Wings, hearts

Some things are meant to be torn apart

Faith, hope

Some things are meant to be gone broke

***

"I understand the inconvenience, but as I am currently in New York, attending any form of gathering within the next five hours will be incredibly difficult."

"They refused to reschedule. I tried to-"

"I am not a slave to my investors. If they want to go to a meeting where I am not present, I will not stop them. Show them to a boardroom. Let them wait."

"That's not going to go over-"

"I cannot drop everything merely because Mrs. Budare mixed up her calend-"

"She said you approved-"

"Do not interrupts me."

"Sorry, sir."

Ferrall extends the silence, determined to make him stew in his mistake. "...I will speak to her about her error when I have the time. I am paid for progress and I will not halt it for new blood."

"Of course, sir."

He readjusts the phone balanced by his shoulder into his hand. "When I have finished with this meeting, I will have Mrs. Budare send you more appropriate hours. Preferably when I am actually in the same country."

"They seemed quite upset. I'm concerned they might pull out of the deal."

"They won't." Ferrall sees the door open from the corner of his eyes. "Offer them the chance to reschedule once they calm down. They are attempting to assure dominance, but they will not want to miss out on this opportunity. Do not oversell it. Let them come to you. Capisci?"

"Capisco."

"Brilliant." Ferrall adjusts the fabric over his hands, flexing experimentally. "Then I will leave business in your capable hands. ArrivederLa."

He hangs up before setting his phone on the table next to him, slipping the hazmat mask over his head. He studies the huffy rabbit through the mirror, evidently unable to catch a break.

"What do you need?"

"I want to talk about specimen Raphael," Karl watches as he picks up his tools, making his way over to the metal door. Ferrall pauses, irritation in his tone, "I believe we already discussed the matter."

"Then I want to reopen discussions."

"One moment."

He turns the handle and shuts the door behind him, making sure it's sealed before opening the second one only a few feet ahead. He's greeted with a room bathed in only a faint light, barely enough to see the steps directly in front of him. He removes the flashlight from the pack and makes his way to the center of the room, ignoring the flitting shapes around him. He stops by the table and begins unpacking the needed tools as he waits for one of them to get brave-

There we are.

He is splattered in the face with a dose of yellow particles. He blinks instinctively as his hands come up to snatch his assailant, listening to the startled screech of what one could mistake as an out-of-water jelly fish. Its roots squirm and flail as he lays it on the table and lifts the surgical blade that he manufactured with specific purpose.

It screeches. He separates the pileus from the stem.

The roots fall limp and he slices the stem into five even parts, placing them into one of two jars. He carefully removes the eyes from the pileus and drops them in with the roots, turning his attention to the most important part of the creature. He takes his time in removing the spores and begins packing up when none of the others that lurk in the shadows dare come close.

He wouldn't have minded more samples, but he has places to be.

For now, he is content with the one.

He exits the room and the door clicks shut behind him. His hazmat suit is showered and dried in chemically altered disinfectant for three solid minutes and then the door opens automatically. He enters the room as an impatient Karl taps his foot at a cartoonish pace, scowling at him as he removes the suit.

Ferrall is used to such a temper, so he is expertly ignored.

He slips back on his lab coat, and only once his means of control is on his person does the scientist allow the subject to be reopened. "We must move on to the next phase. I've learned as much as I can in the allotted time frame for study. My serum is ready. Raphael is weakened. The requirements have been met, so we move on."

"Yeah, but if you break this one, you only have three more." Karl points out as he removes the jars from the confines of the bag. "If your other mutants didn't work, what makes you think changing an Natural will?"

"I understand that this one is more entertaining than the previous, but I let you have your fun."

Ferrall sets the jar in large hands. As long as he's present, the mutant might as well make himself useful.

He grabs his phone and leaves the room. He's confident his assistant will follow as he heads down the hall, composing an email for the women taking the fall for his recent change in plans. He keeps the message kind and apologetic, making sure she knows where the fault lies, as well as a mental note to send her something to prove his lack of ill will.

He doubts she'll mind. It wouldn't be the first time.

A door clicks shut and then hurried footsteps catch up. "But Doc-"

"Even if there was logic to further study," Ferrall interrupts contemplatively. "I do not have the time. Raphael's little stunt has already thrown us off and now that he's well enough to survive on his own, I'll have to take the chance. Of course, this is all pertaining to if the drug reacts as expected. After the next stage finishes, you can have all the fun you want."

"But what if he breaks?" Karl huffs. "Like, really does? Then he won't be any fun."

