Balloon-Blocked Exit and Vomited Fragments of Memory
"You've soiled the floor like this... I suppose you'll have to be punished, won't you?"
The Hospital Director's voice bored into Na-bi's ear. Punishment. The terror packed into that single word slammed through her fading consciousness. No. I can't take any more. Her already ruined body was screaming.
"Go on. Lick it up."
He jerked his chin toward the puddle of urine on the floor. Na-bi had no room to hesitate. When he told her to do something, she did it. That was how you got hit less. She dropped to her hands and knees. The smell of her own waste stabbed at her nostrils, but she endured it and stuck out her tongue.
A wet, obscene sound filled the room as her tongue met the floor. Warm, metallic liquid flooded her mouth. It was disgusting, but she swallowed. It's mine. It came from my body. Rationalizing it that way, she cleaned the floor.
"Good girl. You wiped it up very well."
The Hospital Director stroked her head. His eyes, however, were not smiling.
"Cleaning's done. Now it's time for your punishment."
"...What?"
Na-bi lifted her head. Hadn't the cleaning been the punishment? The Hospital Director smiled faintly and took her by the arm, pulling her to her feet.
"That was merely you tidying up after yourself. The real punishment is something else entirely."
He dragged her toward the bathroom behind the partition at the back of the ward. Inside, the instruments were already waiting.
TYPE: Retention Balloon Catheter
ACCESSORY: Enema Tube
FUNCTION: A balloon at the tip inflates after insertion, locking the device in place so it cannot be withdrawn.
"No... I don't want this..."
Na-bi clung to the Hospital Director's leg on instinct. He's going to shove something into a hole again. Which one this time? Front? Back? Terror scrambled her thoughts, and she begged in a tumbling rush of words.
"Please... Doctor... I'm sorry... Use my ass... Please, just use my ass instead..."
She shoved her hips toward him, trembling so hard her teeth chattered. A wretched calculation: the back would be better. The Hospital Director looked down at her and smiled a strange, private smile.
"Hmm... you prefer the back, do you? Very well. I'll grant your wish."
He bent her over the toilet. Then he slathered a thick coat of gel over the tip of the catheter. This was no ordinary urethral tube. A balloon sat at the end of it; once it was inside, a few pumps of air would swell it until it locked in place and could not be pulled free.
He pushed it into Na-bi's anus.
It slid in with a single, relentless thrust.
"Nngh!"
The foreign object stabbed into her rectum. The Hospital Director fitted a syringe to the valve and began to inject air.
A hiss. Another hiss.
Something was swelling inside her belly. The balloon ballooned to the size of a ping-pong ball and packed her rectal cavity tight, catching behind the sphincter so that it could not slip out.
"Now for the enema fluid."
He connected the enema tube to the catheter's second port and began to pump in lukewarm soapy water.
The liquid rolled in, gulp after heavy gulp.
"Ah! Ah! My stomach! My stomach hurts!"
The sickening fullness of fluid climbing her intestines. A slow, spreading ache. An urgent, screaming need to use the toilet that hit her all at once. But nothing could get out. The balloon had sealed the exit perfectly shut.
"Hold it. Five minutes is all I need."
He clamped the tube and laid Na-bi on the bathroom floor. The drugs began to turn over in her blood again.
Memory Eraser + Sleeping Agent
Mixed into the drip. Eating away at consciousness.
Na-bi stared at the ceiling in a haze. Her belly ached as if it would split. She needed to shit so badly she thought she would go insane. And her head was empty. Why am I like this? Where is this?
Her eyelids slid shut. She dropped into sleep as if she had fainted.
"Nnh... nnngh..."
Na-bi opened her eyes. A strange ceiling. A strange smell. Her head hurt as if it had been cracked open. Her memories were a jumble. Hadn't she been sleeping in a convenience-store storeroom? No — had a monster been chasing her? Why was she lying on a hospital bathroom floor?
"Awake, are we?"
Someone was looking down at her. A man in a white coat. But his joints were wrong. Silver ball joints. A monster. Na-bi tried to scream. No voice came out.
"Stomach hurt? Need to go?"
He hauled her up and sat her on the toilet. Na-bi bore down on instinct. I have to go. I have to get it out. Nothing came. Something was jammed tight in her anus.
