Chương 118: Chapter 117 – Two Options, Same Results

"Dr. Wentworth, are you sure you don't want me to get the anesthesiologist?" Trula asked, his palms sweating as he looked down at Armand strapped to the table.

"I already told you, I am not wasting resources on this…. thing," he said, looking down coldly at Armand, who was still heavily sedated.

"Besides, how am I going to understand how it works if I can't see how it responds?"

"Yes, Sir." Trula sighed heavily, bile rising up the back of his throat, this was no longer the gaining medical knowledge of a different species this was torture.

"At least let me inject him with some more of the sedative to ensure he stays pain free. We do that for the lab animals, why not him?" Trula asked, his eyes pleading the doctor to do the right thing. Wentworth slammed the instrument he had been holding in his hand down on the tray.

"Well this is not an animal, well at least I don't think it is, it's the enemy and if you can't assist without commentary then I suggest you leave and send someone in who can. I've got work to do, stay, go, I really don't care, Trula!" Trula looked down at Armand with tremendous sympathy as he knew what was about to happen. If he left due to his moral objections, his career would be over for certain, but he could also virtually end up one of Wentworth's so called specimens.

Trula remembered his initial excitement when he came to work for Doctor Wentworth, he was a scientific pioneer, a sheer genius, highly commended by peers and officials alike, but since the current administration took over, something was lost. The man's moral fiber had somehow gone up in flames as he began to take pleasure in suffering. Wentworth in his experiments did not realize he was being observed and what Trula saw scared him with every fiber of his being.

He knew he was not administering proper doses of sedative medications or pain blockers to the animals he experimented on. He was unnecessarily cruel in his actions, intentionally inflicting horrific injuries to the animals just to hear them cry or howl. All Trula could do was leave the room and cover his ears, then wipe the tears from his eyes as the animal suddenly became quiet. Is this what he intended to do to this man?

He obviously was not a Goblin, but he was a man, he talked like a man, had the same basic anatomy of a goblin, he was not an animal or a specimen, he was a living breathing self-aware individual. He was an intelligent life form, who very shortly would be very aware that he was systematically being taken apart while being alive to see it, feel it, experience every part of it. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Trula had gone to the higher ups with his suspicions and concerns, a lot of good that did. He was written up twice for insubordination, placed on administrative leave and reprimanded. Mordak himself told him that if he interfered with Wentworth's work or slandered his good name again he would find himself locked up.

"I'm going to go gown up, I wouldn't want to get any of… that…" he said, looking over at Armand, "on me." Wentworth said.

"While I'm gone make sure we have a full array of specimen jars available," he said coldly as he walked out the door.

"Yes sir," Trula said as he turned to the cabinet.

"Help me," a voice whispered weakly. Trula turned to see Armand, his eyes groggily looking around the room. Trula would have sworn in a court of law his heart had stopped at that moment. He stood motionless praying that he would just go back to sleep.

"Help me," Armand whispered again, this time with an increased sense of urgency as he pulled against the restraints that tethered him to the table. Trula looked around the room to see if anyone else was nearby.

"Shh," he whispered, "you don't want the others to hear you." He made his way to the medicine cabinet and pulled out his key. He took a final look around the room before slowly opening the door. He reached in and pulled out a small bottle of purple liquid and stuffed it into his pocket, his heart beating so hard in his chest he could hear it echoing in his skull. He quickly shut and locked the medicine cabinet door and rushed to Armand. Armand looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Why?" he asked, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I did what they wanted, why?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand it any more than you do my friend," he whispered, putting a hand on his.

"There is only one way you are leaving here, you know that right?" Trula asked sympathetically. Armand nodded mournfully at him, as the tears fell more steadily.

"My question to you is, do you want to achieve it quickly and painlessly or slowly at Wentworth's hand?" he sighed. Armand looked at him wide-eyed, panic taking over.

"I don't want to die," he said.

"I know, and if I could get you out of here I would," he sighed, patting Armand's hand.

"Do you want to go out on your terms, or his?" he said, the panic making his stomach clench.

"I don't have a lot of time here buddy, if Wentworth walks back in, I'll be on the table next to you."

"There has to be another way," Armand said desperately.

"I'm sorry, but there is only one way, the method is the only choice I am afraid you have," Trula said, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and pulling out a syringe.