Partridge in a Pear Tree. (Sa'ato/Kress. Ask)

[Kressara Thryn]

“That uuuhh, sounds like a lot of volts, doc. Are you trying to jumpstart my system, or a land cruiser?” Eyes followed his hands until his work took them out of sight, leaving only the ceiling and his face to look at. Kressara was grateful the professor didn’t mind announcing what he was about to do before he did it, keeping the urge to stop the procedure down. Just enough to convince her he knew what he was doing…he did right?

Thoughts of Sa’ato having her best interests in mind vanished in a jolt of nerve frying pain. Muscle and tendons tightened unbearably, her network of already damaged nerves firing all at once. Teeth clamped down on the strap, permanently denting thick hide like a leather press and a dreadful shriek rattled her vocal chords to the point of cracking. It was a state of utter confusion, timelessness, and pain that felt as though every bone would snap under the pressure of her contortion, and it lasted for days within the timespan of only a minute.

Sa’ato dropped the voltage to nothing and his violently tremoring patient whimpered like all the humor had been burned out of her. Watery drool strung down one side of Kressara’s face, mixing with involuntary tears and sweat to dampen her skin in a glistening aura. Sweating out some glitterstim shine.
Words barely made sense as reddened sun gold gems peered up pleadingly, childlike. His jittering subject was as wiley as they came, but perhaps the line was drawn at heavy medical trauma. Even professional killers had their limitations.

“S-s-sa-a’a-t-t-t-to…” She eeked out his name, teeth chattering on the leather bit to the sound of her legs and arms jostling their restraints. No malice. Not even a hint of it. Only a pleading whine as she shook like she was experiencing her own earthquake localized just to the table. God, he broke her.

A twitchy jerk of her lips revealed teeth fiercely holding the strap, watering eyes glinting with unveiling mischief as she did her best to bleat out a mock moan.

“N-nn…h-hard-er-r d-da-AAA!!!” Electricity blinded and racked her again, this time each surge a tidal wave of power causing visceral twisting and popping joints. Kressara screamed like Sa’ato was ripping off each fingernail and coring her eyes, gasping when she’d exhausted all the air from her lungs. After thirty seconds, one of her hands strapped down by her side jerked open, unfurling fingers and lifting off the table as much as she could make it. In her grasp, somehow managing to keep it in place without breaking it, a small lightbulb with flashing filaments. Every surge caused the bulb to glow and with no reserve, the smoking crow shredded her lungs to cackle against the searing of her neuropathways.

Either she was an idiot, or so smart she looked stupid.

[Professor Mors]

Somewhere far beneath his frigid, icy exterior, Sa'ato felt a pang of sympathy for his patient after the first round of treatment. Nonetheless, he meant what he said, and out of courtesy to Kressara, the professor administered the second round shortly thereafter. The Neti was then subjected to the young woman's most bodacious, buffoonish display yet. He smiled in spite of himself. On the one hand, it meant the academic wasn't at risk of completely frying his companion just yet. At the same time, if he had to increase the power again, clearly the glittbiter wasn't at the end of her rope. Emboldened, Sa'ato glanced at his ward's vital statistics.

"We are making progress", the professor announced, his expression now more neutral than disappointed, "Coefficient value has increased to three point five–". The Neti's sinous fingers danced over his computer interface, his brow furrowed as he crunched the numbers again and again, "For the treatment to be worth anything we need to breach a value of ten or better–". Gilt eyes fell on the corvid with steely determination, "I'm going to increase the voltage to maximum. It will not be pleasant, but if you can manage one more round I know we can reach it–". The Neti did not wait for a yes or no as he manicall cranked the dial once more.

"We shall resume in two minutes, forty eight seconds", the arboreal academic warned, his gazes rooted on the chrono yet again, "Draw on whatever strength you can muster– the Force if you can– your soul if you must!". With that he flipped the ignition switch, and while he heard the hellish crackle of energy, Sa'ato attention remained glued to the main interface screen. "Coefficient rising!", he hollered over the roar of the generator, "Four percent! Five percent!". Warning lights flared, the Neti cursed. At this right the experiment would short out the entire lower deck of the Mudhorn.

Sa'ato grimaced and forged ahead, despite the hiss and snap of stressed wires growing more frequent. "Seven– eight percent!", the professor cried with fear and enthusiasm after two minutes of continuous treatment, "Nine–". The academic's senses had been screaming about the danger for many moments, but he disregarded it right up until the point that cosmic anxiety came to pass. The Neti's control console literally and violently exploded in his face, which sent him flying to the floor, shattering his eyewear on impact. The generator gave a horrid, metallic shriek, before it went dark and released a dying gasp of putrid smoke.

Every interior light blinked out of existence, but from where he lay, Sa'ato could just barely make out one surviving, static-ridden computer screen. The final result! "Eleve- eleven percent!", the Neti groaned with joy, "Thryn! We did it! Please tell me you're still alive up there!"...