"There is too much fire in him to be put out so easily." Ferrall dismisses as he nods to a group of passing guards headed to the stairwell. "He would be useless to me otherwise."

"Useful for what-?"

"Bounderies, Karl." He puts his phone away. "Don't overstep."

"...Yes, Ferrall."

Ferrall strides to the lab door and inputes the code in the recently installed pad. It pops open with a satisfying hiss and he eases it the rest of the way, giving him the perfect view of a very unwelcome sight.

His specimen trembles and wheezes from his place on the operating table, slumped forward with thick liquid dripping down his chin and onto the puddle on the floor. A sheen of sweat covers his body, face pinched in an expression of anguish, which is the only part of this entire view that isn't unexpected.

An obscenity slips out as he darts from the door, ignoring Karl's startled exclamation behind him as it slams his shoulder. He heads for the monitors to check Raphael's vitals, comparing the estimates on his clipboard to the screen to make sure nothing has bypassed the realm of danger.

With a dismissive order for Karl to clean up the mess, he reviews them all a second time.

Blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate, oxygen levels- everything seemed to be in order, taking into account his current state. Whatever it is that triggered a violent repulsion from the mutant's body, it is not a cause of underlying medical issues.

His panic having settled, he makes sure the mess is no longer tainting his floor before he has the operating table lower the specimen onto his back. He slips on gloves as Karl finishes wiping off the oxygen mask. Ferrall takes it off his hands. "Warm towel."

His assistant moves off and Ferrall sets the mask to the side, retrieving a temporal artery thermometer. The specimen's temperature has risen since it was last taken, but still hovers within safe parameters. He considers theories outside of deterioration and exchanges the thermometer for a tongue depressor, further opening the specimen's beak.

Raphael's rasped breaths continue as he examines his throat, satisfied with his assessment by the time that Karl returns.

He knows that the mutant is doubting his abilites, so he lays this to rest.

Ferrall begins wiping down the sticky sheen of perspiration from scales. "A surprising reaction to the new strain, nothing more. Appears the serum triggered intense physiological effects. I imagine the dose was too concentrated. This is no more than a case of self-destruction. Diaphoresis and lacrimation from fear and likely some form of pain that his body believes itself to be under. There is nothing wrong with his respiratory rate, which means the cause was vocal strain, not internal issues."

He realizes too late that Karl doesn't understand half of his proclamation. He sighs.

He wipes the sweat from Raphael's forehead, cleaning off his chin as glazed eyes blearily open. "In layman's terms, his body is having physical symptoms related to the situations he thinks himself to be in. It's very likely that my soundproofing hid away a serious bout of screaming, for which I am grateful. Unfortunately for him, a downside to straining your voice in such a way is the triggering of the gag reflex."

Raphael stares through him, soft whimpers escaping as the sedative-hypnotic drug assumably begins wearing off, and Ferrall wonders what it is that he saw. He hands over the towel to allow Karl to finish, removing the soiled gloves before he approaches a cabinet, getting a key from his pocket and unlocking it.

Several inventions and serums lay in different areas of completion, but Ferrall removes his finished black and silver chrome-plated creation.

Leather straps run along the sides of the skull and the forehead. The straps lock together in a metal buckle on the back that only unlocks with a fingerprint to prevent removal without outside assistance. Metal spikes are embedded around the jaws and into the metal rungs to discourage vocal attempts of any kind. He predicts that the body will subconsciously adapt to realizing what action causes the pain and cease the practice.

"I will have to find a different way to administer the serum. Something a bit less potent." He considers the cool metal in his hands. "Hm. The serum does not effect his respiratory rate. Perhaps..."

He walks over to his desk, setting the muzzle to the side and lifting his clipboard.

Karl's patience is paper thin and it isn't long before he interrupts his work to grumble, "So am I just supposed to stand here...?"

"If I wished it, yes." He clicks the pen, checking his watch. "Luckily for you, I don't have the time."

Ferrall sets the clipboard to the side. He lifts the the muzzle, peeling off the note attached with tape, skimming over the instructions that he left for himself with a soft, "Right then."

He adjusts the straps as he approaches the mutants. Karl eyes him.

"While none of the symptoms are strictly lethal, I'd rather not risk him expelling every nutrient that he gets in him. Plus, everyone would benefit from less of his crass speech. Hold him."

Karl releases the wrist bands and then leans his body up, taking his wrists in one hand. Ferrall expects a fight, but the turtle seems to slump into the hold, breathing evening out as his eyes flicker shut. This level of contentment under emotional duress is... unexpected.

He studies the behavior curiously. "Raphael?"

