#lab whump
I’ve received a lot of requests for more Signal, and though I’m fresh out of ideas for the main canon, I thought I could do a bit of a prologue, from before they were with Doctors Crane and Sampson. An anon had the great idea of elaborating upon the mentioned wind tunnel from the ask game, so I went with that! I hope you enjoy!
(Putting all anon requests at the bottom of the post, as there’s a lot!)
CW//Lab whump, dehumanization, restraints, exhaustion, forced exercise
There was a stark contrast between Signal’s kennel and the rest of the facility.
The facility itself was boundless– No matter how long they spend inside, how many treks through the blank halls they made, Signal had never seen the end of it. The hallways themselves were indistinguishable from one another, all blending together– Signal was never sure if they had been in the same hallway before, or if they were being led somewhere entirely new.
Knowing was impossible. The facility was impossible. Impossible to understand, and more than that, impossible to escape from.
Their kennel, on the other hand? Signal’s kennel was small, simple, comprehensible. Seven feet in one way, four in the other– They’d counted, making use of their curled fingers to measure inches, bit by tiny bit. They knew every last square inch of it. The inches where they curled up to sleep, where they backed away when the scientists came.
That was where they were, now– The very back of their kennel, spine pressed against the tile wall. The chain link structure provided minimal protection from outside prying eyes, providing a pixelated view of the scientist in a lab coat outside.
Which scientist? Signal hardly knew, and more than that, they hardly cared. Just like the hallways, there seemed to be infinite numbers of them. They were all the same, all threats in the same way.
Hell, they even spoke the same.
“Good morning, dear, time to come out, now.”
Dear. The word made Signal feel sick. They bristled as they pressed against the back of their kennel, ankles straining again the short length of chain that connected them and wings doing the same, struggling to break free from the straps keeping them folded.
Every day, they tried the same tactic to keep themself safe: A mixture of growling and swiping feebly at the air in front of them, trying in vain to scare away whoever had decided to target them. Never once did it work, but it felt far better than allowing themself to be taken with no fight at all.
With the clinking of a key in a lock, the chain link door of the kennel clattered open. The moment Signal felt blue-gloved hands upon their skin, heart-pounding panic set in, sending their limbs flailing and their jaws striking out at anything that they might’ve been able to find purchase on.
No purchase was found, and nothing was struck. Before they knew it, Signal’s wrists had been cinched behind their back, shoulders held in place by guiding hands, not allowing them to twist or spin.
Led down the hallway, Signal was not blindfolded, but they may as well have been. The towering ceilings and endless steel doors told them nothing of where they were– They wouldn’t have been able to figure it out, not even with a map. Other white coats shuffled past in either direction. At some point, one joined Signal’s captor, moving at their side with jovial words.
Signal had long since stopped listening to their conversations. They couldn’t care less.
They kept their head bowed, steps forced short by the hobbling strap between their ankles.
What would it be today? They had no way of knowing, they never did. Why would the scientists explain to them anything? After all, they were merely an animal, a lab rat, what would their understanding matter? Perhaps they would be having samples taken, or the opposite, having god-knows-what injected into their veins. A physical examination was always possible, or scans– Of their skin, their muscles, their bones, their organs.
They caught a scrap of conversation between the two scientists escorting them.
“I’m taking this one for some exercise. Its doctor is concerned that its wings are going to atrophy.”
“You’re taking it outside to fly?”
“Outside? No, no, just to the tunnel.”
The tunnel? It wasn’t something Signal had heard referred to before, something that made them balk and attempt to stop their constant march forward. Yet, it was in vain– A good shove and their feeble form was moving again.
Every last door in the endless hallway looked the same, and Signal fully expected to be shoved through any one of them, at any time.
Instead, they did not stop until the very end of the hallway, where an oversized, arc-shaped garage door was settled into the wall. There was no way they were going through there, r-
They were.
With a great rumbling, the door retracted upwards.
Signal understood at once why they called it the tunnel. Taking on the appearance of a giant, sideways half-cylinder, a metal-plated room stepped out in the distance. Immediately, their gaze was flitting about, searching for where exactly the pain would come in, where the torture would begin.
