Chapter Text
Things felt… fuzzy, for the mutant.
It was in a new place. That much, it understood. It was in a place that was… softer, for lack of a better term. It was in a place that looked like a mission destination, not a base. But then again, it must be a base, if it was indeed the location it would be stored. Maybe this was a temporary stop. It had no way to know. It didn’t need to know.
The remnants of the sedatives that had been used in transport were still making their way through its system. Perhaps that was the main source of the fuzzy feeling. Or perhaps it was the motionless way that it had been standing. It was unsure how long it had been there. All it knew was that it had been told to stay.
At some point, it had dozed. It didn’t sleep entirely — it hadn’t been given permission to do so — but the fuzzy feeling had led to an insatiable exhaustion that it couldn’t quite shake. Its new handlers seemed to have left it for the time being; while it was without scrutiny was the best time to attempt to gain some form of rest.
It was not foolish enough to slip under the blanket of unconsciousness. The moment that it heard the soft, nearly inaudible click of the door handle, it was once again snapped to its senses, back rigid and eyes fixed on nothing as it drew itself up to attention. It was ready for instruction. It always was.
There was a noise at the door, a low tap, tap on the wooden frame that nearly made the mutant tilt its head. It was far too well trained for that though. Instead it kept perfectly still, entirely at attention as the low knocking sound echoed through the room again. Then, slowly, it watched as the door began to creak open, the light of the hallway beginning to spill across the floor. With it came a hushed conversation that the mutant had to quickly tune out. It knew it wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop. It wasn’t meant for human conversation unless an order was being given.
It did register the two voices though. One was a woman’s voice. It recognized her, and it remembered the feeling of soft, uncalloused hands wrapping bandages around its forearm. However, her voice was unimportant in comparison to the other. That voice was low, calloused, deep in a way that was already beginning to make it shiver on instinct. That was the voice that gave orders. That was its “new management”. That was the voice that was important.
There was a small gasp, but it came from the woman. The mutant paid no heed, though it did feel its muscles subconsciously tensing at her tone. Sharp. Surprised. Upset. At it? At something else? It didn’t know. It didn’t need to know. It needed to remain silent and ready, awaiting its orders.
There was a hand on its chin, and this one was rough. This one felt worn and well-used by the world. This hand was none too gentle as it tilted the mutant’s face up, forcing its gaze to raise. It was careful to keep its eyes focused on the distance but — in spite of everything, all its training — its gaze briefly shifted to glance at its new master. The man was sharper than the last. His jaw was chiseled and his black hair swept into a sharp point, sideburns drifting down the sides of his face and leading to a rough layer of stubble across his chin. Unlike the last, he wore no glasses. There was nothing to filter that sharp, searching gaze that he pinned the mutant down with.
The words “new management” once again echoed through its mind, and it took far too much effort to suppress a shiver that wanted to run down its spine. It couldn’t shiver. It couldn’t shrink away. This was where it had been designated to be; it couldn’t disappoint.
“You stood here all night?” The new handler dipped into something that was almost like a growl — not an animalistic one, of course. The mutant would never insinuate that its master was anything less than human. His voice just did that, occasionally. The mutant had vaguely heard it the night before, when the man had been talking to the others between orders. It was quickly beginning to associate the growls with the man being upset. That was bad.
Still, the man should know the answer to his question. The mutant was in the exact position it had been left in. It hadn’t dared to move throughout the night, not even a little. It had stayed. It had obeyed. The new handler should be able to see that, shouldn’t he?
There was another growl rumbling in the man’s throat, and the mutant found itself tensing. It didn’t make sense — it had done what it had been told, why would he be upset? — but of course, it didn’t need to make sense. It had to prepare for punishment even if it had followed orders…
But then the hand dropped away, and the handler was turning his back on it. The mutant didn’t let its shoulders slump in relief — it was too well trained for that — but it did drop its gaze back to the ground. It felt easier to have its eyes focused on the lush carpet rather than the confusion of what was going on above it. That was where its gaze was supposed to be, after all. It didn’t understand what it had done wrong thus far, but it was determined not to make the same mistake again, lest its new handler be less gracious next time he was upset.
