Scarlett gave up, brought her arm in, fell back, and hugged both knees tight to her chest.  “Yes.  No.  I, I.  I don’t know,” she stuck her head between her bruised knees and cried.

“Do not worry, Miss Walker,” he said, chin held high while Marvin reached under to straighten his tie.  “We will fix you up to be as good as new.”  Marvin held open a white lab coat, The Doctor slipped his arms in and with yet more assistance, Marvin buttoned it up.

Scarlett lifted her head and rested her chin on her knees, “What about her?” she wiggled a finger at Tweek.

“She is still alive, for now.”

“For now?” Scarlett tilted her head letting blood run away from her eyes.

“Yes, Miss Walker.  There were…  Complications with her revival procedure.  She turned feral, you see, and we cannot have ferals disrupting the peace.  So, we sedated her.”  The Doctor looked to his right where Marvin would bend over to pick up the pen, bang his head off the bars, stand up, bend over again, bang his head, and repeat.

“You sedated her?”

“Yes,” he replied impatiently.  He slapped Marvin on the up, “Would you stop that you dolt.”

Marvin stood tall, held the pen up in front of The Doctor and rubbed the back of his head.  Surely, if the moron had a mouth to smile from, he would be smiling.  The Doctor snatched the pen out of Marvin’s hand and inspected it.  He found a small scratch where it had contacted the floor, and he frowned in Marvin’s general direction.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Miss Walker.  Experiments go feral from time to time.  Now, come closer, allow me to patch you up.”

Scarlett struggled to her feet and stumbled over to The Doctor.  She could hardly see-through blood-soaked eyes and matted hair.  She stabilized herself by bracing the bars of her cage and could barely make out the image of the old man.  He slipped a tiny monocle out of his left breast pocket, placed it gently on his left eye and it expanded across his wrinkled face, illuminating his eyes with a green light.

The Doctor slid his finger along the silver pen, once, twice, three times until a needle and thread appeared in his glasses.  He tapped the bar in front of him and it rang, echoing throughout the hall.  “Come a little closer please.”

Scarlett pressed her face against the bars.

“Very good,” he said, then held the pen three inches from her forehead.  A green light traced her wound, moved back and forth, slowly healing her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am The Doctor,” he replied, focused on the task at hand.

“The, Good, Doctor,” Marvin said.  His upper body spun in a full circle, then he stuck a needle in Scarlett’s neck.

“Ouch!”  She pulled back and grabbed her neck.  “Fuck.  What the hell was that?”

The Doctor lowered the pen, “Orphan Serum,” he said.  “It will prevent further illness.  Now if you would come closer, I haven’t finished patching you up.”

Scarlett stuck her face back into the bars.  “So, you say you’re the Doctor, huh.”

“That I am.  Stay still please.”

“Tell me good Doctor,” she rubbed her neck, “is it normal for a doctor to keep his patients locked up in cages?”

“All finished,” he said.  He removed his monocle, slid it back into his left breast pocket, then padded it with his hand gently.  “Look around you, Miss Walker,” he pointed down the hall.  “You are not a patient; you are a prisoner.”

She stepped back from the bars, still dizzy.  Looking around the room it began to expand and contract.  There had to be at least a hundred holding cells with countless others locked up.  “Prisoner,” she said, still rubbing her neck, “for what crime?”

“Many, Miss Walker, many.”

Scarlett stumbled back a step, then fell to one knee.  Disoriented and confused, she looked to The Doctor, vision blurred, but she could still make out the image of him walking away, white lab coat flowing like a cape, and Marvin hot on his heals.

“Wha, what did you,” she stumbled again, “what did you do to me?” she cried.

“All in due time, Miss Walker, all in due time.” He laughed, and it carried, echoing, bouncing off walls, surrounding Scarlett, waking up prisoners throughout the hall.

Scarlett, now on all fours, crawled over to Ashley’s cell.  She called out to her, “Ashley, wake up, Ashley!”

Ashley rose, a marionette being lifted from her stomach by invisible strings.  Arms dangling, and her red hair concealing her face.  Head jerked back and forth, she turned, the tops of her feet dragging on the floor.

Scarlett looked on from her knees, veins pulsating, ears ringing, vision, still a mess.  Sometimes there was one, sometimes Ashley split into three.  “Ashley?” Scarlett squeaked.

