Welcome to Chapter 15, "Possible apprentice?"
Because what's a little psychological torture without a willing participant? Skylar's just dipped her toes into this world of control, manipulation, and breaking people down, and I'm sure she's loving every minute of it. I mean, who wouldn't want to observe Taz at work, right? I'm sure it's super fun.
As for Taz, well, he's been doing this for a while, and now he has an interested apprentice. A little more human interaction never hurt anyone... except, you know, the people he's torturing.
The soundproof door slid open silently, and Skylar stepped into the procedure room. The sharp chill of the concrete floor bit through the thin soles of her boots. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and something heavier, as if the air itself carried the weight of the secrets it held. Taz was already in motion, standing by the monitors, his back to her. His lab coat was as wrinkled as usual, his hair a disheveled mess, but he moved with a precise, calculating rhythm. He barely spared her a glance as he adjusted one of the dials on the monitor, his focus entirely on the three boys slumped against the reinforced wall.
"Take a seat," he said, his voice calm, neutral, as if he were instructing her in something mundane. "You're here to observe. Take notes."
Skylar perched on the edge of a stool, her eyes scanning the three restrained boys. They were barely conscious, twitching sporadically as the classical music filtered through the speakers—an eerie backdrop to their agony. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent hum vibrating through the cold, sterile air. She pulled her notebook from her jacket and opened it to a fresh page. Her pen hovered over the paper for a moment before she started writing, her handwriting quick and sharp.
Subject 2 – 14:16
Breathing erratic, almost like he's trying to catch up with his own lungs.
Keeps blinking like he's trying to delete reality.
Flinched at change in music (Chopin → Vivaldi). Possibly hates violins.
Whispering under his breath. No clue what he's saying. Probably regrets.
Note:If he starts reciting Bible verses, I'm walking out.
Subject 1 – 14:19
Full-body tremor.
Right hand twitching.
Jaw clenched so tight he might snap a molar.
Eye contact with wall. (Not a metaphor. He's just staring.)
Conclusion:Close to snapping. Looks like a microwave burrito right before it explodes. Taz, are we sure the sedatives are working?
Subject 3 – 14:22
Disconnected. Staring at the ceiling like it owes him money.
Zero verbal response.
Did not react to volume increase. Needs more stimulation or he's already gone.
Theory:Might be in outer space mentally. Unclear if it's trauma or just low IQ.
Skylar glanced up at the monitors, watching the boys shift and twitch as the music looped again. Her eyes flicked to Taz, who was scribbling something down on his clipboard without sparing a glance at the boys. He was completely in his element, observing their every slight reaction with surgical precision. She could tell he was already dissecting their behavior in his mind, noting things that would mean nothing to anyone else but meant everything to him.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, breaking the silence between them.
Taz didn't look up. "Just the patterns. The data. It's all predictable once you've seen it enough times."
She felt the familiar tension in the air—an unspoken acknowledgment that this was no ordinary situation. These were no ordinary criminals. The room felt more like a morgue than a lab, the only sound the soft hum of the monitors and the ticking of the clock.
She shifted uncomfortably on the stool, trying to get a read on the boys. Her pen hovered over her notebook, and she quickly scribbled another note.
General Notes:
Taz doesn't blink much when working. Mildly unsettling.
Need to ask what the red switch does. Looks important.
Reminder: Do NOT touch tray labeled "volatile." Again.
Next test: Light exposure reduction by 10%. This could get interesting.
Taz didn't look at her notes, but she knew he was aware of everything she wrote. After all, it wasn't her words that mattered—it was what she saw. He needed someone to catch the details, to track the changes, to notice the little things. That was the test.
Skylar glanced back at the screen, her eyes tracking Subject 1. His breathing had become even more shallow, his body twitching every few seconds like a clock winding down. She leaned forward slightly, watching him closely. Something about his state seemed familiar, like a memory she couldn't quite place. She scribbled another line.
Subject 1 – 2:14 pm
Total dissociation, or just a really bad case of denial.
Eyes glazed over. Not a sign of panic. More like acceptance. He's lost.
Conclusion:Maybe he's just mentally checked out. Or maybe he knows the end is coming. Hard to tell, but I'd bet on the latter.
Taz finally glanced up, catching her eye for the first time in what felt like forever. His expression didn't change, but she could sense his approval in the way his gaze lingered for a second longer than usual.
"You're starting to get it," he said, his voice low, but not unkind.
Skylar blinked. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed by his lack of praise. Instead, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I told you I could handle it."
Taz didn't answer immediately. He simply reached for his pen and scribbled in his own notes, then spoke without looking up.
"Handle it. Observe. Don't get attached."
