse but not entirely. Unexpected, considering their length of stay here. His fingers pinched tightly at one of the pages. 

“...What do you mean?” He was not going to call them by their Capital name. They had long since lost the right to use it, after rebelling against Panem. 

“Dr. Gaul calls me something else.” Coriolanus was going to kill it if they did not clarify. 

“And what does she call you?” This was the nicest tone he could muster. 

They spoke it once into the air, still looking at him with those dead eyes of theirs. Had Dr. Gaul been so fond of it to have given it an entirely new name? And they accepted and went along with it? That didn’t feel right, from what he’s examined about them so far. They were a rebel, they had fought against a Peacekeeper, they were dragged around the halls bleeding. 

And they gave up their old name?

It had shifted out of its cradled position, their legs dangled off the examination table and their arms were placed on their side. Coriolanus could see the patient gown they wore more clearly. It kicked its feet in the air idly, as it waited for his response. 

… Do they even know the situation that they’re in? 

“...Right. Well, do you know why I’m here?” 

“Not really. I’ve never met you before.” Was context clues also something it gave up while in captivity? “I know the guards, and I know Dr. Gaul. I don’t think I know about you,” They’re a prisoner, it’d be counter-intuitive if people were giving them info about every single staff member here. His mask covered the lower half of his face, but he hoped the slight shift of facial muscle was enough to convey that was trying to smile towards them. He walked further into the examination room, closer to where it sat and where the shelves of drugs and medical equipment were lined up. Their stare was burrowing holes into his back, while he shifted around, opening and closing shelves and drawers to check inside for what he needed. 

“Well, I am Dr. Gaul’s assistant. You can call me Snow,” He was not giving his first name to a former rebel. “I’m here today because Dr. Gaul is a bit busy today to handle your check-up, so I’ll be filling in her role.” Gloves shifted bottles around, turning them around to read the labels. The disinfectant, cotton swabs, tweezers, needles, rubbing alcohol, syringes, the bite-rag, marker, he had it all except the custom medicine that Dr. Gaul had made for it. In the instructions of how to construct their exam, Dr. Gaul had explicitly mentioned that they were to take specific medication, as they had helped keep it conscious at all times for operations and exams. It was needed so that they’d be able to relay the ratings, which is why Coriolanus was reading yet another prescription bottle in his hands, squinting in frustration. 

“It’s this bottle over here.” 

A delicate, scarred hand had pointed at another bottle that sat idly on the shelf. Coriolanus turned his head slightly, seeing the subject no longer on the examination table, standing behind him quietly. Not staring at him, they were entirely looking at where their hand pointed. They were only standing just a couple inches away from his body, careful not to touch him as they stood on the tips of their toes to point at the medicine. With this proximity, it was easier for him to get a closer look at them. The stitches on its body were done with thick, prominent threads; there were far more beauty marks he could pick out on their face that the photos didn’t display. The patient gown was made from a material far thinner than he expected, a visible silhouette could be seen from underneath the flimsy cloth. His mouth felt unusually dry. 

A cold chill trickled down his spine. He barely noticed them. He doesn’t even think it made a sound when it moved. 

“Careful, keep your space from me.” He spoke, a careful warning to their ears and a threatening promise on his. He didn’t want to risk being so close to them like this, he barely knew the extent of how violent the project could possibly be yet. Still, they listened, backing away from him and putting their hand back down to their side. Both it and him stared at each other again, the tense air dancing back inside the room. They looked as if they had wanted to say something, and Coriolanus, internally, felt almost violent for how demure they were being with him. It repulsed him, how it felt almost endearing if he looked at them for a second more. 

“Is something wrong?” Eventually he bit the bullet, speaking first between the two of them. He can’t bear another moment of silence with it. 

“... I don’t need a bite-rag. I don’t think I really scream much anymore.” They still had an issue with explaining context to him more, he’ll tell Dr. Gaul that needed some work lat– His jaw ticked… Why did he care about your abysmal social skills? It was a captive, it had no one to speak to other than their own captors. Pulling down their prescription from the shelf, a dark, thick liquid, he said in return: “It’s best to have it on hand, just in case you need it. Now, return back to the examination table.” For a split second, he thought he could see their gaze soften at him. Were they seriously entertaining the idea that he was being nice to them? Coriolanus just didn’t want to deal with their sounds while he worked. It’d be like trading one screaming fit for another, for when he had to go on his date with Livia later in the evening. 