“He stayed like that all night?” The woman’s words washed over the mutant’s ears. It didn’t hear those words; it was just waiting for its next order.
“I told him to stay.”
“Like that?”
“Obviously I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Did you feed him? Logan?”
“...I wasn’t thinking.”
“You—“ the woman’s voice cut off with a sharp inhale. “You told us you could handle this, Logan.”
“No, you brought a possibly dangerous creature in here without thinking for a second about what it would mean.” The mutant wasn’t listening to the words. It knew better than that. But it heard the tone, heard the growl creeping into its master’s voice, and it tensed. “I’m only dealing with it because I’m the only one who knows how.”
“Well, at this rate, it doesn’t look like you’re helping.” The woman let out a breath, and then she was kneeling down near the mutant. It waited for the reprimand that must be coming — she had been the one to bind its wounds, it would be fitting for her to undo them — but instead more honey-laced words that were above its level washed over its ears. “Hey there. Hey. Are you hungry?”
It carefully avoided looking in her direction. It kept its gaze focused on the ground, and it continued to wait. It was supposed to wait. It would know when it was needed, and then it would respond.
“Did you…” she paused, and the mutant continued to stay beneath the words as she turned back to its handler. “He needs a bath, Logan.”
“Didn’t want to mess up his bandages.”
“Really?”
“…I wasn’t thinking.”
There was another long sigh. The mutant could feel eyes on it again. It resisted the urge to shy away from the attention; that was a desire that it had broken years ago.
“Are you hungry?” It was the same vocal pattern that had been spoken a moment before. The woman wasn’t looking at the handler; she was looking at the mutant, almost like she was speaking to it. That, of course, made no sense. The mutant was unsure as to why the handler hadn’t yet corrected her.
“Jean, that’s not…” the master growled, the mutant tensed, and then, finally, a command was barked out. “Sit.”
That was something that the mutant was capable of.
It was on the floor in an instant, its knees tucked beneath it and its head carefully bowed. It kept its tail tucked close to its side, the spade curled just around one knee as it laid its palms flat on the soft floor. It didn’t allow its relief to show, nor the way that its body rocked with the weight finally being taken off of its legs. It could feel the bones creaking and tingling from the long night, and it felt thankful for the small mercy that it had been given.
“Jean, go down and get him something to eat, I guess.” The eyes lingered scrutinizingly on the mutant, and it was careful to keep still. “And some fresh bandages. He could probably use ‘em. I’ll get him cleaned up while you do.”
“Are you sure, Logan?” The mutant wasn’t listening to the words, but it could still discern the commanding tone that the master had given. It hadn’t been an order, not one the same as the ones it was given, but it still felt itself tensing for the woman. She shouldn’t be hesitating. She should be obeying. Her hands had been kind when they had wrapped its wounds, and it liked her honey-silk voice. She should obey before…
The handler only sighed. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’ll be able to get him to move better. Should’a done it last night.”
“It’s alright. None of us were expecting this.” The woman reached out, and from the corner of its vision the mutant could see her hand resting on the handler’s bicep. “Thank you, Logan.”
All that followed was a grunt, but apparently that was an acceptable response because the woman gently slipped out of the room. The handler let out another breath once she was a few feet down the hall, and the mutant could feel his attention turn back to it.
“Alright then. Let’s get you cleaned up.” The first few words were gruff, but the mutant didn’t have to wonder if it was supposed to decipher them because they were followed by a sharp, recognizable command. “Follow.”
It was on its feet before the word was finished, and the scream of protest from its overworked knees was quickly filed away along with its exhaustion. It followed quickly behind the man's heels as he led it to a new portion of the storage room — guest room? Spare room? It didn’t need to know — and opened a door in the wall. The door led to what the mutant recognized as a bathroom.
