Burn Down, Rebuild

He remembers the explosion in the church sanctuary. He remembers panicked screams and a choking gas that filled the air. He remembers shadows moving through the crowd and cloud as he struggled to hold his breath, as his body gave out from under him and he collapsed into a senseless heap on the floor.

He remembers waking up in a cold, dark room. Alone. Vaguely, he's aware of what must have happened, but that's all he can manage as whatever drug is filtering through his body continues to rend him incapable of anything else, even lifting his head.

"Don't worry, katzchen," an unfamiliar and heavily accented voice murmurs from somewhere in the room, chilling his blood. "He'll come for you soon."

Somehow, he knows who the 'he' is that the voice is referring to, and he only gives a weak bark of hopeless laughter in response before a needle slides into the back of his neck like a bee sting and awareness floats out of his grasp again.

He remembers not being able to tell how time passes in this room. His only way of knowing that anything happens at all is by when he wakes and is put down again, and by the days that the unseen voice counts off to him whenever he's conscious.

"It's been two weeks, but have faith. I'm sure he's searching for you as we speak."

No. No he's not. No one is. They don't believe in 'no man left behind'.

"Just a little longer, katzchen. The next time you wake, you probably won't be here anymore."

Yes, he will. They don't care. They've probably replaced him already.

He remembers a sudden, blinding light. He remembers a shadow standing before him, remembers a hand reaching out and sliding fingers through his hair, then down his cheek with all the care of a mother comforting a frightened child.

"It hurts, doesn't it, katzchen? Knowing that you mean so little to him. That he would abandon you to rot here. But don't worry. We can take away the pain and make you all better. We can make you something worth finding."

The prick of the needle has become achingly familiar to him, and he doesn't even flinch as the metal presses into his neck this time.

Then he remembers no more.

______________________________________________________________________________________


He hummed absently to himself as he strolled into the lab, a folder of statistics under his arm and a feeling something like giddiness settled in his stomach. New projects were one thing, but new projects that he had all the free time in the world to work on... now those were rare. It was so nice of his commander to let him have his play before getting down to business. Made one feel appreciated, it did.

Making sure the subject was secured to the table, he flipped open the folder.

"Hm...good health, fairly young, already shows signs of mental instability, both deep rooted and due to conditions of earlier confinement..."

He read down the rest of the notes, then closed the folder and set it aside on the table, a slow grin crossing his face. Oh, yes. This would be fun.

Deciding what to do first had been the hardest part, but in the end, his choice came down to a little bit of logic and a little bit of play. To properly rebuild his project from the foundation up, he would have to strip the man's memories anyway eventually. But if he did it now, he gained the added pleasure of his project being a blank slate from the start.

A delicious little shiver went up his spine at the thought of what he could do with that, and he began laying out a series of little glass bottles before carefully and meticulously preparing the syringes. The man on the table was still unconscious, but he had little doubt that the sedatives wouldn't affect the results of the chemical cocktail in the slightest. Beginning to hum to himself again, he picked up the first syringe and filled it.

"Just lie still," he cooed to the senseless man as he checked to make sure there was no air in the needle, then leaned over the supine figure, pulling the man's shirt collar away from his neck. "You won't feel a thing... yet."

***************

He'd been impressed that, even with his memories nothing but ashes, his project still had some skill with a blade, as he discovered the hard way when he'd undone the straps to begin the next stage of his experimenting, and had nearly taken one of his own scalpels in the eye. That hadn't been in the records he'd been given, and he would have to alter his original order of ideas to accommodate such a change, but this could be most useful indeed. Latent skill meant less time training, and more time perfecting. Which meant more time for play.

Once he'd gotten the straps re-secured over his once again sedated project, he weighed his new options. Unbinding was clearly out of the question at this stage, but there were still... other possibilities. Like a few certain little vials that had been waiting in a corner of the lab for months for a proper human test subject.

Ooh, now that was a promising little burst of inspiration.

Making his way over to the cabinet, he selected the harmless looking red and clear liquids that had already been marked as having not killed the mice they'd been tested on. The colors had been his own little joke, really. Red for blocking pain, clear for blocking pleasure. Or at least those had been the original intents for their creation. While he could always make more for that purpose, he decided a few little alterations would be in order with the formulas of the four particular bottles in his hands.

After all, there were so many lovely things that could be done with such chemicals, and not all of them entirely for the cause of completing the project.

He wound up only altering two of the clear colored bottles, but that would do well enough for what play he had in mind. Filling a syringe with a mixture of the contents of the first and one of the red bottles, he pressed the needle into his sleeping captive's neck, then leaned against the table to wait for an effect. It was when seemingly nothing had changed -no flush, no quickened breathing, nothing- well after the drugs should have finished seeping into his project's system that he wondered if perhaps the dosage hadn't been enough, or something had been off in his calculations. Still, just to make sure...

The bound man jerked and woke with a sharp gasp when he brushed fingers lightly down a clothed chest, and the grin returned. Aha, so there just needed to be a minor catalyst. A useful thing to know, really. The grin widened at the uncomfortable squirm and the look of mixed confusion and fear the man gave him at finding himself bound, and he shifted his hand to brush affectionately through long hair. "Hello, little pet. Don't fret so, we're going to have fun."