Instead, they were merely led into the massive tunnel, the garage door grinding closed behind them. Without thinking, they felt themself beginning to resist.
The structure of the thing was simple, all illuminated by great, shining bulbs, aligned in a straight row along the top of the tunnel. Inside the giant tunnel, settled in one corner, sat a metal control room, windows across the sides. The rest of the space was open, except for…
At one end of the half-cylinder, an oversized fan had been embedded behind an equally massive grate. Was that going to grind them up? It was the first thought that crossed Signal’s mind, though they quickly realized that it didn’t make much sense.
“Alright, buddy.” The scientist pushing them forward patted Signal on one shoulder. “Let’s stretch those wings a bit, huh?”
Signal did not much like the idea, but that was the case for any idea that the scientists had. Yet, it did have one positive– They nearly let out a sigh of relief as they felt the straps unbuckled from around their wings.
They wasted no time at all in unfurling them, feeling the stagnant air catch through their bent feathers. The two scientists stumbled backwards.
How long had it been, since they’d been able to fly? They didn’t remember, and, yet, the action came as naturally as breathing. A pair of powerful beats later, and they were up, halfway to the top of the cylinder. With a great cheer, they flew into a loop, before realizing how stupid the action was and halting.
The scientists on the ground looked up at them with a laugh, before moving to the control room, locking themselves in.
This was… This was amazing! Sure, it wasn’t as good as outside, as feeling the real wind in their wings, but it didn’t matter! They were flying !
Signal soon let go of their bashfulness, spinning over and over again in great arcs through the air. For the first time in ages, they could feel the blood pumping in their veins, the breath coursing through their lungs.
They did not so much as notice as the scientists below turned dials and pulled levers. Yet, they very much noticed when the massive fan churned to life.
The surprise alone was enough to find them falling out of a spin. Feeling like a deer in the headlights, they hovered, watching as the massive blades groaned and grumbled, beginning to move, then turn, then spin.
Even the first few rotations nearly knocked them back. What in the- What was this?!
Signal realized far too late.
By the time they understood the idea of the tunnel, the idea of exercise, they’d already been slammed back, against the far wall of the tunnel. Their head echoed hollowly with ripples of pain as they began beating their wings, struggling to free themself from the wall like a bug from an interstate windshield.
The fan was getting louder, louder, until they could no longer hear their own pounding, desperate thoughts, slamming against the inside of their skull. When they eventually freed themself from the wall, it was far from without difficulty– their lungs were overtaken by gasping as their wings beat the air in panic.
It felt like being behind a passenger jet.
Faster, faster, they urged their wings as the horrid gusts from in front slammed into their face, nipping their nose, tearing their breath from their lungs and tears from their eyes. They could sense the wall behind them, dreading slamming into it again, but did not dare turn around– a moment of lost concentration and they would fall again.
This was exercise? This was supposed to be good for their health?! Or was it merely another humiliation, another torture, like the thousands of others?
Signal had no spare mind with which to consider the matter. Instead, they could only beat their wings, could only gasp for what air they could get. They had long ago closed their eyes, focusing only on the wind, on fighting it with every movement.
The faster they beat their wings, however, it seemed that the fan matched their increase in speed.
Their lungs burned, the cold wind threatening to rip their feathers from their wings, their skin from their face and arms.
Signal had no way of keeping track of time in that hellish place. Only the scientists below knew that they lasted 5 minutes, 43 seconds before slamming into the back wall of the wind tunnel, and falling to the ground, unconscious.
All things considered, it was a good exercise routine. Efficient, quick, and great for their wings! That was what was recorded on Signal’s file, at least, alongside another line:
Advised: Repeat wind tunnel exercise weekly.
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I apologize that I didn’t continue the main story this time, I promise I’ll do so when I have the muse for it!
Day 30 of @themerrywhumpofmay
Tropes and CWs: Lab whump, thwarted rescue.
All it took was one button, and the alarm was blaring down every corridor. Caretaker ducked out of the way as the confusion began, even though they were still wearing the stolen laboratory coat. With the evacuation still in its early fumbling stages, it would not do to invite the scrutiny of staff who did not recognise them.