"Nngh... nnh... it won't come out..."
Cold sweat ran down her as she strained and grunted. Her belly gurgled, loud and wet. The enema had whipped her intestines into a frenzy; the urge had reached its peak.
The Hospital Director set his palm against her swollen stomach and pressed.
A slow, crushing push.
"Aaaagh! It hurts! It's going to burst! My stomach's going to burst!"
She twisted at the waist, thrashing. As the pressure in her abdomen climbed, she thought she would vomit. Nausea from above, diarrhea from below, both at once. A hell sealed at both ends.
"Push. That's how you keep it from bursting."
He smiled cruelly and pressed harder. Na-bi, fighting to live, clenched her sphincter on instinct and tried to force everything out.
"Ghhrrraaaaaagh!!!!!!"
Her face went scarlet. Veins stood out in her neck. Her anus stretched as if it would tear. Inside her, the balloon could not hold against the pressure and began, little by little, to squeeze out.
A dull, heavy pop. The catheter tore free.
The dam burst.
A wet, explosive roar — and then a violent spray. Enema fluid mixed with intestinal waste dumped into the toilet in a torrent. She had eaten nothing, so it was thin, watery diarrhea, but the volume and the pressure were like a waterfall. Na-bi clung to the bowl and gasped. A hollowed-out emptiness, as if her insides had been scraped clean. Shame.
"Hah... hah..."
She lifted her head, dazed. The monster standing in front of her. The Hospital Director. He was enjoying every second of this.
"Who... who are you...?"
Her voice shook. Her memories had been wiped; she had forgotten who he was, forgotten even why she was in this state. The Hospital Director did not answer. There was no point in explaining. She would only forget again.
Instead, he brought over her pack — the backpack she had stowed under the bed. Her only hope. Everything she had to survive with, stuffed into one bag.
"This is your treasure, isn't it?"
He upended it. Scissors, an industrial utility knife, scraps of bandage. The things she had risked her life to take from the convenience store.
"Ah... those are mine... give them back..."
Na-bi reached for them. The Hospital Director picked up the scissors. Then, with one hand, he crumpled them. The metal shears folded like a sheet of paper.
A grinding crunch. A clatter of ruined steel.
He crushed the utility knife the same way and tossed the wreckage on the floor. Na-bi's pupils shook. Helplessness. If those hands catch me, my bones will end up just like that.
The Hospital Director took her cheek in his empty hand and squeezed.
"You're very hungry, aren't you?"
The question came out of nowhere. Na-bi nodded. It felt as if she had not eaten in days.
"But we have to empty you out first. You did eat something earlier, after all."
"What...? I haven't eaten anything..."
"No. You have. What you pissed."
He drove his fist into her solar plexus.
A heavy, meaty thud.
"Ghhk!!!!!!"
The air vanished from her lungs. Her stomach turned inside out. Na-bi collapsed to the floor. Her esophagus felt like it was on fire.
"Hueeek! Kh—! Wek!"
She vomited onto the bathroom tiles. A yellow liquid, mixed with bile — the urine the Hospital Director had forced her to drink off the floor. The stench of piss stabbed her nose.
Na-bi crawled, tears and snot streaming. It hurt so much, and it was so wretched, that she wanted to die. But her body would not allow it.
Indomitable
Near-instantaneous regeneration. Immortality. All pain felt in full. No escape through fainting. No escape through death.
The Hospital Director pulled her filthy body upright and turned on the shower, dumping cold water over her.
A hard, hissing roar of water.
"Let's get you clean. You need to eat."
He spoke as gently as if nothing had happened, rinsing the vomit and waste from her skin. The water was ice. Na-bi shook, but she had no strength left to resist.
He dressed her in a fresh patient gown, sat her on the bed, and brought a bowl of thin rice porridge.
"Come on. Say ahh."
Na-bi opened her mouth, vacant. Warm porridge slid in. It was good. Good enough to make her cry. Hunger was so fierce it could bury the torture of a moment ago, bury even the filth she had just thrown up.
She ate in a desperate rush. The Hospital Director watched her and murmured, almost to himself.
"Only one day left now."
Six of the seven days had gone. To Na-bi the number meant nothing. Her time had stopped, and her memory was in pieces.
When the meal was over, the haze rolled back in. The drip was delivering its last dose of the day.