They nodded, and followed his command, walking back to sit on top of it. Their body was sitting in his direction though, observing, waiting for him. Coriolanus still felt unsure about them, but… it was strange, their obedience. It made him suspicious of its intent with all this. Trailing back to the center of the examination room, he placed all the tools on a metal tray. Pulling out an exam stool from under one of the tables, he set the syringe to the cap of its prescription. He pulled the plunger of the syringe up, watching as the barrel filled up with medicine, until it sat nicely. The needle left smoothly from the cap, and a drop of the liquid dangled at the edge of it. This form of silence he liked far more better. 

“...Do you have family, Dr. Snow?” 

So close. Coriolanus flicked the needle harshly, the drop hitting somewhere else. He placed the ready syringe down, and picked up the black marker. Turning back towards them, their head rested in their palms, watching him intensely. 

“That’s none of your concern. Now please, remove your gown so we can get started on the examination.” Grabbing the stool to pull it underneath him, he got comfortable in the seat while it moved to get up. As their hands reached behind them to undo the tie around their waist first, it still spoke ( much to his chagrin ). 

“I was just wondering since Dr. Gaul usually talks whenever she comes to visit.” That explained why their throat was not as hoarse as he was expecting. Dr. Gaul was treating her trials with them as a morning brunch. “She sometimes talks about her day, or talks about her family.” They loosened the tie around their waist, the fabric more flowy around their lower body. Coriolanus stared intently, taking in the first peek of skin. Looking past the scars, despite the stitches pulling at parts of their skin, and the dented scars, their skin looked soft, malleable. They must’ve been popular on weekend nights, back then. Their hands reached up to undo the tie around their collar. Rather than watching him while he worked, it was his turn to watch them. There was that beauty mark on their left acromial. Eyes leisurely trailed back up to their fingers, the smallest note with how it fumbled around behind them to untie the flimsy string. Their movements were clumsy, in his eyes, which almost surprised him. “She likes to talk about her three kids often.”

Coriolanus looked away from their stitched fingers, confusion on his face. 

“Dr. Gaul only has two kids.” He’s seen the photos she has in her office. She has two sons, both who have gone on to have families of their own. Not once has she mentioned a third kid, Coriolanus isn’t even sure it was possible at her age. Didn’t menopause usually affect a person’s chances of getting pregnant? Maybe it was a secret child she had abandoned at the maternal ward while dropping off her resignation as an obstetrician. 

“No, she has three. She told me their names: Caius, Martius, and Coriolanus.” 

Oh. 

Oh, now that’s… 

“I see. You must be closer to Dr. Gaul than I am.” 

He didn’t know what to really say to that. There was really nothing for him to go and argue about, especially with the patient. Coriolanus couldn’t quite outright say that the third child was him, especially when he specifically told them to refer to him by his last name. And if he revealed that this was an entire lie on Dr. Gaul’s end, he wasn’t quite sure how the woman would react for doing so. It wasn’t his place, when he had no idea what Gaul had wanted to achieve. He understood the physical punishment and hypothesis being put upon Project Prometheus, but he had yet to understand where the emotional, and the mental, aspect of this punishment was. Dr. Gaul will tell him if it was needed, or he’ll figure it out based on his own conclusions. That must be one of the purposes Dr. Gaul had assigned this task to him. 

“Alright. I’m done.”

Coriolanus blinked. He didn’t even realize he lost focus on them, he let out a small exhale as he lifted himself from the exam stool, marker ready in hand. 

“Right, for the next step of this exam, I need to…” 

Words trailed off for him. 

What an entirely different view it was, from before, looking at them only from the back. From behind, it was just read to him as a large canvas of skin that had already been stained and painted on. Nothing that gave way to what person under the flesh could be. Yet, the front… There was more to regard and take note of, a far more different feeling than just having viewed from the photos alone in the reports. If he were to ignore the marks left on their body, had they stayed perfect from before, he could’ve made the argument about their body being more alluring than the average Capital citizen. That familiar, dry feeling touched his throat again. What a waste, for genes like that to be wasted on a rebel. There were more beauty marks and moles in the front, along with more stitches and scars. Coriolanus could see the surgical scars that were healing between their pectoralis major area. A curiosity rose, questioning how scarred tissue would feel under his gloves. He raised an eyebrow, as his gaze dared to move to a lower section on their body. Must be for easier mapping, that Dr. Gaul decided it was best to have their pubic area shaved clean.

“...Dr. Snow, are you okay?”

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips under the surgical mask. 