It knew what a bathroom was. It knew what it looked like to streak red blood across the tiles.
The handler stopped near the end, then glanced back at the mutant. It stopped with him, assuming it was a part of the “follow” order. Thankfully, the assumption didn’t seem to backfire on him. The handler didn’t seem displeased… at least, not any further. There was a sour look that had been on his face every time that he glanced in the direction of the mutant. That was understandable. That was to be expected.
“Shower,” the man said, and he accented the word by pointing toward the device. The mutant allowed its eyes to drift in that direction, hoping that was what its handler wanted. Yes. A shower. It recognized that. Would its next assignment have something to do with a shower? Was that why its new handler was showing it?
Apparently its silent recognition wasn’t enough. The handler let out a huff, and the mutant tensed, its muscles ready to take a blow when the man dealt out a rebuke for its stupidity. However, the blow didn’t come, only another sharp order. “Shower,” he repeated, this time pointing a finger at the mutant before turning it to the shower. “You. Shower. Now.”
The mutant carefully kept its tail from twitching. It took conscious effort, and it could feel its mind moving slowly. No, no, it needed to be better than this. It needed to be quicker. Its new handler was giving an order. It must comply if it wanted to avoid the consequences. He was pointing out the shower, he… wanted the mutant to shower? Here?
Maybe… maybe this place was not properly equipped to handle a mutant yet. It had been left unchained and without surveillance for what it assumed to be an entire night. This was new management, not the previous facility. They must be setting up a proper holding cell, and that would have the proper mutant maintenance stations. And until then his new handler… was showing it the mercy of allowing it to use a superior facility?
It didn’t understand, but it was being too slow. It could hear the low rumble of a growl beginning again in the man’s throat, and it knew it was beginning to test his patience. It stepped forward, and when the man didn’t say anything, it stepped forward again. Soon it was next to the shower, and it tensed, waiting for the punishment that would come for its stupid assumption or misinterpretation. Then, when none came, it began to peel off the long shirt that it had been given the night before. A small, small part of its mind hoped it would be allowed to rewear the item rather than being confined to only the combat pants again. The rest of its mind vehemently reminded it that even those would be a mercy.
The handler had stopped grumbling, which seemed to mean that the mutant had — somehow — come to the correct conclusion. It continued to strip down while the handler turned and slipped back into the main room. A moment later he returned, though only to place a bundle of fabric on the counter.
The man glanced up at the mutant briefly. “Use these,” he said curtly, his hand tapping once on the new pile of clothes. Then, without another word, he shut the door. He was doing nothing to stop the mutant.
Somehow, this must be what it was supposed to do. The new handler must just not have a spicket or a hose set up. Not yet, at least.
Getting in the shower felt wrong. Allowing the water to fall over its scalloped, misshapen ears felt wrong. Raising its deformed, clawed hand to scrub at its greasy hair and realizing that the water was warm felt wrong. This was all too good for a creature like it. It could see the way the water beneath its mangled feet began to turn almost black with the grime that it washed away, and it felt an instinctive burn of guilt for the dark stains against the bright white porcelain. Every second, it expected for the new handler to burst into the room and show it just how wrong it was.
It didn’t allow the warm water to lull it into a sense of security. It did not allow itself to linger beneath the spray. It scrubbed at its fur as quickly as it could, ignoring the dull throb of the injuries that still tugged at its skin. It hated to get the bandages soaked when it likely would wear these till it was deemed well enough, but it had its orders and it wasn’t going to resist the kindness in any way.
The moment that the water began to turn clear beneath its clawed feet, it shut the water off. It shook out its pelt there in the shower, and once it was as dry as possible, it stepped out into the cold air. It didn’t allow itself to feel the cold, nor the ache from its bandaged limbs. Instead it focused on the pile of clothes on the counter. Its previous clothes were heaped in the corner, dropped where it assumed it would pick them up later. But now… the handler had placed another bundle of clothes. It had specifically told the mutant to use those new clothes.