> Muscle Relaxant — administering
> High-Concentration Sleeping Agent — administering
> Final dosage for the day: COMPLETE
"Rest. You'll be discharged tomorrow."
He lied, and left the ward. The lights went out. Silence settled in.
Na-bi fumbled at the bandages wrapped around her body. The only thing she had left that was hers. The thing that protected her. As long as she had this, she felt like she could survive. She gripped the bandages tight and fell asleep.
Night of the sixth day. The hospital was dead quiet. But the door to Na-bi's ward opened without a sound.
A thin creak.
It was not the Hospital Director who came in. Other things did. Plastic eyeballs flashing in the dark. The clack of smooth jointed limbs knocking together.
Silicone-skinned. Drawn-on red smiles. Nurse uniforms and surgical caps.
Returned from leave — or summoned. They ringed the bed.
Na-bi was sunk in a deep sleep. With the muscle relaxant in her, someone could have carried her off and she would never have known. One of the mannequins peeled back her blanket. Her body lay exposed, utterly defenseless.
They giggled, high and broken, and began to explore her. They did not unwrap the bandages. They groped over them, pinched through them, poked through them.
Something cold crawled over her skin. Na-bi was drowning in the sleeping agent, but her Indomitable flesh registered the wrongness on instinct. It was not human warmth. A surface like ice, hard and slick. They were climbing her legs the way a swarm of insects would.
The mannequins had no need of syringes or scalpels. Their fingers themselves were excellent weapons, and excellent toys. Ten smooth plastic fingers, a steel ball set in every joint, kneaded their way up her calves as if wringing them out.
A wet crack. A snap. A grinding pop.
The ugly sound of finger joints bending circled her ears. Once they were sure she would not wake, they grew bolder.
One of them slid a flat palm between the buttons of her patient gown. A cold plastic plate crushed down on the soft give of her breast. It flicked her nipple with a fingertip, then rubbed her areola in slow circles with a blunt, nailless pad.
"Nnh... nnngh..."
A thin moan leaked out of her. The muscle relaxant would not even let her voice work properly. Her mind was trapped in something like sleep paralysis, hazy and far away — but every sensation in her body rode her nerves in, sharp as a blade.
The others took her lower half. They caught her legs and forced them apart, twisting her knee joints until they locked in an M-shape. Strengthless, the limbs opened as easily as a doll's.
What lay between them was her most private place, laid bare in the moonlight: labia swollen red from five days of abuse, and a vaginal opening that would not close, twitching faintly, gaping.
A dry scrape. A shove.
No hesitation. One mannequin rammed a hard index finger straight into her vagina. No lubricant. The dry, rough plastic scraped over hypersensitive mucosa as it went in.
"Hhk!?"
Her body jerked on reflex. The foreignness of it. The hideous feeling of a cold, rigid rod stirring around inside her belly. The mannequin worked its finger up and down and side to side, rough as if it were checking the play in a machine part, mapping the inside of her. A nauseating friction as her inner walls stretched and dragged.
The mannequin beside it cut in as if jealous. It drove its thumb into Na-bi's loosened anus.
A slow, sucking push. A wet pop as it seated.
"Ah... ahh..."
Her mouth opened and closed around a scream that would not come. Front and back, both holes taken at once. They competed, adding fingers. Two. Three. Vagina and anus forced wider, stretching taut as if they would split.
Worse than the hands were the faces. Smooth, featureless ovals like egg-ghosts, mouths either slashed open with a knife or scribbled on with marker.
Those blank faces pushed into her chest, her belly, the space between her thighs. They rubbed the noseless, mouthless surfaces against her bare skin.
A dry plastic rasp. A frantic scrubbing.
They jammed their cold faces into the nape of her neck and into her groin, grinding hard, as if trying to smell her, or to steal her heat. The grotesque caress of dolls pretending to be human.
The mannequins' hands never stopped. They bent her limbs, stuffed her holes, pinched her flesh, and played with their human toy until morning. In their grip, Na-bi's body was nothing but a puppet, swaying without strength.
The night of the sixth day was not the Hospital Director's solo performance. It was a party for the hunting dogs he kept. Even in dreams, Na-bi was not allowed to rest. The nightmare had become real, and it was burrowing into her skin.