“Fine, just thinking about Dr. Gaul’s instructions.” He was going to go insane before he could even head to the fundraiser tonight. Coriolanus reached his free hand out, hovering it over their shoulder area, guiding them to stand closer to the area between the exam table, and his stool. He took note, that despite the way their body has changed since their captivity, their body still held a warmth that radiated off from their skin. “Stand here, please. For this next step, I’ll be using this marker here to map out the different muscles and areas on your body. Are you familiar with this?”

The subject nodded, a yes from their lips. 

Good. 

The sound of the marker cap popping off filled in the lack of words on Coriolanus’s part, the black cap falling on the tiled floor and rolling off to a dark, distant corner of the room. “For today, we’ll only be focusing on the external pain chart. Meaning skin surface only,” He lifted the subject’s hair, pushing up against the subject’s head, strands that were long enough to block full access to the neck. Bringing the marker up, he pressed down the chiseled tip of alcoholic ink on the subject’s skin, making the first section of dotted lines. Writing on their skin in careful, small letters, the areas that compromised their neck; the semispinalis capitis, the levator scapulae, the rhomboid minor–

“How long have you worked for Dr. Gaul?”

Fingers nearly stumbled in drawing when the muscle stretched in movement, he lifted the marker carefully away from its skin. The idea of putting in Gaul’s suggestion box the order of a mouth gag was becoming all the more tempting to him. 

“It doesn’t concern you.” Coriolanus responded, coolly. 

He pressed the marker back down on its skin, moving himself to the anterior of its body. Between his gloved fingers, he held their chin. The muscle limp in his hands, letting him lift their chin up to show more, exposing the unfolded expanse of their skin. The project was an annoying one, but at the least,they were a pliant one. The black dotted lines drew itself across the subject’s body: the sternocleidomastoid, the sternohyoid–

“How has your day been so far, Dr. Snow?”

Would Dr. Gaul throw him to the curb if he strangled one of her projects?

Coriolanus lifted himself slightly from his leaned down angle, his fingers that once lifted its chin up, had pulled their chin back down to look at him eye to eye. Its gaze stared back at him with such emptiness, a lack of anything to be seen, no anger, no defiance, no discomfort, not even joy. His eyebrows narrowed down slightly as he took in the face that held no question to how, and what, manner he held their body in. Were they trying to please him? Make his guard drop down by asking questions, hoping that he’d become more sympathetic towards them? 

“Dr. Gaul isn’t here. You are under no requirement to attempt conversations like you’ve done with her.” He spoke, trying his best attempt at sounding sympathetic to their ears. That would be the easiest explanation. The soul of them was sucked out by Dr. Gaul forcing them into an illusion of a grotesque socialite. That’d explain away the project’s incessant speaking. 

Yet, the subject had tilted their head under his fingers. The slightest push against his grasp. 

“... Do you not like talking, Dr. Snow? Dr. Gaul always looks so happy when she’s talking.”

So they were trying to suck up to him. He locked his teeth. And to think, he was giving them a chance of redemption, by assuming that they had been conditioned to engage in meaningless conversation. Maybe he was wrong about their obedience. There was still a spark of a rebel within them regardless of their time, their experiences, in captivity. 

“I only ever see Dr. Gaul, so I got excited to see someone new. I’m sorry for upsetting you,”

They could’ve fooled him with that tone of voice. They sounded as dead as their eyes had looked. Yet, Coriolanus bit his bottom lip as the doubt touched his head; the subject’s stare, if he gazed deeply enough he felt as if he could almost make out a sullenness to them. Were they legitimately apologetic? He didn’t want to even know the answer, he just wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible. He let go of their chin, releasing it. Gloved fingers now traced the space between their shoulder and collarbone, the subject angling their neck to the other side to give him room. He brought the marker back down to their skin, more dotted lines appearing under his wake. 

“... What exactly is your relationship to Dr. Gaul, if I may ask?” He hated them, he decided. He hated how quickly they managed to rope him into this dumb small talk. It was almost audible, the sound of the subject blinking, feeling their gaze boring under the layers of his clothes. Did he say the wrong thing? Did they not want conversation? He adjusted the weight of his stance, uncomfortable under the silence the subject had unwillingly placed him in. Was he not doing what they wanted, was that not enough for them?

“Dr. Gaul is…” Their words trailed off. They were trying to find the words, unsure of what to say to him. They most likely didn’t want to try and insult her, considering her assistant was in the room with them. They don’t want to risk possibly earning more punishment. Project Prometheus may have been smarter than what he initially assumed. Coriolanus moved back to the posterior, hands trailed themselves across the subject’s shoulders, feeling, to remind him of the muscle underneath before he marked it down. Trapezius. 