It couldn’t move too slowly. It had already taken more time than it should have in the shower. Its fur always took too long to clean, it didn’t have time to hesitate.
The mutant stepped across the tile, then reached over to the clothes on the counter. It winced slightly as his claws caught on the fabric. Damaging it already, its mind whispered, but it shook off the thought. It wasn’t supposed to think. It was supposed to follow orders and — for some reason — it was ordered to put on the new clothes. It wasn’t just a pair of boxers either, like it was so often granted. It was given those, plus a pair of long, loose-fitting sweatpants, and even a new shirt that was a size smaller than the previous one. It still fell just above the mutant’s knees, but it could still feel the small sense of relief that came with having a bit more of its fur covered. Realistically, the fabric would give no protection, but it still felt as though there was a layer keeping its back and torso from sight.
It shouldn’t find pleasure in something so easily ripped away, especially when that thing was nice. The fabric was soft against its skin and fur, nothing like the rough, uncomfortable things it was rarely granted at the facility. This was something better, something meant for humans. This would be a temporary luxury. Its new handlers would quickly realize these garments were too good for a creature like it.
For the time being, the mutant allowed itself to be grateful for the kindness. It couldn’t let it show its gratefulness, of course, but it could still feel this one kernel of emotion.
The door clicked, and the mutant froze instinctively. Its hands dropped to its sides, away from the hem of the shirt that it had been fiddling with, and its tail — which had begun to sway ever so slightly — was quickly stilled. By the time the door had fully opened and its new handler had looked inside, it had masterfully tucked everything away behind its usual blank eyes and bowed head, its gaze carefully trained on the tile floor. Silence followed the movement, and the mutant could feel itself tensing for punishment. You thought any of this was for you? Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong—
“Good. You’re done.” The first few words were said in that rumbly voice, the one that made the mutant’s fur prickle as it wondered what was wrong, why was he upset, but it was soon replaced with a sound that it understood and knew what to do with: orders. “Come here.”
The mutant could feel its ears twitch ever so slightly before it managed to still them. It knew this one. It knew this order well. Its old handlers always liked how it showed initiative with this one; it was good that it could show its training to this “new management”. Perhaps, if it performed well enough, it would be permitted to keep the shirt.
It stepped forward as the handler stepped back into the main room. As soon as the handler stopped the mutant stopped as well, falling to its knees in one swift movement. It kept its palms spread against the soft carpet and it bared its neck, carefully tilting it toward its handler to make the process easier. Then it waited, listening for the familiar click of a chain connecting to the collar.
Instead, it heard an unfamiliar noise. It sounded almost like a snarl, but it was choked back before it could form. That didn’t make sense, of course. Snarls and growls of that nature were mutant noises, animal noises, not noises that a handler would make. Still, any sort of noise like that meant that the handler had to be displeased, and that was bad. The mutant bowed its head further, careful to keep its tail curled tightly around it and out of stomping range, and hoped desperately that it hadn’t just messed everything up.
“No, you’re—“ the voice cut off and grumbled something in that low, dangerous rumble that the mutant knew wasn’t meant for it to understand. It stayed bowed, refused to tremble, and waited for whatever consequence was to come. “Stand up.”
It was on its feet in an instant, and it felt a twinge of anxiety when there was no clack of chains following its movements. “Come here” always meant the leash, or the shackles, or some sort of containment. It was never left without contingencies for this long, unless it was being deployed. Was it going to be deployed now? Was that why the new handler had been angry that it had prepared for containment?
The old handlers had liked when it was docile. They liked when it seemed aware of the process, even if they disliked when it was aware of anything else. This annoyance was different. It didn’t know what to expect from this new handler. It had never been shifted to different ownership before, and it was quickly struggling to adjust.
