May 2003 - Gruniard Island
Mar. 1st, 2007 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
there_is_a_me"Is he out?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's out."
"Good. Poor bastard." Dr. Rosana Ferguson smooths the hair of the unconscious experiment - fuck that's a nasty habit to break - soldier on the bed, "Poor, poor bastard." The orderlies work with efficient, gentle hands. Not out of kindness but out of fear of waking him up before he's crated and sealed away.
"Ma'am? What makes you think that there's anything to recover?" The nervous guard fingers his rifle, the orderlies ignoring all of them as they strap the payload tighter and test the silver buckles holding the silver-studded straps down.
"What makes me...? Wolves howl, Corporal." The doctor draws her fingers across the cheek of the man now being folded into what is nothing less than a silver-reinforced dog carrier and holds them up so that the guard can see them, "men cry."
"Yes, ma'am. He's out."
"Good. Poor bastard." Dr. Rosana Ferguson smooths the hair of the unconscious experiment - fuck that's a nasty habit to break - soldier on the bed, "Poor, poor bastard." The orderlies work with efficient, gentle hands. Not out of kindness but out of fear of waking him up before he's crated and sealed away.
"Ma'am? What makes you think that there's anything to recover?" The nervous guard fingers his rifle, the orderlies ignoring all of them as they strap the payload tighter and test the silver buckles holding the silver-studded straps down.
"What makes me...? Wolves howl, Corporal." The doctor draws her fingers across the cheek of the man now being folded into what is nothing less than a silver-reinforced dog carrier and holds them up so that the guard can see them, "men cry."