“Dr. Gaul is my caretaker, I think.” 

Well isn’t that something unique. 

If the subject had decided to say captor, overseer, punisher, he wouldn’t have cared. It would’ve been honest. Caretaker? That was something different, that was something sympathetic. The thought of them turning this twisted dynamic into something heartfelt, fell sour on his tongue. It made him feel repulsion towards them. Why bother to lie? “Tell me about that.” His voice was soft, inviting the project to open themselves to him. As the marker continued to mark their skin, Coriolanus took one of its arms under his hand. The subject’s fingers twitched slightly, when he brought his hand under theirs. Their hand was not that big in comparison to his own, unable to fully fill out of his palm. The fingertips were usually the more sensitive parts, when it came to sensations. He hummed. Adductor pollicis. 

“...I’m not sure how to describe it well.” They sounded unsure. Spending this extended amount of time with them, Coriolanus could make out the slight tonal differences they had in their voice. It was very small, though. The muscles in his hands seem to slightly tense.

“Do your best for me.” 

Their fingertips, the slightly yellowed nails, tapped slightly at the latex material of his gloves. Almost as if fidgeting to gather the words, the right ones, to say to him. 

“Dr. Gaul has always been… someone there, I suppose.” Because she has to. “The guards are there too, but they don’t really notice me in the way Dr. Gaul does.” He wrote down on another part of the subject’s arm, drawing another dotted line. Brachioradialis. “Even though the tests kind of hurt, but I’m getting used to it now, she’s been the only one so far to give me a name, a birthday, check up on me, tell me about her day,” He was almost impressed at how their were trying to upsell the ‘normalcy’ of their captivity. A new name and birthday? Maybe the secret third child of Dr. Gaul wasn’t him, but actually them instead. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect of it. Coriolanus turns to the other side of their body, taking the other arm of the subject to write on after finishing the other. Biceps brachii. “That’s like a caretaker, right?” And now it was asking for his confirmation? It truly does want to appease him. He let out another hum, as if he was thinking to himself when he was going to go along with their delusions. “It sounds like Dr. Gaul cares a great deal for you.” He lied to them. 

Making his back to the anterior of the subject’s body, he stood in front of them, the subject tilting their head up to him. Project Prometheus was shorter, in comparison to him, standing at eye level against his chest. Latex touched the area of the linea alba, Coriolanus kept his gaze steady on them and they did the same. There was a silence that fell between them, but it felt so uninviting to him now that he finally had it. The subject still held their indifference, their apathy, and he wanted to know why it bothered him so much when he should like how easy of a prisoner they were being. No, there had to be something more. There was always something more. His fingers dragged down their skin, and his marker followed behind, writing down the names of the muscles he touched. The subject had moved their arms, and Coriolanus tensed for a second, thinking they were finally going to react, going to grab him, hit him, something – yet, their arms shifted away from the angle of his body, moving in to hold the muscles of the pectoralis major up in their hands, cupping them. They were making more room for him to write on their upper abdomen. 

Coriolanus loathed them. 

Had he had half the control, he would’ve smacked the stitched hands away. He liked it far more when they acted like a ragdoll, instead of this game of pacification it was trying to play. Writing down on the external oblique aponeurosis, he brought his hands back up their skin until it rested under their wrists. He held both their wrists on either hand. “Please, bring your hands down so I can continue mapping.” The words came out more as a whisper than he had intended. They instantly had listened to his command, letting their arms fall back on either side and their chest exposed to him. His eyes lingered briefly on the sight, taking in the small details that made the subject unique. The beauty mark on their left mammary gland, now in his line of sight. No longer blocked by the limit of only just a photo. There was that dry feeling in his mouth again. 

Carefully, bringing a hand up, gauging their reaction, he held one of the mammary glands in his free hand and a marker up in the other. Judging their face, they seemed neutral, no frown or smile, no wrinkle, no squint. He could assume there must have been discomfort under those dark pits for eyes. He knew that’s what he felt, doing this right now. Coriolanus wondered if it would have been better or worse, if Project Prometheus were to be more… reactionary. 

“Let me know if anything bothers you.” Dotted lines followed after his hand. He’d take it, the laborious small talk. It was much more preferred right now than this tortuous silence that had fallen between them. Thick and constricting, had it gone on any longer, Coriolanus knew he would drive himself internally insane if he was to be left alone to his own thoughts. If Project Prometheus had done nothing while he was holding onto their very own breasts in his hands. Had it been any other person, they would’ve squirmed under his touch. Possibly even a twitch to unconsciously move away, as the marker moved against the skin of the areola. The mapping of the right gland was dotted and marked completely. 