Ashley’s head twitched, and her left ear bounced off her shoulder rapidly.  She shot her head back, a black bile dripped from her purple mouth, and she lunged hard into the bars knocking Scarlett back to the other side of her cell.  Clicking, followed by a sick moaning and groaning filled the air.

Scarlett’s eyes widened watching Ashley turn into this creature.  Its arms and legs flailing about trying to grab at her.  It paused, opened its mouth, and let its grotesque tongue drop to the floor.  The tongue rolled out towards Scarlett, and began a slimy climb between her legs, up her stomach, between her breasts, and when it reached her neck, the creature moaned.  Scarlett shut her eyes tight, trembling in absolute terror.

Screaming bats poured from the mouth of the monster called Tweek.  The swarm of flying vermin engulfed the hall, blocking out the light.  They bit, clawed, and tore the skin off of the other prisoners faces.  Agonizing cries rang throughout hell, fueling a deeper frenzy from the bats.  They began suicide bombing, whistling loud before crashing, denting walls, and smashing craters in the tile floor.  The room shook violently with each kamikaze strike.

The tongue of Tweek wrapped around Scarlett’s neck and wiggled its way up her cheek.

Scarlett screamed and protested, to no avail, so she began sobbing.  Wet with tears, she began squirming, choking, struggling to find air.  Tugging hard at the monsters burning tongue, its acidic saliva, lustful, leeched on to her sweat and blood.  Tweek moaned, feeling great pleasure from Scarlett’s distress.  She turned blue and tugged harder at the monster, leaving bloody scratches on her neck.  Each pull gave Tweak’s grip more strength.  The tongue penetrated through Scarlett’s cheekbone, her eyes protruding from their sockets.  Then, the tongue wiggled its way into her mouth through the gaunt, and gave Scarlett a demonic French kiss.

---

The Doctor hovered over two blue robots, Marvin at his side.  Together they panned through live feeds of the prisoners.  They went from one feed to the next until they came across Scarlett, alone in her cell, squirming, suffocating, losing her mind.

“Stop!” he shouted slamming his hand down on the table.  “Go back.  Yes, that one,” The Doctor watched her dumbfounded.  “Marvin.  Which vail did you give her?”

Marvin opened his chest, sifted through junk, and pulled out a small glass vail with a metallic liquid that read, O.P.X. beta.

“That’s the wrong one, you imbecile.”

---

A rickety old shuttle wobbled its way towards the Nexus with its docking arm fully extended.  Aboard the shuttle, twenty-four of the wealthiest individuals from Tartarus to fill all twenty-four passenger seats.  Four not so sentient robots acted as escorts, two terrible pilots, and two looking after the “guests”, unphased by the turbulence.  The robots had been programmed by one they call Mother to track down and deliver these men and women to The Doctor.  Each of the four robots, lead by a matte black robot with a pink stripe painted across its forehead, scoured every nook and cranny of Tartarus, shoved each “guest” into a sack and tossed them onto the shuttle kicking and screaming.

Now, scared for their lives, with sweaty palms, for the shaking of the shuttle was unsettling.  They failed to speak out, distracted by the two robots in the back fighting over a game of rock, paper, scissors.  The silver bot shoved the black bot with the pink stripe, and the pink stripe shoved the silver bot back, and the shuttle rocked back and forth.

A skinny man sitting in the center couldn’t handle the rocking any longer, nor could he hold down the yellow-green vomit he spewed into the air.  The droplets pooled together and floated above the other passengers, drawing cowers and shrieks as they ducked under.  Changing shape as it went, another man puked, and another, adding to the disgusting blob.  The robots stopped their bickering and tilted their heads at the fleshling display.

The shuttle missed its mark and came to an abrupt halt due to the nonsense inside, and it banged against the Nexus.  The “guests” jerked in their seats, and the blob altered course.  A pretty blue eyed, blonde haired girl began sobbing as the vomit wrecking ball shape shifted its way towards her.

Work in progress…

A spotlight shines down illuminating an elderly man in a brown pinstripe tuxedo.  Three fingers in his tiny left breast pocket, and a silver pen held aloft in front of his grey eyes.  He swayed his arm left, and back to the right, then tapped the air with his pen releasing a spark of green light.  He opens himself up, embracing the darkness encircling his spotlight.