There wasn’t enough time for it to process the obvious annoyance from its handler though, because before anything else could be said, the door opened. The mutant could instantly smell the new arrival — sharp vanilla soap, a light touch of cinnamon, something warm like the sun — and recognized the scent of the woman who had come in with its handler. In addition to her scent, it recognized that she was carrying something; food.
“Oh, good! That was fast!” The door shut behind the woman, and the mutant carefully tuned out the conversation that would follow. It didn’t need to hear this. “You’re a lot more blue than I thought!”
“Looks like he had a layer of dirt over his fur,” the handler said, his voice still low and unhappy.
“Well, glad that’s off, finally.”
“Hey, I told you—“
“It’s alright, Logan. Really, I’m just glad we’re making progress now.” She sat down on the floor, and the food-smell followed her. The mutant carefully avoided looking in its direction, and even more carefully ignored the dull ache in its stomach. “Here little guy, this is for you.”
Her honey-sweet words washed over its ears. It could smell the food, but it ignored it. It had been trained in this plenty of times before. It knew its place.
“Did you hear me?” The scent of food grew stronger, and the mutant could see the way that the woman was leaning forward. Its stomach twisted, and it could not tell if it was hunger or nausea that pulled at its insides. A test. That’s what this was. That was the only reason she would be moving the food closer. Of course. It made sense; they were its new handlers. They would want to ensure that it was well-trained. That was why it was there, unchained, with food that it shouldn’t eat in front of it. Perhaps that was even why it had been left unrestrained all night.
It would prove its understanding. It had to be worth something, and it was worth nothing without obedience.
“Are you not hungry?” There was a pause. “Logan…”
The mutant could hear a heavy sigh from behind it. “Eat.”
Its muscles locked up at that, two halves of its small, animal brain warring with each other. That was an order. It was supposed to obey. It was meant to obey. And yet… it was a test. Did they want to see if their orders would override its programming, or did they want to see if its programming would override its orders? Was it meant to obey? Was it meant to disobey? Was this a test or a trick?
It wasn’t supposed to eat human food. This smelled like some sort of pastry, pastry and eggs and bacon or some other meat that it didn’t let itself focus on for fear of losing control. This was food that was far above its standing. It had been trained to resist the temptation of human food. It had been trained harshly to ignore any snacks or meals that its handlers had brought for themselves. It knew what it was meant to have. It knew what it deserved, and this was not it.
But at the same time… an order. It had been trained to obey the word of its handler above all else. To disobey its handler meant pain worse than death. This was the handler that it had been transferred to. This was who it was meant to obey.
It was too slow. It was slow and it was stupid, and it could hear the handler behind it getting annoyed. That was the third or fourth time that had happened since the morning. What if it was all a test? What if it had already failed by accepting the shower that it had been told to take? What if it had already been deemed broken and unusable, and this food was just a taunt? The master had to be near his breaking point. Punishment would be imminent by now. The mutant was too slow to understand—
“He’s not gonna take it.”
“What? He’s so skinny, he needs—“
“Put it away, you’re just overwhelming him.” The handler’s voice was a command, but it was a gentler one. It wasn’t directed at the mutant. He didn’t wait for the woman’s response but instead turned to the door, and stalked out with heavy footsteps. The mutant continued to stand, frozen, the smell of food slowly pulling away, petrified of what he would return with. Punishment. It had to be punishment. It had done something wrong, it—
“Logan, what is that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“I know what I’m doin’, Jeanie.”
The door shut again. The man’s footsteps echoed heavily over the hardwood, bringing him swiftly closer to the mutant. There was a low screech, the sound of a can being opened, and then a smell that the mutant recognized filled the air.
Food. Food that it could have.
The can was placed in front of it, and it took all of the restraint left in its exhausted body not to fall to its knees then and there. The nausea in its belly turned to full, true hunger, and it realized that it had been over two days since it had last eaten. It was unsure of how long it had been unconscious when it was extracted from its mission; perhaps it had been three. It barely managed to keep its tail still as it waited, agony curling around its middle as it waited until—
“Eat.”
