Chapter Four: Growth Spurt

Chapter 4

Reginald would've woken slowly, his mind was clogged enough for it, if a wave of terror hadn't shocked him into consciousness: there was something around his neck. There were restraints along each limb, holding him to a tilted metal table, but the one around his neck was the one he was most concerned about. It might've been his panicked imagination, but it felt tighter than the other restraints, nearly choking him.

"Hello, Reginald." Rhoda smirked, coming up the dirt path. Dirt path, glass roof, plants -- they were still in the Greenhouse. "Nice to see you're finally awake, lazybones."

Reginald looked around. He was strapped to his own machine, but some modifications had been made (mostly the addition of restraints), and a beautiful hybrid Nightshade was hooked up near him. Some time had passed, since the poodles had locked Spike in a cage and pulled off a costume change. To his absolute horror, it seemed they were trying to figure out how to operate the machine, which meant...

"You c-can't use me as a test subject!" He squawked, terrified. "I-I-I- Vampyr can't process sunlight, I'll have an a-almost zero chance of sur-sur-surviving!"

"Sur-sur-surviving." Rhoda mocked in a high pitched voice, scowling. Why had he thought she'd care? He really was stupid. "Seriously, Reginald, we've talked about this. Stuttering is low class, you have to work on it. If you do somehow survive, anyways. Send him up, numbskulls!"

How funny, Reginald thought hazily as the metal table started lifting towards a hole in the ceiling (something it was not supposed to do, this wasn't how the machine was operated, what were those idiots doing, how-?), all I used to want was for her to call me 'Reginald'. Now I don't think I ever want to hear it again, even if I survived.

Lightning flashed, raining pelting him so hard that it got past his feathers, making him shiver from cold. He was going to die, he knew it, and it was his own fault. His own foolish fault for falling for her falsehoods. And that poor flower would die with him. Maybe that shouldn't be what he was thinking, but he'd always had a soft spot for plants. He would die, and so would that poor, innocent plant.

What would happen to Spike? He couldn't think more about that as lightning struck the machine, chemicals rushing through him, feeling as if he was boiling from the inside out. It might've been minutes or days, he couldn't tell (much of anything) through the pain, but at some point it stopped. At some point he was lowered back down and the straps were released, but he just slid to the ground to slump over.

He wanted to move, to open his eyes, but he just couldn't. He wasn't even entirely sure he was still breathing, but was almost certain his heart wasn't beating. How was he still aware of anything? This wasn't death, he would know (Monsters always knew). But it didn't exactly feel like life.

Slowly, voices filtered in.

"-ulse. Pretty sure he's gone, Boss lady." A voice that he was pretty sure belonged to Teresa was saying, and he could just barely feel a pressure on his neck. He didn't even have the energy to flinch. "Bummer, guess it's a dud. Should we, like, resuscitate him, or..?"

"Don't bother, Flybrain." He could practically see Rhoda rolling her eyes, just like he knew she was glaring when Teresa cut herself off from trying to correct that her name was Flygirl. "Leave him in the woods with his pet, the thing will probably tear his body up enough to make the authorities assume monster-on-monster violence. Don't leave any DNA, not even a strand of hair, or I will make sure High Command uses you as the next victims- I mean, subjects."

"Yes Ma'am!" The poodles said in unison. He could hear the sound of metal scraping across the ground, and Spike's desperate barking.

Reginald was lifted into the air by an even pressure across his entire body. He might've thought that it was just the way his senses were acting up, but he recognized the feel of levitation. He hung loosely in the air, no outer sign of how terrified he was. Spike wouldn't really harm him, even if he thought Reginald was dead.

He was almost entirely certain of it. But if he was wrong, he wouldn't be able to fight back, and that was terrifying. He'd be completely helpless, out of control, maybe he'd even live through every moment of the pain. He wasn't sure, he'd technically just survived worse, after all. Then again, with how numb his body was...

Maybe he wouldn't even feel it.

Oh, he definitely would've felt it. By the time he was thrown unceremoniously on the ground, he felt like his whole body was on fire, twisting even though he wasn't moving. But it still wasn't as bad as the machine. He was pretty sure he could've moved, had he tried, but he didn't want to let his captors know that, so he didn't try.

"How are we leaving this beastie?" He could hear Maxwell over the sound of Spike's howling. He heard a snap and a whimper that hadn't come from the Flytrap. "Getting torn to shreds is not radical, girl."

"Leave it me, Hotshot." Teres- Flygirl said with an obviously false confidence. Maxwell (Hotshot?) seemed to fall for it, though, as he made a noise that sounded like an agreement. "Get over there. I'll just open the cage with my powers, then we'll..."

He heard the cage door scraping open, then a very deep growling that definitely came from Spike, though he hadn't known the plant was capable of such a noise.

"...RUN!" He couldn't tell whether Flygirl or Hotshot had screamed, maybe both of them. He heard them scrambling to get away, stomping through the forest, with Spike pursuing them.

Maybe he wouldn't have to worry about Spike maiming him, if Reginald could get up before he got back. But it was so hard. Every twitch and breath felt torn from him, as he struggled towards a tree to hold himself up.

Come on, Reginald. You can do this. He tried to encourage himself, but instead he flinched. It was too similar to something she'd say, when she wanted him to listen and obey without really thinking about it. By Ivia, how had he never figured it out? How could he have been so blind?

He'd always loved his name, but somehow she'd taken that. He didn't want to be Reginald anymore, didn't want to hear anyone call him that. But if he wasn't Dr Reginald Bushroot...

...Who was he?