“Welcome to paradise, a world where your dreams will never come true,” he says proudly, voice clear and concise, it carries throughout the room and down the stations corridors before being consumed by the sound of hot air banging in the vents.  Rats scurried about in the walls, screeching, and scratching, sending a shiver down the old gentleman’s spine.  The noise settled, and he returned to a more relaxed posture.  Three fingers in his left breast pocket, and a silver pen ready to conduct an orchestra in the dark.

“My name is Doctor Erik von Liechtenstein, but, if you call me that,” he looks around, blind to the audience, “then I will feed you to my rats.”  He put the silver pen in his mouth, inhaled deep, then exhaled a white smoke, and smiled.  “To you, I am just The Doctor.”

He flicked his pen and a green light mimicking ashes fell to the ground.  Stepping out of the spotlight, The Doctor looked down to his polished black, no longer shining, shoes.  He took another drag from his pen, then balled up his hand around it.  He looked to the ceiling and proceeded to shout, “Marvin!” he shook his fist in the air, “I programmed you for one job!  Just one fucking job!  Keep the damn light on me!”

The light squeaked while it swiveled passed empty chairs, passed a metallic wall, over a messy desk, before it finally settled over The Doctor once again.  He shook his head, sucked on his pen, then he took a step and the light followed.

“Good,” he said.  “Next time, I will disassemble you, and launch you out into deep space.”

The Doctor breathed a sigh of disbelief.  He straightened his vest, adjusted his tie, and began a slow pace.  Ten steps towards the north wall, spun around on his heals, and ten steps towards the south wall.

“Where was I?” he asked himself.  “Oh, right.  I remember.”  He took pause and gracefully held his palm out to the dark room, “Welcome to the rings of Tartarus,” and he resumed his anxious wandering.

“As I have already stated, I am The Good Doctor.  A scientist, the Chief Science Officer aboard this… station, the locals call it The Nexus.  Yuck,” he spit on the floor.  “Anyway.  I, The Good Doctor, happen to be the greatest scientist on this world we call Tartarus.  I also happen to be the only reputable scientist on this insane planet.  I did create this world; the only competition is the most high and mighty.  It took me a lot longer than six days I tell you.”  He kissed his pen and pointed it toward the Heavens.

“When your greatest competition created the Universe, it can bring the best… and worst out of Man.”

The Doctor looked out of his selfish circle to the invincible audience with a smile.  “If the idea of a creator offends you, then you may leave, NAY, you may look upon me as your creator.  I promise, your life will be as I intend it to be.”

The station shook, Marvin fell over pulling the spotlight with him.  The door slid open and a shadow figure stood in its place.  The lights of the room flickered to life, revealing a clusterfuck of a mess in an office.  Books, disorganized and piled high all around, a beautiful mahogany wooden desk hiding under junk tucked away in a corner, and a dozen antique folding chairs assembled to face The Doctor.  He halted, furled his brows, and reached out to simulate strangling a handful of broken mannequins, which were set in the chairs to simulate a small audience for his madness.

As he opened his mouth to chastise, the shadow in the door emerged and became a cream skinned robot wearing a maid’s outfit.  She approached The Doctor but was brought to a complete stop by his emotive hand.  “Sorry for the interruption Erik,” she bowed, “but, our guests have arrived.”

“What do you mean, our guests have arrived?  They are sitting right there,” he points at the mannequins.

“Sorry, I will send the shuttles away immediately,” she bowed and turned to leave, but again, was halted by The Doctor.

“WAIT!  Wait.  Wait wait,” he said whilst he stroked his sharp, thinning goatee, staring at the lifeless dolls.  “Your right.”  He glided across the black tile and got close enough to her that his breathe left a fog over her blue lenses.  He gently placed his pen hand on her shoulder, one finger laying down at a time, and he whispered, “activate the Orphan Project.”

“Erik.”

“Doctor, even to you my dear.”

“Are you sure? We still haven-“she was cut off by a hard tap on her forehead.

“Do as I tell you.  When your done, bring our newly arrived intruders to the holodeck,” he waved her away.

She bowed, swiveled at the hips, legs followed, then left the office.

“Marvin! Clean up this pigsty.  When you are finished, meet me in the atrium, I have a gift waiting for you there.

The rusty robot saluted, The Doctor nodded, and he left the room.

---

A ball of light parts and dances on the fringe of the Universe.  A woman floats along on nothing, motionless, enjoying the show.  She is a body of light, a lost soul, and this corporeal form of hers has been lost here for an eternity.  Memories of a past life faded long ago.  She often wonders if this is death.  No my dear, this is purgatory, and for you, this is only the beginning.

