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“Gentlemen.” [break][break]

Her voice echoes out through the confines of the lab, a tinny, hollow sound; it’s joined by the steady percussion of the submarine clinking and ticking as it floats in space, the expansion and decompression of valves, the whirring of fans propelling canned air throughout, and the distant pinging of sonar. [break][break]

“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve called you here.” [break][break]

The lab is in its usual state of disarray, gently dim in the fluorescent lightbulbs. Papers stained with ink and coffee marks scattered across multiple tables, and energy drink and pop cans were crushed and tipped over. A dangling light has been pulled down from the ceiling, wires looping and spiraling behind it, the shocking bright white light beaming down on three men. [break][break]

They’re each bound to a chair-- torsos, wrists, calves, and ankles-- with what look like vines. Their mouths are tied with cloth gags. [break][break]

None of them have eyes-- each bearing empty divots for sockets. They’re shuddering and murmuring and breathing heavily in fear, hackles raised. [break][break]

Cyg sits across from them, reclined across a spinning office chair like a queen on a throne, knees hooked over the armrest, leaning back. She twirls a segment of blonde hair lazily around one finger, watching it fall with disinterest. [break][break]

“You may remember your rather unfortunate decision to hassle a friend of mine in Sootopolis, which-- first of all-- what the fuck is wrong with you guys? Just join Team Rocket and then you get paid to do that.” [break][break]

She recounts the haranguing of Aki Kumori , when Isaac Merlo , Ashley Shepard , and herself had come to the woman’s rescue. [break][break]

“You will recall that, during the attack, my Zoroark plucked out your eyeballs with stunning, surgical precision. This is important-- I’ll revisit it later.” She drags a fingertip lazily down the line of her jaw. “Not long after that… someone very important to me also misplaced an eye. And that is what has led me here.” [break][break]

Her Venusaur, Mairwen, and her Cofagrigus, Muirne, lurk in the shadows behind the three tied men. They step (or, you know, hover) forward as Cyg swings her legs down and stands, spinning the rolly chair out of the way and dramatically pulling back the white-sheet cover on something poised on the desk. [break][break]

“Gentlemen, feast your eyes-- oh, wait, you don’t have any. Oops.” [break][break]

It’s an eye-- a rather rough, mechanical looking one; there’s a circle of crushed, glowing red coloration (pigment from a red Minior fashioned into a disc) for the iris; the bulk of the eye is rudimentary, wires and a small metal casing that appears to telescope forward. The pupil is a hollow black dot. [break][break]

“It’s a fake eye,” Cyg explained, hovering a hand over the construct and smiling proudly, “but not just any fake eye. Oh, no, this isn’t your average joe’s glass eye, no sir. This is a fake eye capable of vision. Real vision.” [break][break]

She stepped away from the table to circle her three victims-- er, test subjects-- slowly, hand clasped behind the small of her back. [break][break]

“I’m sure you’re wondering how it works,” she says, and the closeness of her voice makes the one on the far right jump, his chair legs grating horribly against the ground. “And I will tell you. You see, gents,” she places a hand on two of their shoulders and leans in, like they were all buddy-buddy; there’s a whimpering sound and the trembling intensifies, “this baby uses the powers of science and magic. Or, you know, Pokemon. BANANA PHONE!” [break][break]

Her shout makes them scream against their gags and one of them actually, physically sobs. Cyg strides away, her Rotom buzzing out from god knows where to do a victorious circle around her. [break][break]

“Remember when I mentioned how nicely my Zoroark took out your eyes? Well, that’s important. I need to find a way to heal your optic nerve so that it can receive feedback again. That’s where Kanaya comes in--,” [break][break]

There’s a dramatic chunking of thrown light switches and a spotlight appears on a Gardevoir, standing up on a second-story metal balcony. She cranes her head gracefully as she slowly descends the stairs. [break][break]

“That dramatic enough for you?” Cyg whispers, and her Gardevoir winks. [break][break]

“--who will use life dew to breathe some life back into your poor, shriveled nerves. Then B.P will charge up the prosthetic, we’ll attach them together, and whammo blammo, you can see--,” she fist-pumps the air--”--you! Can! Fight!” [break][break]

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“So the question becomes: who's first. Any volunteers?” [break][break]

There’s an increase in the pitch of the whining as they shake their heads and moan piteously. Cyg trades a look with Kanaya, shrugs, and slaps a hand over her eyes. “Eenie, meenie, my-knee, moe… you! Muirne, if you would so kindly present the contestant on the right-- no, Muirne, my right, my right!” [break][break]

