(CW/TW: violence/abuse)

"That's enough, just fucking get this over with and leave him alone," growled the Sniper, leaning his head back onto the table in resignation.

The Surgeon composed himself, straightening his coat, his black tie, and cleaning his own glasses with a cloth from his pocket. Smoothed his hair back into place as the Doctor also composed himself and dejectedly stared down at the teal liquid filled syringe.

The Sniper glared at the Surgeon with eyes full of hate. "If i'da known this was gonna happen, I'da taken the shot when I saw you in the window." It was full of bravado, but also belied reluctant acquiescence. He tugged at his restraints defiantly.

The Surgeon sneered. "And completely have shot the wrong man, am I right?" He knew that having the Doctor's room facing the forest was a risky idea, but it served a purpose.

"At least I'dve shot my shot." He leaned forward slightly, rebelliously.

He chuckled coldly. "Ah, yes. What's that saying? 'You miss 100% of the shots you don't take'? Hesitation is a mark of unprofessionalism."

"What the fuck would you know? You're not a professional, you're a fucking monster."

The chuckles turned dark. "I'm certainly twice the professional you are, my dear Sniper."

"You pretend you are, when you're just taking a sick pleasure in hurting people. I'd have made it painless, and dignified."

"Perhaps. Perhaps. But I'm not the one strapped to the table, am I? If anything, you lost your professionalism the moment you didn't pull the trigger when you had the chance. That's why I'm the genius, and you're the guinea pig." He gave him a sarcastic tap on the end of his nose with a gloved hand and sneered at him again. The gunman again strained against the straps.

He straightened up and gestured at the Doctor. “You should be thanking me. I'm giving you an opportunity of a lifetime." 

The swings of emotion the Surgeon had were dizzying. One moment, completely unhinged, another perfectly in control, the next blind fury and violence, then back to that false elegance. He was absolutely insane, and the Sniper hated him as much as he feared him.

"You really ought to thank the Doctor as well. While I may be the genius who came up with this formula...he's responsible for your dosage tonight. Quite exciting. If it wasn't for him, you'd be getting something altogether much, much different."

The Doctor's face openly winced in shame, averting his eyes from Sniper. Surgeon usually wasn't this chatty before the procedure. He was leaning into it for both of their detriment. He moved behind the Doctor, putting his hands on his shoulders and giving them a little squeeze.

“As I said you're going to do great things, my little Sniper. And it's all thanks...to him."

The Doctor jerked away, his back to them both, shoulders shaking in impotent fury. 

"I'm surprised, Doctor...you're getting quite emotional tonight.... I daresay, you've perhaps taken a liking to him?" When he didn't react, the Surgeon continued. "Pity we can't keep him, then isn't it? The two of you would be even more troublesome together, and I've no need for snipers here. Well, we can't have it all, can we?"

He let that sink in then clapped his hands once. "Now I'm delaying, how hypocritical of me. Let's begin." He hit the final 2 words hard and coldly as his jovial demeanor dissolved into grave seriousness. The Doctor turned back, his face full of sorrowful submission. Surgeon picked up a small clear vial and filled a smaller syringe expertly before handing it to the Doctor. He reluctantly took it gently and faced the Sniper.

"It’s a muscle relaxant. You won't be put to sleep but it’s to assist in the immediate symptoms following the injection." He felt his arm twitch slightly beneath his fingertips as he cleaned it with a cold alcohol pad and then gave him the smaller injection.

"Doc." It was the first time he'd spoken directly to him since he saw him last in the cell.

"Yes...?"

"....I trust you."

Surgeon raised an eyebrow, tipping his head ever so slightly in curiosity. The Doctor's eyes widened visibly as the gunman's yellow eyes closed, perhaps in anticipation, or resignation. His lilac eyes stared down at the large syringe, and his hands began to tremble. Surgeon gave him a small sneer, and tapped his elbow sharply.

"What are you waiting for, Doctor? Get yourself together. You've done this thousands of times."

He had. And every time he did, it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his chest. Every time he put this accursed liquid into someone's veins, watched their bodies struggle to adapt, comprehend, withstand this foreign curse, he felt like a monster.

And his body betrayed him once again, as if in a desperate bid for self-preservation. It automatically made his hands tie off the arm, find another alcohol pad, clean the injection site, gently prod to see a good vein. The practiced protocol of enforced immortality. 

His hands picked up the heavy syringe. The milky teal liquid almost seemed to glow beneath the surgical lights. He looked down at the Sniper. Took in his measured yet anxious breathing, the rising and falling of a lightly scarred chest, the goosebumps from being bare on a cold metal table. Vestiges of a mortal man.  A man who was about to see if he was going to be immortal...or dead.

He pushed the needle into his arm, as gently as he could, but it was larger than most people would normally have and longer. Sniper let out a cry of pain, then grit his teeth. That was just the damn needle. Looking back, he'd realize grimly that this little pinprick was nothing compared to what came next.

The Doctor pushed the plunger slowly, and the rush of the drug flowing into his arm started burning almost immediately. It was nothing the gunman had ever felt before. Literally burning, white hot, shooting through his right arm, down to his fingertips in a paradoxical combo of blinding numbness and absolute burning. It shot up his arm, across his chest, down through his stomach, to his thighs, then knees and feet; into his left arm, down the elbow to his fingertips. The burning sensation sizzled up through his throat, his neck, exploding across his face and temples, his brain; his joints felt like they were popping all at once, his blood was boiling, his muscles were screaming in agony.