"Sensei..." Is the pleading whine, beak hiding further against suit.

Karl scowls, taking hold of the area of jaw near his neck and moving it away, definitively uncomfortable. The turtle emits a chirp of complaint, letting the motion happen. Ferrall considers Raphael for another beat, taking a clear mental note, before moving on with the process. He settles the muzzle over his beak, pressing the buckles together with soft clinks.

He experimentally tightens the muzzle until the spikes make contact with skin. It's not enough to pierce, but the turtle tries to recoil from it. Ferrall releases the strap, so Karl drops him onto cushions, leading his wrist back into their shackles.

Raphael jerks against the bonds, unseeing eyes opening and jaw beginning to join. It clamps shut when the spikes press against scales and an animalistic whine splits the air.

While this is conclusive that he will be wary while conscious and under duress, it doesn't assure that his body realizes what may happen if Raphael lashes out blindly. He needs to implant this knowledge early on and in a controlled environment.

"Hmm." Ferrall contemplates as he watches the drug drag him back down. "A way to cause intense physical pain that won't include irreparable damage..."

The turtle doesn't respond, plastron rising and falling, fingers twitching. Karl looks over at him with sudden interest. "Electric treatment?"

"I've never tested my drugs under high voltage." Ferrall chides dryly. "And I'd rather not brain fry the specimen?"

"No breaking bones?"

"Karl. This is meant to be your specialty."

"You're the one making it hard." He grumbles under his breath, considering the terrapin. A slow grin stretches. "Actually..."

He gestures at the turtle, impatient.

Karl eagerly hurries away from them, very rudely ignoring the obvious signal to offer more information, but Ferrall lets him go. The likelyhood of him doing anything but completing his assigned task is below the decimals.

He walks around the operation table and retrieves the clipboard, updating the wellness sheet.

When Karl returns and he spots what lies in his hands, he scowls. "We discussed this."

"He's yours, right?" Karl urges as he kneels to plug in the wire. "This would just make it extra official. Won't mess with the drugs neither."

Ferrall's eyes narrow as he locks his jaw at the admittedly solid point, disgusted by the grin on the mutant's muzzle as he continues, "You said you wanted him to hurt. Heck, admit it. You're a little mad that he's messing everything up for you."

"Anger and resentment solves nothing." Ferrall walks over to his shelf to retrieve a pair of leather gloves. "This is a mere experiment. Not an act of revenge."

"I was just sayin'-"

"And I was not asking your opinion." He slips leather over his fingers. "So stop giving it."

"Yes Doc."

Satisfied, Ferrall grabs the best safety headphones that money can buy. "Some days I feel you take too much glee in your role."

Karl wisely chooses not to reply so Ferrall agreeably takes the electric brand off his hands, watching as the silver logo turns to more of an ashy red. His interest spikes. "I can't use this on skin, but I could always try..."

He shifts the headphones over his ears and presses the button on the operation table to raise Raphael up. Once it's locked in place, he trails a finger over his plastron, estimating the best area, and chooses his upper left scute. Karl comes in closer as he steadies his hand and cautiously adjusts the brand to avoid dropping it.

Ferrall drives the burning symbol onto plastron.

Raphael bucks in the restraints. He's definitely screaming, but the sound is muffled greatly.

Ferrall spares some attention to study his face.

The subject's eyes are open, glazed and unfocused, looking everywhere but landing on nothing. It's the kind of mindless terror Ferrall needs him to process. The kind of raw agony that may finally be his key to replacing the imagined man with a proper weapon.

Raphael slumps abruptly, taunt muscles deflating without the conscious fear to tighten them, completely boneless. Ferrall glances at the hot metal steering through the shell, leaving it until he's certain that this is a wound that will not heal.

If Raphael had been honest, then this with be his proof.

"There."

He lifts it and admires his work, studying the way that the plastron reacts to such heat.

Tears mingle with the blood, diluting the liquid on the floor. Ferrall adjusts the headphones to rest around his neck. "Towel."

The leering rabbit moves off with reluctant steps and Ferrall tilts his head to see how deep the spikes went into his flesh. There's a risk of injury to the jaw if he keeps reacting in this way, but there's very little that Ferrall needs from him that requires his mouth.

Karl tries to hand him the towel but Ferrall waves him off as he checks his watch. "I'm finished. Catch the bleeding. Whenever it's slowed, get him ready for deport. Otto is on his way." He confidently heads for the door. "My plan has not changed."

There's a long, suspicious beat of silence that has him pausing with his hand on the knob.

"...Yes, Ferrall."

He nods, letting the door fall shut behind him. "Good boy."