He had to be careful -one never knew when squirming might turn to fighting, after all, and he really preferred not chancing his eye again- but with a little extra force and knowledge of a few key pressure points, he managed to get his captive re-bound with the man's hands over his head. "Much better," he said cheerfully as he unbuttoned vest and shirt. The scars revealed were, like the sword abilities, a bit of a surprise, but hardly an unpleasant one, and he rather enjoyed making his captive pant and twist by digging his nails into them. "Isn't it wonderful, pet, only being able to feel good?"

There had been some worry, at first, when he'd found that one of the side effects of his patient having his memories stripped had been loss of coherent speech. But that was something that could always be re-tought if the Major found it necessary, he decided. And a little more for his own reasons, he decided that the bitten off, almost animalistic gasps and whimpers were much more pleasing to hear anyway.

He drew the scalpel down again, etching another shallow, bloody line into his project's skin and licking his lips at the soft hiss that brought. The process of cutting the man's pants off got an entirely different reaction, but he stilled the struggling by pressing his free hand against the wounds on his captive's stomach. "Now, now, none of that, pet," he chided lightly as he tossed the ruined cloth into a garbage can. "Just behave and relax."

The only response was a strangled groan as fingertips slid up the inside of his captive's thigh, but that was just fine by him. "It's amazing, isn't it, the difference a few extra hormones or chemicals can make?" he asked in an almost mockingly soothing tone as he forced several gloved and bloody fingers into the man's body at once, earning writhing and a sharp wail. "I could put a blade in here, and you would only beg me for more. I won't... It would be a shame to ruin such a lovely piece of work before it's ever finished. But that doesn't mean we can't play a little."

***************

He had given his project a brief reprieve, so the bound man was asleep when the Major dropped in for a briefing visit.

"How goes it so far?"

He didn't look up as he finished washing the blood off his hands. "Quite well. His memories have been stripped, and he is now impervious to pain. I'll begin working on emotions next, then the physical capabilities."

"Good. Very good. How many more alterations do you think he will require?"

Glancing up out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his superior regarding his project with a well practiced eye, and a slow grin crossed his lips as he dried his hands and made his way over, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "We want him to be able to face the Paladin if it comes to that, do we not? It will probably take several treatments."

"Take your time." There was no missing the appreciative spark that touched his superior's smirk, and his own grin widened as the shorter man reached over and brushed long hair out of his project's blood-spattered face. "Quality is more important than quantity in this regard, especially if we are to rattle the fanatics as much as we'd like."

He nodded as his commander left, then regarded his captive before returning to the cabinet full of chemical vials. "Ah, it was sweet while it lasted, but time to get to the serious part. We don't want to keep him waiting too long, now do we, pet? I thought not."

Still, it would be a bit of a pity to have to burn away emotions like he'd done memories. He'd grown to love that look of mixed hate and fear that his project had begun giving him during their play sessions. It was so sweet to watch the play of emotions, the inability of the man to comprehend where he was, how he'd gotten here, or why this was happening...and not have to give an answer. "It's for the better, though. Can't have you forming attachments to your targets." Mixing together yet another brew of chemicals, he prepared another syringe.

By the time he had finished, his project had awakened -albeit groggily- and attempted to squirm away, despite the bindings, when he saw the needle. "Shh," he soothed in response to the terrified noise as he caught his captive by the hair to hold his head still. "After this, you won't ever have to worry about being afraid again."

He drew back slightly and pulled the needle out of the syringe, watching with a faintly pleased smile as the bound and wide-eyed man began to thrash against the leather straps as his creation began to leech its way into his nervous system. When the writhing finally calmed to only the occasional faint twitch, he leaned in close again and cupped his project's cheek with a hand, picking up a cloth to wipe away sweat and blood from ash pale skin with the other. "Look at me, pet."

Blank, hollow eyes opened and focused vaguely on him, and that feeling of glee in his stomach gave a tiny twist. "Very good. Now we improve the rest of you to match. We'll start with regeneration, yes?"

Not so much as a flicker of feeling this time, but his project did subtly lean into his hands a little, and he was pleased as he went to prepare the next batches of injections. "If you continue to do so well, perhaps this won't take as long as I had suggested to the Major. I'm sure he'll be pleased with you as well."

It was two weeks to the day later that he undid the leather straps for the last time. "Stand for me and follow, pet." Guiding his newly completed project into the shower off to the side of the lab, he thoroughly washed the man down after finally taking off the vest and clerical collar for good. After all, now it was time for the presentation part of the experiment, and any good scientist knew that the appearance could be just as important as all the information contained in the final results.

He had made several minor alterations for appearance's sake over the course of this little metamorphosis, and it was only after considerable thought that he decided to leave his project's hair long instead of cutting it to match most of the other soldiers. One didn't interfere too much with something already aesthetically pleasing, after all, and that pale blond would look quite pretty against the uniform of an entirely different sort that he had in mind. Leaving the other man to finish washing up, he went and laid out clothing on the lab table, then called his project in to dress.

One piece after another of the chosen uniform, the younger man obediently followed instructions and allowed him to make adjustments, and when they had finished, he stood back to scrutinize the results, then clapped his hands in approval, beaming at the changes he had wrought.

"Perfect. Shall we go properly meet your new master, then?"