Her Cofagrigus’ disembodied hands come out to grab the chair on Cyg’s right and the guy squeals, thrashing and twisting against his vines. Muirne hovers forward to place the test subject near Cyg, who pulls a light down and drags over a tray of surgical tables. [break][break]

She fists her hands in his greasy hair and pulls his head back.[break][break]

“You have to hold very still because I’m going to use a scalpel to make a tiny incision in your eye socket, ok?” she whispers mock-comfortingly to him. He screams, and Cyg sits back and rolls her eyes. “Sheesh, did you not just hear me say hold still? Cripes.” [break][break]

Kanaya hovers a hand over the guy’s face and a pink glow envelops him, holding him still. [break][break]

“Thanks, babe.” Cyg takes a small injectable vile from her steel tray and pops a 1cc syringe out of the plastic, drawing up a clear liquid. “This is lidocaine. It’s going to numb the area. I am not, in fact, without mercy.” She untwists the needle and splashes the lidocaine on the man’s eye socket. Luckily, his screaming is muffled by the psychic energy surrounding him. “Yeah, it burns a bit at first, but you’ll be okay. You’re a big boy. Scalpel.” [break][break]

Murine’s disembodied hands sterile open an 11-blade and click it into place on the scalpel holder before passing it to Cyg. With careful fingers, she makes a gentle incision in the skin nestled in the eye socket. The guy can’t move much with Kanaya’s psychic holding him, but his fingers twitch miserably, and a single, keening note escapes him. [break][break]

“Forceps,” she requests, and a pair of forceps are passed to her. She pushes around the skin and scar tissue, peering down into the incision until she finds what she’s looking for: the shriveled-up bundle of optic nerves that were once connected to an eyeball. [break][break]

“Eye poppy out thing.” [break][break]

Muirne and Kanaya exchange a confused glance. [break][break]

“Sorry, that’s an old Craig Ferguson bit. Eyeball, please.” [break][break]

Muirne hands her the prosthetic and Cyg gently inserts the small telescoped end into the severed part of the neural sheath. “Your turn, Kan-kan.” [break][break]

Kanaya’s other hand reaches up and she dangles a finger over the place where machinery meets man. Small droplets of life dew drip, drip, drip down onto the flesh. The nerves wriggle a bit, hopefully imbued with new life. [break][break]

“Now if this doesn’t work I’m going to have to get reeeaaaalll brain surgically with it, but that’s a challenge for another day,” Cyg says, sitting back and setting the eyeball gently in the man’s eye socket. It’s large and garish and doesn’t really look anything like an eye, but Cyg reminds herself it’s a prototype as she spins away. “Ok, lads, clear the area. B.P, you’re up.”[break][break]

Banana Phone buzzes over and slots themselves into a small cartridge-esque gap on a remote-control-looking doodad. The screen on the front of the object blinks to life with the Rotom’s face. [break][break]

“OK, everyone. Hold onto your butts. Here’s mud in your eye in three, two, one…”[break][break]

She presses the button. [break][break]

There’s a sizzling noise and a burst of electricity radiates out from the prosthetic. The man screams, high-pitched even around the gag, and jerks once and lies still. A steady stream of smoke begins to curl up out of his eye socket, and the air takes on a particularly discomforting aroma of fried meat. [break][break]

Cyg sighs, flopping the remote on the table. Banana Phone slides out of it and hovers over her shoulder, frowning. [break][break]

“Nah, it isn’t your fault, B.P. We just need some… recalibrations.” She touches the eye prototype and winces. “That’s hot as shit. Muirne, help a sister out.” [break][break]

The Cofagrigus lifts the steaming prototype, pulling it free of the neural sheath with a pop and sets it back on its stand. [break][break]

Cyg looks over at the two remaining test subjects who are quivering and mewling and trying to huddle closer together. [break][break]

“Man, what the hell am I going to do with these chucklefucks while I figure this out?” she said, running a hand through her hair and clicking her tongue in thought. “Gah, I don’t know. Muirne, can you put them in your belly for a bit?” [break][break]

The Cofagrigus clanks her lid in the affirmative and goes to shove the squealing men into her sarcophagus. [break][break]

“I’ll have Sima come in and… clear this up,” Cyg sniffs, waving away the smoke trails beginning to fade as they roll off the now-corpse. [break][break]

“Looks like it’s back to the drawing board, ladies.” [break][break]

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