The prisoners did not follow the scientists outside. Caretaker bristled to think about what might have happened if there had been a real fire. Maybe they were panicking now, anticipating the billows of smoke or licks of flames. Maybe they were simply sitting in their cells, resigned. Waiting—maybe even hoping—for the fate that awaited them.
Whumpee was the latter.
In many ways, it was easier for Caretaker. Less noise, less fear that needed soothing. Even so, Caretaker flinched at the lack of reaction from the huddled shape on the bed. “Whumpee? Whumpee, it’s Caretaker. We’re leaving.”
Still no response. Whumpee’s eyes had glazed over, their soul somewhere outside their body. Caretaker had no time to wonder if that soul could be brought back. They grabbed Whumpee by their skinny wrist, dragging them towards the cell door.
“Assembly point, Whumpee. They’ll be at the assembly point. We’ll just need to go the other way and…”
The alarms died, and Caretaker’s words with them. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside the cell, pausing at the open door. Whumpee huddled into Caretaker—their first real sign of life—as the startled scientist found their words.
“Now, what are you doing?”
The whumpee has the unique and uncontrollable ability to take away people’s pain. Anyone in their vicinity finds they no longer hurt—papercuts stop stinging, broken bones become manageable, chronic conditions find relief. The only problem is, that pain gets transferred directly to the whumpee for as long as they’re near its source.
Whumpee is naturally a very kind and giving person, but it soon becomes more than they can bear. Unappreciated and taken for granted in their home village, they are sorely missed when they depart—though only because of what they can do for other people. They end up living somewhere remote and isolated, horribly lonely and perhaps at the mercy of the elements. But at least they don’t have to deal with so much pain.
Until, of course, the day the whumper tracks them down.
Facts About General Anesthesia (That I learned from having surgery today):
- You cannot eat or drink anything for at least 7-ish hours before going under anesthesia. Not even water.
- In cases where someone is rushed into surgery unexpectedly (like in a car accident) they have to use a paralyzing agent to prevent vomiting, followed by the actual fall-asleep juice. (The doctor told me that)
- Sometimes, your veins can be too small and the doctor can’t find a place to put the iv. They stuck me three times before they found one.
- Getting an iv in your hand hurts more than getting one in your elbow.
- They put a mask over my face with oxygen and told me to take a bunch of deep breaths? To make my blood oxygenated? I think? It smelled like plastic.
- The actual chemical of the anesthesic hurt? They told me it would. It was cold as it traveled up my arm and it stung and kinda made my hand ache?
- My last thought was “ow.” And then I woke up. I don’t remember falling asleep at all.
- I did not dream.
- Not all anesthetics make you loopy afterwards. Mine didn’t. I was sleepy, but I was perfectly mentally coherent.
- They made me lay there on the table and wake up for 15 minutes. I got bored. Afterwards they put me in a wheelchair and my mom drove me home.
Keep in mind, this is just my experience and everyone is different. But I think this could be helpful to medical/lab whump writers
(Like me :D)
The girl’s mind was blank, having nothing to turn to in those silent moments, bar the pressure on her back. Medically, placing a bird’s wings on a human should be impossible. But it had been done, with help from less than legal friends, and several bio-magical theories.
Shivering, the girl stood in her cell, slightly loopy from the pain medication. Her face twisted, bewildered, as she saw the feathered appendages nearby her. She poked them, finding them soft. But she could-
She could feel it.
They were hers.
The experience was nauseating, overall. As she regained feeling, she had no choice but to accept these limbs as hers, undeniably attached. For the first month, they dragged behind her, creating depressing masses of dust on the unswept floor.
Then, in the confines of her cell, she first moved them. Raising. Lowering. Forward. Back. She grew a bit more confident, beginning to flap them gingerly, smiling to see them work. The day she left the ground, they led her out of that tight room, offering praise. The girl’s heart leapt to think she’d done what they wanted.
But warm moments ended in black-floored, bleach-scented rooms. Before she could quite process it, she was picked up, and pressed to the table.
They took out a camera.
Guns had been all too common in the corridors.
Both were black, plain and simple. Both pointed at her.