“You don’t bother me.” 

Now, that felt deliberate. 

Ink halted, stopping after writing out the final letter of the pectoralis minor. The words were written next to the beauty mark he had noted before. Coriolanus was tempted to make dotted lines around the area, as a place of special interest, though marks like these were no major muscle or nerve. Blue eyes had looked up through thick lashes, he slightly lifted his craned head up to get a better look at the subject. Peering towards their face, he didn’t know why he expected anything different. It was the same look of disinterest, the broken lights hung above them casted a haunting shadow over their face. Did he also look similar, when they stared back at him? In certain angles, despite the unnerving look the room had given them, Coriolanus might’ve thought their eyes seemed naturally soft towards him. Innocent, maybe. 

Did they see nothing wrong with what he was doing? … Or had all the tests and operations ruined not just their nerves, but fried them, that their sense of danger seemed near non-existent? 

Was this another form of appeasement that it was trying to pull on him? 

Unconsciously, his hands had released themselves, finally, from holding onto Project’s Prometheus’s breasts. Both now marked, his free hand slid down the expanse of their abdomen. The ridges and bumps of their scars and stitches were felt briefly, the full grasp of the sensation blocked by the barrier of latex rubber wrapped around his fingers. Not once did he look away from the subject as his hands made its way down, and neither did Project Prometheus. His hand stopped at the tensor fasciae latae. Something was wrapping itself around the cavity of his chest, making the activity of breathing a difficult feat for him to do. Coriolanus didn’t know what he was doing. Was he trying to garner a bigger reaction from it? An attempt of possibly stirring violence, even? 

Maybe it was delaying his own discomfort, he realized. Looking down, he stared to see the spread of skin below that had no splotches of black ink. They were shorter than him, he’d have to get down on his knees if he wanted to have clear and easy access to mark its legs. How humiliating… Having risen up through the ranks and bringing the Snow family back to its rightful place of acclaim and fortune; only to fall back down on his knees to a prisoner, a former rebel. If the other families caught wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Reluctantly, still holding onto their hip, his body moved itself to the floor. Knees touched against the uneven grout of the tiles, the position a bit awkward. He was thankful, for the surgical gown he wore, that the vile floor of the examination room wouldn’t stain against his clothes. Tracing his hand down to the stitch mark path of their leg, he rested it at the back of their thigh. Coriolanus tilted his head up, ready to command that Project Prometheus moved their leg more towards him. But, his words fell into a silent, held breath as he gazed up at them from his position. The shadow that had cascaded over their face briefly from before was now entirely enveloped around their body. Sickly green fluorescent lights shone above their head, akin to a haloing effect. Illuminated around the edges of their body, their hair, the subject still looking at him. Only him, and nothing else. A thrumming noise was loud in his ears; it felt dangerous. It felt like a warning that something was wrong here. He had felt it before.

Project Prometheus moved its leg forward, more into him, without a word ever spoken between the two of them. How pliant it was with him. 

He pressed the marker against their skin as thank you, dipping his head back down to their thigh. It would be risky, if he lost focus. There was still so much he had yet to know of the subject, the layers that were contained behind the flimsy shield of flesh and tissue. He dotted the area of the vastus medialis, careful not to press the ink against the subject’s stitches so as not to irritate the healing skin there. Maybe its attempts of appeasement were working on him. Not once did he think he’d have a shred of enough care to think about the possibility of ink seeping into their wounds. 

He marked down the region of the knee. Patella. 

“...You’re a very gentle person, Dr. Snow.” The subject spoke quietly, in a whisper just loud for him to hear. “You treat me so carefully, I barely feel a thing when you hold me.” 

It mistook his lightweight hands for kindness. Reality was that he was just wary about setting them off. 

“Does Dr. Gaul not treat you in the same manner?” The words came out softly from him. Reaching now the ankle of the subject, gloved hands reached down underneath the sole of its foot, lifting it up for better writing access. Instinctively, Project Prometheus placed their hands on either side of his shoulders so as to not fall. Their body leaned itself more into him, using him as a steady weight of support. The proximity of their small body bent over his, the glare of the fluorescent lights was entirely swallowed up, casting a dark shadow over him, blocking the light from reaching him. Could they feel, under their ragged fingers, the tenseness in his body at their action? If the subject wanted to, they could easily go in to attack him in this vulnerable position. He’d do the same if he was in their position. He continued to write, marker steady in hand. There would be no satisfaction to be gained for the subject, in seeing him stumble and cower. 