Skylar leaned back in the stool, cracking a dry smile. "I don't get attached to anything that isn't already broken."
Taz didn't acknowledge the joke. But the slight tilt of his head, the flicker in his eyes, made it clear that he understood her better than she expected. She wasn't just here for the show—she was here to learn. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the ticking clock and the occasional soft hum of the speakers. The boys remained slumped in their restraints, their bodies slowly losing control, while Skylar continued to take her notes—each word, each observation, a step deeper into Taz's world.
And as the music played on, she couldn't help but wonder how much further she would go.
After finishing the observation, Skylar slowly made her way back up the cold, unfamiliar stairs. Taz followed her, his lab coat still hanging loosely around his shoulders, his eyes fixed on his notes as he jotted something down quickly on the way.
They entered the small office, where a faint twilight glow from the window slowly filled the room. There was a comfortable silence between them, but not uncomfortable. Skylar sat on the edge of the desk and took a deep breath, still feeling the faint aftertaste of the intense atmosphere they'd left in The Procedure Room.
Taz sat down in his office chair, flipped his notes over, and glanced at her briefly before returning his focus to his clipboard.
"How are you feeling?" Taz asked without looking at her, as if it were a routine, automatic question. His voice was cool, but there was an undercurrent to it—something darker, something satisfied, even in the question.
Skylar shrugged and shot him a quick glance before looking down at her hands, still feeling the cold sensation of metal from the three boys they'd restrained.
"Honestly?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm fascinated." She smiled wryly. "And a little scared."
Taz quickly scribbled something down on his clipboard, and when he looked up, his gaze was different this time—not just detached, but interested, even amused.
"Fascinated... or are you just getting used to it?" He set the pen down and leaned back in his chair.
Skylar considered the question for a moment, surprised by how used to it she'd become. But that wasn't something she was ready to admit just yet.
"Used to it? Maybe. But... there's something about it. It's not the kind of violence you see in the movies. It's... almost scientific." She glanced back down at her hands and traced a finger over the desk. "I get why you do it."
Taz's lips curled slightly at the edges, and for the first time, Skylar saw a flicker of something pleasurable in his eyes—something more than just clinical interest.
"You get why?" he echoed, leaning forward slightly, his tone taking on an almost playful quality. "You mean the routine? The control? Or the sheer satisfaction of watching someone break down—piece by piece?"
Skylar met his eyes, an uneasy feeling crawling up her spine, but something about the way he said it sent a chill through her. There was an undeniable pleasure in his words, an almost sexual satisfaction in the idea of control.
"It's all part of the process," Taz continued, his voice lowering, getting more intimate with each word. "I break them down, piece by piece, just as I've been trained. I give them everything they've given to others. And when they're at their lowest, when they've lost everything… that's when I get to see the real transformation. It's beautiful in its own twisted way."
Skylar swallowed, trying not to flinch at the depth of his pleasure in those words. She wasn't sure whether she was repelled or fascinated by how alive he seemed to be in the process. But she understood. There was beauty in the order, the control. She could relate to that. In some way, she knew that thrill. Not in the same way, but she understood the need for structure in the chaos.
She looked at him for a moment, the space between them charged with something neither of them had fully acknowledged yet.
Skylar glanced at Taz, her expression calm but with an edge of something darker behind her eyes. "If you ever bring Owen and Travis down here... can I come?" she asked, her voice steady, yet laced with an underlying tension.
Taz didn't look up from his clipboard, but there was a slight pause before he responded, his tone cool and clinical. "If I ever bring Owen and Travis down here, it'll be to kill them... Not to dissect and observe like now."
Skylar's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I'm game," she said simply, as if the idea didn't phase her at all. There was no hesitation, just an undeniable understanding between them.
He scribbled down his observations, Taz paused for a moment and jotted something extra on the bottom of his clipboard.
"Skylar Payne: Potential apprentice? Or simply relishing the destruction of her own moral compass. Further observation required."
Skylar leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as she spoke in a quieter, more serious tone. "Let's say they ever hurt Reagan... What would you do?"
Taz didn't immediately answer. He set down his clipboard, his eyes never leaving hers. "Play it by ear," he replied, almost matter-of-factly. "But it'd be slow. I'd use some toxins I've got lying around. That whip over there? Perfect for it."
Skylar's lips curled into a slight smile. "Why?" she asked, leaning in a little, her voice teasing but with an edge. "Is that what you're hoping for?"
Taz tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "If they end up down here?" He paused, considering for a moment. "Without a doubt. I'd help you, too."
Skylar's expression darkened with approval. "Good."
Taz simply nodded, returning to his notes as though nothing had shifted. It was clear: the decision had already been made.