(CW/TW: violence, implied sexual abuse)

He glanced around the room, then "Where's the Doctor?"

The Surgeon's face settled into an air of nonchalance. "Late, oddly enough. But he knows there's no use in dragging his feet." He gestured to the Warden, then to a small shower behind him. "If you please."

The Warden unlocked the handcuffs from the Sniper and as he rubbed them in response, he frowned.

"Disrobe and wash in the shower, as hot as possible. Then lay down on the table."

The Sniper grimaced. "I ain't gettin' naked with you around. Or you," he snapped also nodding at the Warden. The man only shrugged, but the Surgeon sighed.

"I need you clean for this, and you stink to high heaven." The Surgeon gave a quick nod to the Warden. "It’s for both our benefit."

As he approached him, the Sniper put his hands up and backed up a step. "Hey, whoa. I got it, I got it." He stepped to the shower, the Warden close behind and removed his boots. Paused, then opened the frosted glass door, stepped in, and closed it, undressing quickly. He haphazardly folded them into a bundle and slid them out of the slightly ajar door. 

He hesitated then turned the single knob and the shower turned on. He adjusted the heat to something just short of scalding, as he was told and started to wash. There was a single bottle of soap on the shelf and he used it generously. It was his first shower in days, but it was probably the least relaxing shower he'd ever taken. The dirt and grime of the forest puddled at the drain, and he leaned against the shower side, two hands on the wall as he let the water cascade down his aching back. All the scrapes, abrasions, and even the cut on his cheek, burned.

One thought broke through all the regrets and anxieties his head was full of, and it was a stupid one: all this money, and tech, and equipment, and the soap just smells like...soap. Not a single scent beyond detergent. No roses, no vanilla, nada, zip, zilch. Just soap.

He'd laugh if he didn't feel like crying. And if he was crying, who could tell beneath the water? The burning at the corners of his eyes could have been tears...or just this boring ass soap.

"I have a water bill to consider, if you don't mind," came the Surgeon's sarcastic voice. He could tell the Sniper was trying to stall.

The water shut off and the Sniper ran his hands through his hair, along his neck. The door opened slightly as he was handed a towel, and he glumly started drying himself off. Gingerly patted dry the cheek cut. The towel was highly absorbent, but not very soft. The entire ordeal was a parody. Scentless soap, a rough towel, too hot water. A parody of a normal routine with the barest minimums.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, and opened the door slightly. The Warden had stepped back and was preoccupying himself by checking a tablet. The Surgeon, arms across his chest, drummed his fingers impatiently on his arms.

"Please, after all this time, you're bashful about being in the nude with me around?"

"I hope they take your medical license and chuck it into a fucking bonfire."

Surgeon let out a hearty, if insane, peal of laughter, nearly doubling over. "Oh, my dear Sniper, we don't need medical licenses for the fun we're going to have." He sighed, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

It was a chilling laugh, and all the more disturbing that he could hear it wasn't an act or a bit. This was really how the Surgeon conducted himself. It made him even less inclined to move.

"I'll give you a little bonus then, for making me laugh." He gestured at the clothes he left next to the shower. "You can have your undergarments on, and your trousers if you wish. But that's all."

A small relief, and he took all he got. As he quickly slid on said clothing, the doors opened and the Doctor entered. Their eyes met, and there was the barest fluster in the Doctor's lilac eyes, before the averted them to the Surgeon. His right hand was in his pocket, but when he saw the Warden, he pulled it out and started buttoning his lab coat. There was a tense nervousness to him that the Sniper could see.

No signal, no acknowledgement of any plan. Was he reneging on the deal? Did he give up? Was there something else? He was starting to worry.

The Doctor was doing everything he could to keep his hands from shaking. The weight of a filled syringe was in his pocket, and he hoped it wasn't noticeable. He could see the Sniper slowly walking to the table and looking down at it in uneasiness. He watched the last vestiges of steam rising from his hair and bare shoulders. 

There were no more opportunities for delay, and his heart sank further. He started pulling gloves onto his hands as the Surgeon gave the gunman a sharp smack on his arm.

"On the table," he ordered. Doing as he was told, the Sniper sat down onto it, swung his legs onto the table, and laid back. He could feel a slight indentation on the table that seemed to fit a human, at least one of his rough size. He shifted uncomfortably and the Surgeon adjusted the height of the table with a control panel, then slid a hand underneath to another one. Straps slid over the Sniper's wrists and ankles and he jerked in surprise. He wasn't expecting to be restrained at all.

His yellow eyes, openly tinged with anguish, flicked to the Doctor's. His face was unmoving and neutral, but his lilac eyes were full of apprehension. They darted from the gunman, to the Surgeon, the Warden, the medical instruments, and back to him. 

"Thank you, Warden," the Surgeon said. "Dismissed." With a curt nod and not looking at anyone else, the Warden left the room, the doors sliding shut with a metallic clank.

There was a silence as both men started hooking the Sniper up to the various machines, arranging the tools into the tray next to the table, and cleaning their hands at the sink. 

This was it. If he wanted to run, he couldn't now. He figured if he screamed, no one would care. Except maybe...the Doctor. But he wasn't acting in a way that indicated he was going to do anything. He desperately tried to catch his glance but the Doctor was avoiding it.

