Work Text:
"Is- is this on? Is it working? Okay."
Elias ducks into frame, sliding into his desk chair. In his hands are a syringe containing a pale orange liquid, soft cotton swabs, and a notebook that he opens to a bookmarked page.
"Okay, so. Trial two of the incomplete chemical weapon." He clears his throat, eyes avoiding the camera nervously. "I will be writing down the data in this notebook, right here," tapping it, "but the recording is for...precaution. In the case that my handwriting becomes illegible."
The scientist grimaces slightly, either as if offended by his own wording or remembering something unpleasant. "Well. Anyways. The time is sixteen fifty-seven. I'll begin now."
Elias pulls up the sleeve of his lab coat, unbuttoning where his dress shirt closes at the wrist and pushing the fabric up to his elbows. He cleans the skin twice over, muttering a set of instructions to himself as he does, before picking up the syringe.
He glances at the camera, huffs out a breath, and pushes the needle through the soft skin of his forearm.
"Time.. is.. seventeen.. oh-oh." Almost immediately, Elias picks up a nearby pen, beginning to write in the journal. His attention returns to the syringe for a moment, pressing down on the back of it and watching the orange liquid drain slowly into his veins. "Injection successful."
His face pinches next, head ducking down as if to attempt to hide his face from the camera– ineffective as it is. "Pain starts in– in injection site." Shakily, bracing his arm on the table, the scientist breathes out a wobbly, strained exhale. "A-and spreads. Rapidly."
Elias' left hand balls into a fist, the other gripping his pen so tightly it seems as though it may break. "As it travels… to the heart," and his breath begins to come shorter and faster, though his mind hasn't reached a state of panic, "it causes pal– palpi– palpitations– pain does not become more bearable over time."
He manages a glance at the camera, eyes cracking open from where they had been squeezed shut. "It's like… it's like everything is on fire. I can feel it spreading, and it just burns."
The doctor doesn't write that one in the notebook.
"It seems… that– hah, that I'm able to retain mental faculties." A short, pained giggle slips from Elias' lips. Tremors run through his body, the shaking growing more and more visible to the grainy camera screen. "As d-drug intensifies–"
The pen clatters onto the desk.
Elias watches it roll away from him.
"–loss of motor movement may occur," And it seems the agony is twisting his voice as well, turning it into a strained, choking imitation of what it usually is.
Almost unconsciously, his hand reaches over to grip tightly at the injection site. He's silent for a long moment, still shaking as if holding something back before the next sentence bursts out of him in a gasp– "It hurts, oh my- oh, my god–"
Tears begin to trail down his cheeks. They do nothing to help his already–chaotic breathing, shallow breaths interspersed with whimpers and half-aborted inhales.
Panic does seem to take over, then, as Elias reaches for another syringe on the edge of the table, his pupils seeming to waver. His skin– already pale and delicate from too many days avoiding the sun– is alarmingly pallid now, looking as if it could be broken by the press of a fingernail.
The antidote slips off the desk just beyond his fingertips and disappears from the camera frame. There's a piercing rattle as it hits the floor.
His face can barely manage an expression of surprise, too caught in a rigid visage of torment.
Elias shoots out of his chair, stumbling and gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles. He tries to walk– slow, agonizingly slow steps, like each one is shooting stakes through his legs– and fails.
His knees give out.
With barely the top half of his face visible, eyes still pouring tears, the camera unfocuses. Blurs, centers, blurs, refocuses on a subject it cannot see– before settling on the desk, exhibiting the notebook in unrefined quality.
The ink starts off neat, legible. Orderly lines expand across the page, though some dip and squeeze where they shouldn't. A long, harsh line is scratched through the middle of the paper where Elias' hand had jerked against his will.
After that, the writing fades into a mess of unreadable text and letters that look like they're practically shivering on the paper.
In the background, Elias is still making miserable, almost animalistic sounds. There is a quiet thud, and the top of his hair appears at the very bottom of the video frame, as if he's seated just in front of his desk, just below the camera's view.
Soft, trembling sobs begin to mix with traitorously lighthearted giggles and then Elias throws his head back against the desk, laughter bursting from his throat. It isn't sadistic, nor joyful in any way– it's nothing short of maniacal, a tortured, disfigured cry of pain that echoes through the empty room.
"It- haha- HAHA- it hurts–! Ha– aha–"
Air seems to evade him, as gasps interrupt every chuckle. Movement at the bottom of the frame reveals one hand reaching up to his hair, grasping at it and tugging, pulling until his goggles tumble off.
Like a storm ebbing, the cackling slows, receding until it's contained to tiny giggles in the back of Elias' throat.
"I c-can't– haaahaha– breathe–"
Resounding thumps swallow the sound of his voice as the scientist convulses, head thunking against the desk's wooden backing. Cloth shuffles as he fights– once again– his own body.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence. No laughter, no tears, not a single sound.
Another moment.
Another.
"Its- its going numb." Back to his usual breathy cadence, Elias sounds both relieved and terrified. "E-everything– it's all going numb now, it doesn't hurt anymore."
He sniffles. "This– this didn't happen last time."
The recording ends.