He wrote the words ‘abductor hallucis’ on their foot.

“She… does not treat me rough, no. If I had to describe it, I think the word for it is more… ‘inanimate’.” He doesn’t quite recall if a new law was passed that required captors to treat prisoners humanely. It sounded as if it was trying to recall certain words again. Should the exam go entirely smoothly with no problems, he might feel generous enough to convince Dr. Gaul to bring Project Prometheus a dictionary for them to study up on. Not like it would do much. It wasn’t like they had anyone to really practice their knowledge on. 

Coriolanus wondered what the prisoner was exactly before all this, back when they were formerly Capital. They lacked the air of dignity and ignorance that most Capital elites donned well, but maybe that could be attributed to their decay while staying here. Or perhaps the prisoner had come from a small, simple family. The kind that handled all the manual labor that the Capital never liked to speak loud about. The workers who were hardly ever seen, or acknowledged. That could explain why he never heard any recent fuss over a family’s child being ‘sent away’. No one would ever care for a background prop. 

It held onto his shoulders more tightly, as he adjusted the subject’s position. It didn’t want to topple over him. 

Project Prometheus's right foot now marked accordingly, he placed its foot back down on the rotten floor. Ready to reach his hand to hold onto their left, the subject moved without the need for his touch. The left leg was gestured forward for him. How sweet of them to realize a pattern. “I don’t mind it, though. As long as she still talked to me.” How fascinating. The subject was pacified by the easy act of conversation. Such a simple thing to be pleased by, Coriolanus could think they were joking. Regardless of how things were going so far, he still didn’t forget it. The bloodstains on the halls was something he could not erase so easily. That suggested, no, it told him, that Project Prometheus had something up their sleeve still. Though, nothing had occurred. Nothing had happened because they were still speaking to each other. Coriolanus continued to write on its foot. Lumbrical.

“...Do you get upset if she doesn’t speak to you?” 

He couldn’t help but ask. 

He wanted to know. He needed to know. 

“...I get lonely, and sad.” Was it trying to downplay its emotional reactions to him? “I wonder if it's because I did something wrong to upset her.” If a prisoner of his tried to fight back numerous times during their captivity, he’d get annoyed too. It was strange, though. Coriolanus knew that morals and values were of no concern for Dr. Gaul, especially against rebels. Any torture, punishment, placed on them was not seen as being done onto another person, but just another animal, a specimen in her collection. It would not be above Dr. Gaul to cut off a limb, or two, to get a prisoner to stop fighting. So… why not do the same here? Perhaps, this form of mental and emotional punishment was more lethal than he assumed. Another curious test from the mad woman, it was impossible to ever understand her whims. 

“Sometimes, I think it might be one of her tests.”

Coriolanus didn’t say those words. 

He didn’t like this. Such a statement, spoken so simply, brought him a sick swirl of unease. 

The movement of ink had halted, yet his mind continued to race. The thin hairs at the back of his neck stood at its ends, and he held tightly onto the marker in his hand. Quietly, carefully, he placed the plantar surface of Project Prometheus’s foot back down on the uneven tiles below the both of them. Reaching his hands up to his shoulders, where the subject’s extensor retinaculum were, he held onto it firmly. The subject put up no sign of objection. Sweat was slowly building up under the tight material of the gloves he donned on, but it was not a sweltering warmth. It was a cold, clammy sensation. 

“What do you mean by ‘one of her tests’?” Punctuating the words at the end, he kept his tone inquisitive, curious. Perhaps, a dabble of suspicion. Not towards the subject, but more towards the matter. What was needed in this situation was caution, and he’d be a gutted fool if he was to let the rebel become aware of how much the question startled him to his core. For right now, he’d play the gentle, confused assistant that it assumed of him before. He already told the lie of it knowing Dr. Gaul better than he did. 

“Her tests,” 

It spoke as if he knew! He knew very well what it was. What once was a flash of fear, had become a steady stream of anger. He knew because he is Dr. Gaul’s assistant. It was his job to follow in the steps she’s placed out for him, and more. Why would a prisoner, a subject, know about the ways Dr. Gaul operated? How much does Dr. Gaul tell it in these ‘conversations’? 

It made him sick, that the lie he told before could actually become true. 

“I never notice it until it’s done, until she tells me at the end. She never shares the results with me.” For once, he is tempted to strip his pride and beg for more details. “Most days, it’ll be physical tests, like today. Others, it’s more… talking, or writing.” 

“Writing?” 

