(Lol) The man frowned and pulled out a walkie talkie. "Prisoner 3 is refusing. Please advice." The voice on the other end was distinct, stern, and lilting. "Tell him that if he continues to refuse that Prisoner 4 will face consequences. We are having very interesting results over here. Please report back his response." The guard nodded. "Copy that." He turned back to Francis. "Either come with us now," he said, "or your brown-haired friend will face the punishment for your actions.
He looked at the guard, concern etching his features as he thought of Poppy. "Fine. Where are we going?"
"Experimentation room," he said, snapping the handcuffs around Francis' wrists. "Come along." He pushed the gun into his back, and nudged him forward.
The guards did not respond as they walked down the long hallway. Either they weren't allowed to tell him, or they just didn't see a reason for it. They soon came upon a menacing looking metal door, with the large handle. The door swung open, and one guard stepped out, holding an unconscious Poppy over his shoulder. Her body was completely limp, although she was breathing, and she had dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept for weeks.
Francis stopped in his tracks, his head jerking to the side. "What did you do to her? What did you do to her?"
"The previous threat still stands," the guard said harshly. The guard holding Poppy continued down the hallway, and Francis would feel the gun being jabbed in his back again, this time painfully. "Keep moving."
Inside the room was a large chair, much like one you might find in a doctors office that would eventually recline. Various people were pushing aside machines, and in the center of it all was Miss Burgendy. She turned to him when he entered and gave him a small smile. "Ah, Mr. Craw," she said evenly. "Please, take a seat."
"This is our experimentation room," Miss Burgendy said primly. "It is where we run brain scan and perform exams." She pulled out a thin, silver headband, and placed it on Francis' head. "Right now," she said, "We are going to run a basic brain scan to get all of your information. Please answer this next question as truthfully as you can. Everything we do here is in the name of science. Are you afraid?"
The results were scribbled down. "Thank you," she replied. "Commencing brain scan in 3...2...1..." The process began as a slow ache, only a mild annoyance. Quickly, though, images began to flood in front of his eyes. Early memories, like his parents and his brother. People. Places. Poppy. Poppy. Poppy. His brain felt as if it were bubbling, with stabs of pain going through his head as each image changed. He saw himself growing. He saw his future plans. He saw his fists hitting Evan over and over again. He saw Poppy's eyes, filled with tears as she watched him distrustfully. His head was screaming at him, begging for him to stop. It went on for what could have been hours or minutes but eventually, when it died down, he would feel much weaker, as if he were about to faint in his chair.
Francis hated the entire thing. He sat still and silent the entire time, the only noise he made was a few deep breaths to regain his composure. Once, it ended, he didn't say anything, just stared dizzily at the ceiling. "Wha... Why this?"
Miss Burgendy and Francis' guard had been speaking in low whispers the entire time. She spoke up though to answer his question. "That main agenda for that scan was not to hurt you, Mr. Craw. Merely to gather information. You will be escorted back to your cell now. Thank you." The guard came behind him and pushed him up off the chair
Francis stood, feeling shaky and tired. He started walking back to his cell without complaint, only thinking about the things that had come to him during the experiment. He shook his head, shuddering a bit.
When they return to the cell, the guard unlocked his handcuffs and shoved him in. "Get some sleep," he said. "You'll need it." He shut the door with a dull thud, and the cell was quiet. (Time skip for a couple of hours?)
(Yeah!) Francis stumbled to ground, but didn't bother to get back up. In fact, he just decided to lay there and think, slowly drifting off.