Fear crept into her heart, driving her wings to flap in an unrestrained flurry of feathers, knocking away the scientists around her. Her eyes locked on one, smiling to see her so strong. The one who had led her here. The one who named her. The one who watched. Grabbing at shiny steel, the fearful mass flew from the table, jabbing the scalpel at the anesthesiologist. She raised a hand to stop it.
It went through.
Laying blow after blow on the woman, the winged girl felt her face grow warm with tears. The woman was beneath her. The girl only had time to raise her clasped hands before something hit her with a slamming force. Electricity. She collapsed into a quivering mass, with no choice but to stare at what she’d done.
The anesthesiologist’s hand was mangled, torn, bloody, and half a finger was missing. Unsalvageable.
Falling asleep, Tsu couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry.
June 7th- Experimentation
Cw: forced stripping (kinda—non sexual, just a shirt), noncon partial nudity, restraints, threats, noncon touching, implied noncon body mod, noncon surgery, lab whump, implied torture and kidnapping, threats, mentioned gore (not really)
Whumpee let out a strained cry, their pupils dilating as Whumper flicked on the bright O.R. lights. Their limbs moved on their own, twisting and thrashing against the restraints that kept them pinned to the operating table.
“WHUMPER- WHUMPER PLEASE-” They screamed, hot tears dribbling down their cheeks, craning their neck as they tried to see what their captor was doing.
Whumper’s movements were quick and calculated, almost mechanical as they moved around the frigid cold room. They didn’t bother to look up as they washed their hands in a plain sink, drying them on a sterile white towel, before slipping plain see-through medical scrubs over their typical outfit.
“Oh hush,” They sighed, surgical mask already pulled over their face as they slid their hands into a pair of latex gloves. “You’ll be fine.”
“NO- NONONO WHUMPER- PLEASE-” Whumpee’s eyes blew wide as they watched Whumper circle the room, picking up a tray of surgical instruments and carrying them closer.
“I said be quiet,” Whumper snapped, slamming the tray down on a stand closer to the table with much more force than necessary. Whumpee flinched at the clanging of metal. “Maybe I’ll cut your vocal chords while I’m at it, hm? That’ll sure teach you…”
Whumpee’s body went cold.
“NO-” They yelped, before quickly realizing their mistake and shutting their mouth. They instead shook their head, more tears welling in their eyes as they watched Whumper pick up a pair of metal shears.
“That’s much more like it,” Whumper grumbled, stepping forwards and grabbing the hem of Whumpee’s shirt.
Whumpee barely had time to panic before Whumper cut the tattered material clean down the center. A small sob slipped from their lips, the cold metal just grazing their skin as Whumper cut both the sleeves, and tore away the fabric.
Goosebumps pricked against Whumpee’s exposed skin, making them shudder as Whumper set down the scissors.
They watched anxiously as Whumper stepped away from the table, moving out of Whumper’s line of sight.
A few moments of tense waiting later, Whumpee jolted as an oxygen mask was pressed over their mouth and nose, the elastic band pulled back around their head and fastened in place.
“Now,” Whumper stepped back around into their sight, eyes creasing with a grin as they sauntered over to the tray of instruments, looking over them for a moment before picking up a wickedly sharp looking scalpel. “Where to begin?”
May 24th- “Do you need a break?”
[car battery | restraints | conditioned]
Cw: captivity, restraints, noncon touching, implied future abuse/conditioning
Villain let out a ragged scream, their voice cracking as they thrashed against the restraints keeping them pinned to the cot.
“HERO- I SWEAR TO GOD LET ME GO-” They yelled, raising their head as much as they could off the pillow. “PLEASE- HERO LET ME GO!!!!“
Tight
“Shh, calm down sweetheart,” Hero soothed, their heart wrenching as they brushed a sweaty lock of hair back from Villain’s forehead. “It’s okay. These people are going to help you.”
“NO- NO PLEASE- HERO-” Villain gasped, cringing away from the touch. They didn’t even have the time to panic about their mask, their exposed identity, any thought other than escape free from their mind.
“Villain, please calm down,” Hero sighed, resting their hand on Villain’s forehead. “You’re going to be okay. This place is full of doctors, behavioral specialists. They’re going to help you.”
“They’re going to make you better again.”