It came out quickly before he could properly think his words over. He doesn’t recall seeing possible writing exams in Subject A01’s report. To be fair to himself, he did skim it briefly since he was only just now introduced to the project. There wasn’t much time for him to familiarize himself with all the tiny details written inside. At least, the things that were legible. 

“Dr. Gaul hands me scraps of paper and just asks me to write what I think. Like uh, a journal…I guess.” Keeping a diary couldn’t be the only test Dr. Gaul was having it do. If writing random streams of thought was enough to be intellectually challenging, he wouldn’t be seeing students at the University fighting to win passing grades. “I don’t understand the reason why, and I never remember what I write. My memory is not the best.” It was giving him an excuse to try and shift the conversation. How funny it was, trying to take control of the situation. He’d never let such a thing happen. In this examination room, there was only one person and a subject, the dynamic that was at play was clear. The grip Coriolanus had on their extensor retinaculum tightened, an unconscious movement on his part. Project Prometheus had taken in a soft breath of air at the action, the sound loud enough between the both of them. Had it not come from a prisoner, what a sweet sound it could’ve been. 

“Could you explain it to me,” His voice came out softly, despite the gnawing irritation that he held back. The tight grasp he had loosened, one hand stroking down a careful thumb down the stitched wrist of the subject in gentle circles. He shifted in his kneeled position, adjusting to a more comfortable weight as the layers he wore started to wear at him, an uncomfortable shift. Wearing the surgical uniform could be sweltering. Tilting his head up slightly to gaze up at the subject, praying that his eyes did not betray and reveal his inner thoughts. “Try to remember.” 

Coriolanus could’ve sworn he saw a slight falter, a tremble, in the dark optics of Project Prometheus. Its supercilium furrowed just the slightest inch upwards; did it look apologetic? The first visible change of expression he’s witnessed in the time he’s spent here in this examination room, and it’s one of regret. The subject’s fingers twisted itself into the fabric of his surgical gown, opening its mouth partially as they sought the right sound, the right word. He could make out the faint peeks of its canines. 

“... I’m sorry, Dr. Snow. I can’t remember at all,” They breathed out, in admission, surrendering. It treated it as a guilty confession. 

“Not a thing?” He whispered softly to them, prompting them to speak more. Coriolanus applauded himself internally, for how sympathetic he sounded. 

The subject shook its head. 

“My memory is not good.” Again, it reaffirmed its previous statement. 

Was his question that hard? Surely, specks of small details, flashes of imagery, that would be sufficient enough of an answer for him. He wasn’t asking for a full essay of their inner workings ( though, he wouldn’t mind it ). However, as both their eyes continued locked in a stare, his thumb slowed its movements. The leathered finger stopping at the center junction of its stitches, the feel of the raised, textured skin apparent under the feel of the material. Project Prometheus was being sincere. Its face hadn’t changed, its body had not moved away from him. Dare he say, the minimal space between them; something he did not mind earlier before, had become much more apparent in his feverish mind. The subject answered him so honestly, it made his suspicions of before seem so ridiculous now. One thing did nag at him though, the writing, the insistence of journaling, the memory. 

…

“... Do you remember how long you’ve been here?” Two years ago, Coriolanus recalled. Two years ago, that was when he was abandoned in District 12. When Dr. Gaul had started the experiment on Subject A01, busying herself with curiosities while he was drowning himself in depravities and vices, waiting out like a dog for some form of mercy to reach him. 

A new, tense silence consumed them both. He watched the subject carefully, taking note of the slightest movement that could give any indication of anything more. Tracing with his eyes, following how Project Prometheus’s cuspid snagged at their chapped bottom lip. A faint flush of red spread across the muscle, from the pressure exerted on it. Unconsciously, it reminded him of how dry his own mouth felt, the hoarse sensation in his throat. He darted out his own tongue for a brief moment to wet his own mouth, hidden underneath the surgical mask he wore. Nothing was being said between them, but yet there was so much being told. A fierce feeling was soaring, running through the veins of Coriolanus; he knew what it meant and he feared for it. Not for what the answer could be, but what it possibly could bring up. 

“You don’t remember how you got it here at all, do you?” His voice was so hushed, spoken as if taboo. It gave him the same feeling of it, the rush as the blood was entering his head and his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

A form of dissociative amnesia. 