It hesitated just enough so that the handler could change his mind, and when he didn’t it fell to its knees. The carpet pressed into its palms and it carefully kept its claws from tearing at the flooring before it shifted to grab the can. The edges of the thing were torn and sharp, and it had to slow down just enough to keep from cutting itself in its haste to get the nutrition. When it finally began to gulp down the contents, it was surprised to find that it wasn’t the same dry, tasteless kibble or slimy, canned contents it was used to. It was flavored, at least more so than anything the mutant was usually fed. Yet, despite the doubts that it was still too good, it was given after a test. It was ordered to eat this. It was supposed to eat this.
It sucked down the contents until there was nothing left, and it could feel its stomach churning and settling with the new influx of nutrients. It had to force itself to keep its tail still against the carpet, and it hoped that it had not been wagging while it had been eating. However, whether it had or not, the food hadn’t been taken away. The mutant had eaten its fill without consequence, even with the two humans staring down at it. This must have been a test. They must have been trying to see its limits, and the reward was better than anything it would have gotten back at the old facility.
The mutant made sure to slip back into proper posture without being told, its head bowed as it awaited its orders. It was careful to tune out the conversation that began in hushed, human tones.
“Logan… did he really just eat that?”
“I told you.”
“That was dog food.”
“You better be glad that Jubilee keeps asking to feed that stray.”
“I… won’t that make him sick?”
“That’s what he’s used to. Regular food is more likely to mess him up.”
The woman sounded concerned, the handler sounded defensive, and the mutant could hear the tensions rising. It didn’t know what the conversation was about. It didn’t need to know. It only needed to brace itself as the tones began to dip into something closer to an argument.
“You can’t feed a kid dog food, Logan.”
“He ate it, didn’t he?”
“That’s not right — “
“Jean—“ The handler’s voice sharpened, and the mutant tensed. It was unsure if it was somehow the cause, or just a prop in another argument. It had thought it had done a good job. It was following orders to the best of its ability, and the food must have meant it was doing good. Was it still at fault for the tension? Was this something else, something above its animal comprehension? Either way, the cause didn’t matter. The tensions were rising and, more likely than not, it would be punished to relieve some of that anger.
It was instinct that had it tilting its face down, carefully resting its forehead against the floor. Its palms pressed into the carpet as it tucked its knees against its chest, its back and neck entirely exposed and easy to access. A moment too late it remembered that these masters seemed less inclined to initiative, but at that point it was already in position. They wouldn’t have to bother to beat it down; it was already on the ground, just waiting for the pain to follow.
The conversation above it went silent.
“Logan…”
“Jean.” The handler’s voice was clipped, and the mutant desperately tuned it out. It was ready. It was prepared. It knew how to block out the pain even better than it knew how to block out the voices. “Let me handle this.”
“But—“
“I’m telling you, I know what this is. I knew with the food and I know with this.”
“What is…”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You can’t…”
“Jean, this is exactly why you asked me to do this. I understand this. I can handle this. You can’t.” The mutant nearly shivered at the harsh tone, but the movement was stilled before it could interrupt its form. “Let me handle this.”
There was a moment of silence. Then, slowly, it heard the door open. There was another beat, and then it closed again. The scent of vanilla and sun began to fade, and the mutant was left with metal and cedar and sweat.
This handler would hit a lot harder than the last. The mutant had to work to keep its muscles from getting too knotted.
It could hear the sound of a sigh being released. Then a few slow, agonizing seconds of silence followed. Then the man said something, and the mutant wasn’t sure if it was supposed to listen or not.
“What exactly are you waiting for?”
The voice was a low rumble, one that the mutant couldn’t discern whether it was meant as an order, or if the man was just talking to himself. It didn’t sound like an order… but there was no one else in the room. This could be another test; a test as to whether or not it would listen in to regular conversation. Or had it already been through that test while the woman was in the room?