A grey dot appeared beyond the streams of playful light.  As it grows, the streams of light scatter and fade away, blending with the dark cosmos of the Universe.  She squinted for a better view, and just like that, a long paralysis, cured, touched by the hand of God, replaced by thousands of pins and needles stabbing viciously at every nerve, joint, tendon, muscle, and organ.  She jerked violently, her stomach turned and a searing bile burned its way out into the void before her.

The spicey scent of cinnamon filled her stale nostrils.  Her body trembled, slow to relax.  Cold air returned to her shriveled lungs.  She opened her teary eyes and before her loomed a massive beast.  It resembles a great humpback whale with the tentacles of a giant squid in place of fins.  Behind the beast, it left a trail of black ink.  She felt euphoric in the face of this creature, so much so, she felt compelled to reach out and place a hand on its nose.

Her blue eyes light up space around the pair, her tears wash space clean, and the stars came out from hiding, igniting beautiful red, blue, and green nebulas.  The beast excreted more black ink which encapsulated the duo.  It pressed its nose into her chest deep, tight against her beating heart, washing away the girl’s pain.  Her damp black hair felt warm pressed against her face in the loving embrace of the beast.  Her hair tickled its nose.

The inhale of the beast was so powerful that even with all her might, she couldn’t push herself free from its grip.  It sneezed, and suddenly, she found herself being ejected from the cockpit of a starfighter.

“SCARLEEETT!” a woman screamed.

The starfighter crashed into an asteroid, and a white foam expanded from Scarlett’s chest filling the space around her.  A helmet, now wrapped around her head, and a radio now screeched in her ears, obscene travesties, and Scarlett hugged her head, trying to squish the pain away.  Soon, though, the noise settled into a more pleasant, pulsating, ringing.  From antagonizing to freshly restored, her senses calmed, so too did the spider foam encircling her, settling into a translucent gel.  She felt weightless, dizzy, and once again, paralyzed.  Slowly, she drifted from consciousness, while the gelatin pod spun out of control.

“Scarlett.  Scarlett.  Pick up, Scarlett.  Can you hear me…?”

---

“Here you are Marvin, your gift, and she rests easy,” The Doctor says, “Seizures will drain even the dead I suppose.  We will give her a few more hours.”  He handed a holopad to Marvin, “If she doesn’t wake by then, we will put her into the garbage disposal, yes.”

Marvin’s lenses widened, “Doctor.  This, orphans, heart, rate, is, increasing, rapidly,” he said in his synthetic monotone voice.

Annoyed with Marvin’s slight retardation, he swallowed his frustration and asked, “What is it?  Not another attack, I hope.  This one is in such fine condition.”

“No, sir, she, is,” his boring speech pattern interrupted as Scarlet opened her eyes and sat up.

“SHES ALIVE!” The Doctor shouted, throwing a fist in the air, knocking Scarlets holopad monitor out of Marvin’s mechanical hands.  It hit the floor and the green light flickered off, leaving only a silver pen.

Scarlett, dripping in sweat, wiped her face with the inside of her forearm, looked around, dazed, and confused.  She winced from the pain of moving her stiff left, then right legs out of her bed, letting them dangle.  The bed, stainless-steel, protruded from a stainless-steel wall behind her, both well-polished.  The other three walls, more stainless steel, but bars, boxing her inside of a metal cage.  Scarlett slouched over and dropped her face into her palms, sweat fell to the black tile floor.

“Welcome back,” The Doctor said, face pressed between bars while his hands gripped on either side of his wrinkled cheeks.

Scarlett jumped in her bed, “What the fuck!?”  The first raspy words to leave her mouth in only The Doctor knows how long.  Her eyes darted left, then right, and she saw a woman laying on the floor of the cell next to hers.  “Ashley!” she leaped from her bed, slipped on her own puddle of sweat, and banged her head off the floor, opening a gash on her forehead.  She crawled over to the bars separating them and reached through.  She stretched her arm as far as it could go, blood and sweat poured down her face, blinding her.  To no avail, she gave up and fell back onto her knees.  Defeated, she let herself bleed out.

The Doctor looked on with disgust.  “We here on The Nexus call her Tweek,” he said, pushing himself away from the bars.  “You know her, I presume?”

Work in progress…