Project Prometheus had developed gaps in memory due to an extended amount of isolation and exposure to severe trauma. It all clicked in Coriolanus’s head. He understood now what Dr. Gaul was attempting to achieve in her games with the subject. The tests, the daily conversations, the journal writing – Dr. Gaul was examining the subject’s mental decay as part of the Project’s ongoing research. Not only has the woman deteriorated and changed the way the prisoner’s nerves had worked, but their mind as well. Is continuing the Project even viable to do anymore? It was a form of punishment. Would it be ethical to operate on a being of flesh, when the subject no longer knew what it was being punished for? The question would most likely give Dr. Gaul a kick of joy. She loved to ponder questions worthy of debate. Coriolanus wouldn’t put it past the woman if she already gave the inquiry out to one of her classes in a lecture hall. 

“I vaguely do,” 

His eyebrows rose in interest. 

“But only in subtle feelings.” 

Nevermind. 

“I think I experienced some form of confusion. And bits of anger, too. Dr. Gaul… For a moment, I used to be so scared of her. Now, I can’t even remember the reason why.” 

Project Prometheus’s indifference, Coriolanus realized, it was not just solely based on apathy. What had become of it was a blank state, unsure of how to process things so the mind refused to process it all. But, it was still something highly susceptible to influences, shown in how Project Prometheus had become conditioned like Pavolv Dog, to associate Dr. Gaul’s silence with anger and disappointment, and her socialness with satisfaction and joy. It all was dawning on him. He could see it now, why Dr. Gaul was so disturbingly fascinated by this project. Gloved hands moved away from the subject’s wrist, and reached out to lay in gentle manner against the side of their bare thighs. The subject allowed him to, never raising a sign of objection. Could he teach it to experience anger once more, when he treated their body like this? Maybe discomfort, disgust, despair - he wanted to show their blank canvas of a mind what it felt like to fully immerse themselves in these ugly emotions. He knew why they were like this, but there still was a lingering crumb of vexation directed at the subject. Somehow, in their newfound state, they still felt far more free than he ever did; how they almost felt nothing, and he had to feel everything. 

And yet, there was another thought that touched him. He wondered, if he spent enough time with the subject, could he too, be able to condition them to other things. They thought of him as merciful, kind, in comparison to Dr. Gaul. Could he make Project Prometheus worship him, and in the same quiet breaths they were fond of, resent him? The thought of making them accustomed to anticipating his attendance, and lamenting his absence sounded tempting. 

How nice it would be, to have someone other than a deranged crone enjoy his presence. 

Tigris certainly didn’t anymore. 

Coriolanus rose himself from the ground, gripping on the meat of Project’s Prometheus’s flesh to lift him. Under his touch, the pliant stretch of skin and tissue made the subject remove their hands from his shoulders. Another faint breath escaped their exhale. It was a sound he was slowly getting used to. Back to their original height difference, he no longer had to crane his head up to look at the subject. The subject had to lift their head up to look up at him, now. What did Project Prometheus see, in their gaze as they stared at him, Coriolanus thought. Was he too, consumed in shadow and bathed under the gritty lights of the examination room like they once had? 

“We’re done with the mark-up.” It took him a moment to move away from the subject. “We’ll move to holding the nerve exam now, after I administer a low dosage of your medication.” 

The uncapped, black marker was placed back down on the metal tray, aside from the examination table. Replacing its empty space was now the syringe he had filled out before, the dark color swishing as he picked it up. The needle gleamed under the fluorescent light. Turning his back around, Project Prometheus had already sat themselves up nicely on the edge of the examination table for him. Their legs dangled off, their hands held at the edges of the worn-out leather cushion, eyes fixated on his person. They were waiting for him. He’s almost bothered, how easily the subject could anticipate his next set of commands. He hoped that this was just due to routine, not because he had become easy to read. Coming up to meet them there, the only sound that filled the air was the sole of his shoes stepping against the tiles. Gloved fingers reached to grab at the jaw of Project Prometheus, the syringe held close to their face. It shone particularly brilliant, mere inches away from their face. The subject showed him no fear, no resistance, despite the way the skin of the cheeks had moved under his grasp. 

Already, he wanted to break them.

“Show me where to inject you.” 

He’d be sweet, Coriolanus would let them pick where it was most comfortable for him to inject the medication in. Project Prometheus complied immediately to him, holding on the hand that held their needle to adjust the position. They guided him to the back of their neck, moving their hair to make space. To reward their compliance, he pricked the syringe quickly under the skin, careful not to touch an artery or nerve. The dark liquid inside the barrel slowly filled out, emptying itself as he pushed the plunger down. The subject did not let out a sound, a favorable contrast to Livia, who waited for him outside these Citadel walls. 

He was going to mold them into something useful.