There was too much to think about. Every single move, even the ones that it knew were right, felt wrong.
The man knelt down next to it, and the mutant tensed. However, instead of delivering a blow, a hand simply tugged at the shirt that it had been given. The hand didn’t even take it away, it simply moved the fabric to the side, briefly exposing the creature’s back to the air, before tugging it back down. There was a rumble above its head, and the mutant could feel the displeasure in the air.
“I can’t even tell through that mess. They could’ve done anything to you.”
It listened to the words just enough to see if there was an order embedded in the statement. There was nothing, nothing that it could understand, at least. It made its skin crawl, and it barely bit back a shiver as the hand ghosted over its back again. Scouting for a spot to hit? Debating what method of punishment to use? Maybe, if the handler was merciful, he was checking so that he could avoid the previous injuries that still pulled beneath the soaked bandages.
“Your fur’s wet,” the handler murmured, cruising under his breath as he said it. “I didn’t tell you to dry off, did I?”
The mutant almost heard the words. It shouldn’t be listening — they weren’t spoken in a tone that demanded it listen — but it heard enough to make it tense more. Had it been supposed to dry off? That wasn’t part of the orders. That wasn’t part of the usual routine. That was more than it had ever been given before, it didn’t think to even consider that.
Everything seemed to be so much more than it was used to. Everything was too much…
“I know. You’re overwhelmed. Overthinking.” There was a heavy sigh above the mutant, and it almost shivered as the handler’s hand rested on its shoulder. It expected the thing to squeeze, maybe move to its neck, maybe pull back and return with more force… but it didn’t. It simply rested there. “Nothing makes sense, even the things that should make sense. You probably can’t even hear what I’m saying right now; or at least, you’re trying not to.”
The mutant thought about focusing on the words, but… the hand was easier to focus on. There was weight pressing against its skin, but it wasn’t an unkind weight. It was simply… there. That was easier to think about then the words that it wasn’t sure were meant for it.
“I know you’re expecting… something, right now. But I dunno what they used to do as a standard, and Jean would kill me if I hit a kid.”
The hand moved slightly and the mutant braced for a blow, but… none came. There was still nothing. It didn’t understand… where was the punishment? Why was it being delayed?
“I know. This limbo. It’s…” there was a small huff. “I don’t know. I didn’t have to deal with people. You’ve got expectations. You’ve got people hoverin’ over you and…”
The man cut himself off, and the hand left the mutant's shoulder abruptly. The creature tensed, waiting for the blow that was sure to follow, but… none came. There was still nothing.
“I don’t want to deal with this,” the man was muttering, his voice a low rumble that carried over the mutant’s ears and made it shiver. There was a beat of silence, then there was another huff. With that the man stood up, and when the mutant dared to cast its eyes slightly in his direction, he was already halfway to the door. It was just before he walked over the threshold that he glanced back, his eyes dark in the dim lighting of the room.
“Sleep,” he said, and the word was undoubtedly a command. The rest of his sentence, when he went on to mutter something like “since you forgot to earlier”, was a mutter that must not have been meant for the mutant. It heard it regardless, and it carefully made sure not to wince until the handler had closed the door. The man seemed upset. The mutant was not sure if the greater crime was listening to words it was not meant to, or not sleeping at a time it had not been told to.
Really, it wasn’t sure what was expected of it at all. It didn’t know what it had done. It didn’t know what it had failed to do. It had no idea what punishment would come, but it seemed as if one was imminent.
And yet… it had been granted clothing. It had been rewarded with food. It had been told to sleep. It knew to follow orders, and it knew not to let chances of rest go lightly. It was grateful for the chance, and it would not waste it.
The mutant curled up on the floor, and even that felt too good. The carpet was soft and gentle against its injuries, and it was able to let the confusion of the new management slip from its mind. It had been told to sleep. It was supposed to sleep.
The mutant was unconscious within minutes.