He screamed, he screamed so hard and thrashed, and through the pain and his yelling he heard the Doctor say, "One third of the way there.... Only one third." He shut his eyes, squeezing them so hard, he felt they might just pop from the force. He could vaguely feel hands on his shoulders to keep him still, and the burning only intensified. He didn't think it could get any worse but it did. His body burned and convulsed, and the worst part of it was that he felt like he'd been this way for an eternity. He was always burning, he was always hurting, this was the way things have always been and it's getting worse.

"Nearly...there. Over half way," The Doctor said as loudly as he could, one hand holding the syringe and pushing the plunger down slowly and steadily, the other on his arm, digging his nails into him to try to keep him anchored. The Surgeon's face was completely disinterested in the ordeal, holding him down by the shoulders and taking note of the data on the screens of the machines. 

"You can do it," he heard the Doctor say, his voice desperate to sound as calm and encouraging. He watched him, bemused, as the Sniper let out another scream of pain. What a needless bedside manner.

"You can do this. You're almost there. Nearly there!" Sniper heard the voice loud and clear through the pain, and it was as if he could hear him whispering it in his ear. But there was something else he started to hear, as the burning continued. More and more sounds rushing into his ears, the machines whirring became roaring, the beeping a piercing shriek. The sounds of his lungs rasping for air, the panting of the Doctor's breathing, and then the slow and measured breathing from the Surgeon. The sounds of his joints popping. His voice so damn loud, unable to stop whimpering or yelling.

"It’s finished," he heard, and while the burning persisted, he felt another sharp pain in his arm, likely the Doctor removing the needle. The Sniper screamed again, straining against his restraints so hard he was cutting his wrists and ankles on them.  He couldn't open his eyes, he was in such pain. Arching is back until he thought he would snap in two. He convulsed against the table, the sounds of his head banging against the metal a resounding yet dull thump. Like tapping on the sides of a bathtub while one's head was submerged. There were other sounds in addition to the machines, his own screaming, the doctors trying to hold him still.

This distant, low roar, like the sound of a river....no. No this was something he'd heard once before. When he was a child, watching a nature documentary on the television. The sounds of lava rushing from a volcano. A quiet yet persistent roar that filled his ears. The same sounds he could hear when he put his hands against his ears to block out loud noises, the only persistent one that would be clear against the muffled air trapped between his palm and ears. Familiar yet alien.

And amid all of this conflicting, compounding cacophony, a deep and rapid thump. Fleshy yet measured like a machine. So loud, so rapid.

Everything was

so

loud

so NOISY.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

The roaring rush deafening his ears, louder

and louder

and LOUDER.

THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP.

"I..." he struggled to say, his voice hoarse from screaming. "I...!!!" The world was still so noisy that he scarcely noticed the burning had finally subsided.

By now the Surgeon was watching, his face blankly observing the writhing man on the table. But the Doctor was still next to him, his hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him from banging his head too hard on the table. Wordlessly mumbling to himself, praying to anyone--God, the Devil, it no longer mattered--that the Sniper's heart wouldn't give out. That the pain didn't completely shatter his sanity like it had with so many others.

The Sniper's eyes snapped open, the flooding surgical lights nearly blinding him, but his gaze was inward, as he gasped and thrashed.

"I...I can hear my...." he hissed. The Doctor leaned closer.

"What is it?"

"M...my...blood...."

It was incoherent now, and the Doctor tried to swallow down his panic. "What??"

"I...I can hear the blood...in my veins...." He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back in pain again. "I can hear the blood moving....it’s rushing...I can hear my blood rushing."

The Doctor straightened up slightly and glanced at the Surgeon, then back down at his patient. Stream of consciousness? Insane babbling? They were full sentences, for the most part, and it was actually coherent. But he'd never heard anyone describe the sensation of hearing their own blood rushing through their body.

The Sniper's lips moved again, his voice failing until he rasped, "I can...hear your heart...beating....I can hear...hearts beating..." His yellow eyes opened weakly, looking up through sweat matted hair plastered over his now pale face. He'd stopped struggling, though his body twitched in pain every so often.

The Surgeon stepped closer and turned the gunman's head to the side, inspecting the cut from earlier. He removed the tape. The wound had closed yet it left a thin noticeable scar, about 2 inches long. His eyes seemed unimpressed, and he wordlessly picked up a scalpel from the tray and before the Doctor could protest, quickly brought it down onto the Sniper's chest, embedding it about an inch. He then cut a 4 inch long incision down the center. The Sniper let out another scream of pain but was too weak to do much more than writhe. He tossed the scalpel indifferently back to the tray as the Doctor flinched and reached out to put a hand to the wound. Surgeon gave him a cold look that made him freeze, then cast his gaze to the wound he'd made, pulling up his sleeve, and pulling down his glove to check his watch.

The wound began to knit and close itself in seconds. The Doctor's eyes were a mix of elation yet horror.

"95 seconds." Surgeon's voice was quiet, but also tinged with excitement. "95 seconds...and not a scar to be seen." He ran his fingers down where the incision was and inhaled, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile. The sensation made the Sniper jerk weakly, turning his head.

The Surgeon bent over him and asked softly, "How do you feel?"

"I can...hear...everything..." he feebly confessed, his body going limp. "M-mmm...mmmake..."

The Surgeon straightened up and checked the EKG. His heart was still in the game, if intensely elevated.

"M..make it...stop," whimpered the Sniper as his eyes glazed over but didn't shut completely. Half-lidded and panting, he whimpered once more. "Make it stop...."

Before the Doctor or the Surgeon could say anything, the entire room plunged into darkness. The machines ceased their whirring, the beeping. The world's cacophony, the madness of the night, the storm of reckoning, simply ceased. A blessing amid the mire of misery.