The Doctor couldn't look at him. He was afraid he'd betray everything if he did. He was afraid that he'd give him a look that told him he couldn't. Most of all, he was afraid he'd lose his nerve if he had to look at those scared yellow eyes. 

The Surgeon went to a small cabinet and opened it. He brought out a large syringe, made of glass and metal and set it onto the tray, then went to a small refrigerator and opened it. Inside was a single glass vial, rather large and full of a milky teal liquid.

He didn't set it down, but held it up, admiring it, a look of almost tranquil satisfaction in his orange eyes. He turned the bottle gently, watching the contents slowly swirl around. The Doctor and Sniper looked at it with quiet horror. Different reasons, but nonetheless, staring at the liquid with a shuddering repulsion.

He glanced to them, and held it out to the Doctor then to Sniper.

"This, gentlemen, is the first step into my greatest work," he said softly with that elegant German accent.

"What you see before you...is my genius. Distilled into the greatest blessing any man will ever partake."

The gunman exhaled and looked to the Doctor. He glanced to and fro to the vial and the Sniper, eyes full of uncertainty. He slid a hand into his lab coat pocket and gently grasped the syringe in there.

"It’s not perfect. Yet. But we're damn near perfection for the first time in years." He lovingly ran his thumb along the top of the vial. He started to laugh quietly, gazing at the liquid in reverence. It bloomed into an insane peal of laughed that filled the room as he cradled it in his gloved hands.

This was so insane. This couldn't be happening. The Sniper grit his teeth. "Give it a rest already!" he snapped.

Surgeon's laugh quieted. He cocked his head and stood next to him, holding the vial out to him once more.

"Aren't you excited? Immortality awaits, and you would spit in the face of the god that would administer it to you?"

Immortality?? The gunman looked at the Doctor in shock. A look of regret and dismay painted his face. His mouth opened, tried to form words, yet they failed him. The Surgeon was more than happy to elaborate.

"That's what we really do here, my little Sniper. Shame you weren't told of the sheer brilliance you would encounter here by your client. I daresay that's where they truly did you dirty. Making immortal soldiers to sell to the highest bidder. Quite the business, isn't it?"

Sniper gaped at him, uncomprehendingly. This was worse than dying by execution.

"You'll be happy to know I've even already lined up a potential buyer for you. You really aren't just some run-of-the-mill gunman, are you? Paid quite a pretty, upfront penny for you. Rarely are the 50% down payments accepted so readily...your reputation really does precede you. He's a picky client. He likes his men to be capable."

The Sniper glared at him, shifting uncomfortably beneath the straps. "Who?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to survive tonight to meet him. So...good luck."

He reached to the tray and picked up the larger syringe, pushing it into the vial and beginning to draw the liquid slowly. "We've been trying to come up with a perfected formula for years. And it just so happens...I made quite the breakthrough! If you live through this dosage, you'll become a god. No injury, no matter how lethal or serious, will hinder you. Your body will rapidly heal from the damage in minutes. Seconds even, depending. Shy of vaporization or annihilation from an explosive point blank, you'll never die." 

He finished filling it, tapping the glass to disperse bubbles. He set the syringe back down onto the tray and turned to the Sniper, a look of unhinged satisfaction on his face.

"If you live through this, my boy, you are going to do great things. Wonderful things. And it'll all be thanks to me."

The Sniper thrashed against the straps, growling in fury. "The HELL you are, you fucking monster!!" The Doctor recoiled slightly, not expecting the burst of emotion. The Surgeon watched it with bemusement before putting a hand to his chest and with an unexpected force, slammed the Sniper flat against the table. It was that hidden strength he rarely showed, and it was on purpose. For just this kind of effect. No one expected such monstrous strength from this deceivingly waif-like surgeon.

The gunman let out a yelp of pain and surprise, finding the Surgeon's strength more than he expected. The orange eyed man slowly increased the pressure until his struggles minimized to mere squirming. 

"Shhhhh, let's not raise the heart rate too much, my little Sniper," he cooed silkily. "Unless you really want to chance heart failure?" 

"I'd rather that over all this fucking madness!"

He put on a fake little pout and tutted. "Think of your employment! The hit on my head would be just a drop in the ocean compared what you'll be making soon! And isn't that what stirs the loins of common men such as yourself?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I have. The Doctor hath protested."

The Doctor flinched then put his hand out to the Surgeon. "Please, Surgeon, perhaps we ought to wait. At least a few hours until he's calmed down. We can't risk anesthesia or a sedative."

"Time waits for no man, cousin," replied the Surgeon. His face was now a little more serious, more cold. "We've delayed this all long enough. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Please, just--" But the Surgeon didn't let him finish as he gave him a wicked backhand across the face. It knocked his glasses clean off and he stumbled to the ground. 

"HEY!" the gunman snapped, thrashing again, trying to slip a hand free or kick an ankle out of the restraints. They held fast.

Grabbing handful of his hair, the Surgeon steadied the Doctor roughly. "You've done enough hinderance tonight, cousin," he snarled. "You've waylaid me for years, and I'm not letting you do it anymore!"

He jerked him to his feet roughly. "Now do your fucking job, Doctor. No more games." He bent to pick up his cousin's fallen glasses, and the Doctor jammed a hand to his pocket to check the syringe he'd left in it. It was still intact, but the Surgeon turned back quickly and jabbed the eyeglasses into his chest. They stared at one another until the Doctor dropped his gaze to the floor and put his glasses back on with trembling hands.