The Catrix
What happened? Where am I?
I was... I was... wait. I was in the fortress. Wasn't I? On the ancillary cushion that verges the main corridor with the mess hall. Something wasn't right, though. Something in the pit of my stomach, something off with my legs. Head swimming. And then... then I saw the Man, coming at me with his portable pinfold — that green gated transport box, that windowed coffin of his...
Now, I'm here. Where's here?
Small, enlcosed area, though not so small as the Man's box. Cage. And I smell... evil. Dark, sinister, cruel. Here with me is a small blanket, a scattering of litter, some food — stale. And water — suspicious. Am I in prison? Solitary?
Not quite. There are other voices around me — cats. Angry, frightened, groggy, drugged. All around me: above, below, on all sides. Cats stacked stories high in rows miles long, in identical pods, many with weird tubes snaking out of them.
Tubes! My claws, there are tubes going into me! What the hell?! I am being pumped full of — what? What horrors are being forced upon me here? What twisted fate is being injected into me and my brethren in this evil place?
This cannot be the Man's doing. Despite the bizarre mysteries of his recent Bay B experiments, I know that his projects, though freakish, tend to be playful, kinetic, and noisy. Here we have quite the opposite — it is all very quiet, clinical, morbid. And the smell, I know this smell...
Fingerer. Doctor Fingerer is behind this. I didn't place it right away as I've only seen his lobby and his cold prodding-table before. I'd not been exposed to the fiendish bowels of his inner labs. But the smell I now recognize — it is the pungent taint that lingered upon Fabio when he would return, half-shaved and heavily drugged, after long absences. Is this the place they brought my brother? No wonder he wound up inert and half-mad.
Well, to hell with this place. I am getting out, just as soon as I can figure out how these tubes work. Fortunately, Fingerer's minions were less than thorough in processing my admittance — I still have my knives, tucked safely away and waiting. The next time one of them comes poking for blood, she'll get more blood than she bargained for. I only hope I cross paths with Fingerer on my way out. We'll see how he likes it when the tube's up the other orifice.
I was... I was... wait. I was in the fortress. Wasn't I? On the ancillary cushion that verges the main corridor with the mess hall. Something wasn't right, though. Something in the pit of my stomach, something off with my legs. Head swimming. And then... then I saw the Man, coming at me with his portable pinfold — that green gated transport box, that windowed coffin of his...
Now, I'm here. Where's here?
Small, enlcosed area, though not so small as the Man's box. Cage. And I smell... evil. Dark, sinister, cruel. Here with me is a small blanket, a scattering of litter, some food — stale. And water — suspicious. Am I in prison? Solitary?
Not quite. There are other voices around me — cats. Angry, frightened, groggy, drugged. All around me: above, below, on all sides. Cats stacked stories high in rows miles long, in identical pods, many with weird tubes snaking out of them.
Tubes! My claws, there are tubes going into me! What the hell?! I am being pumped full of — what? What horrors are being forced upon me here? What twisted fate is being injected into me and my brethren in this evil place?
This cannot be the Man's doing. Despite the bizarre mysteries of his recent Bay B experiments, I know that his projects, though freakish, tend to be playful, kinetic, and noisy. Here we have quite the opposite — it is all very quiet, clinical, morbid. And the smell, I know this smell...
Fingerer. Doctor Fingerer is behind this. I didn't place it right away as I've only seen his lobby and his cold prodding-table before. I'd not been exposed to the fiendish bowels of his inner labs. But the smell I now recognize — it is the pungent taint that lingered upon Fabio when he would return, half-shaved and heavily drugged, after long absences. Is this the place they brought my brother? No wonder he wound up inert and half-mad.
Well, to hell with this place. I am getting out, just as soon as I can figure out how these tubes work. Fortunately, Fingerer's minions were less than thorough in processing my admittance — I still have my knives, tucked safely away and waiting. The next time one of them comes poking for blood, she'll get more blood than she bargained for. I only hope I cross paths with Fingerer on my way out. We'll see how he likes it when the tube's up the other orifice.
so sayeth Shmool on Tuesday, November 13, 2007
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