Subject
By: Song
Summary: There was a very good reason Danny never told his parents about his ghost half.

A/U: I wanted to attempt to write a fic as disturbing and graphic as the ever famous "Lab Rat" (and offshoots) -because I am a sadistic author.

This fic details 'scientific' torture, up to and including rape. Unfortunately shit like this can and does happen in real life. It is NEVER acceptable under any circumstances. Since writing this fic rape has even been added to the International Criminal Court's list of war crime.

A/U.1: HEED THE RATING/GENRE.

I can't move, though I don't if it is because of fear or the fact that I are bound to the exam table. My fingers curl into a fist, aimlessly fighting the restraints even though on some visceral level, I know they won't budge.

My parents wouldn't risk that.

A teal covered head appears over me, goggles and mask shielding her face. If I could see through them, I'm sure I would see a mask of indifference, or perhaps intense concentration. Another, larger figure leans over the other side, this time in orange and black. His face would be one of excitement.

The metal shears he retrieves are glowing green ever so slightly with a ghostly hue. They move down each leg and arm, cutting through the hazmat like butter. First the right, then left as they are passed from one scientist to the other. The gloves and boots are removed as well.

One latex covered hand feels for the lip of my suit, pulling it up far too quickly for comfort. They shears used are cool against my skin as they glide down parting the material and insignia on my chest. The further they go the more fear broils in my gut. I KNOW what is going to happen. It is something I was always afraid of, and the exact reason I have never told anyone.

The shears slice through the last of the material and I am exposed. What little remains of my pride is pulled from under me where my skin meets metal table. I want to shield myself from my parents- once again struggling at the restraints. It is only now I realize just how venerable I am- bound, spread eagle to a table with two scientists with no sense of morality or restraint when it comes to their research.

This becomes exceptionally clear as they wander near my lower half, abnormally interested.

I feel like some kind of sick subject. A specimen in a lab, waiting for the inevitable.

"This is amazing, Jack!" I hear a voice to my right say, "We might even be able to explain some of their reproductive cycle!"

I can feel her eyes on me- wanting to know if it- if I- were really real. The light above me is blinding and makes everything little more than a dark silhouette. I desperately search for something to stare at other than the people preparing me for dissection. I find a small lens and realize with horror they are recording this. New restraints are placed around my thighs and upper arms, totally immobilizing me.

A hulking figure looms above me, lifting various pieces of my anatomy and measuring them. It is torturous, the fleeting touches that I know I don't want but that my body responds to anyway.

"Core temperature..." Something cold slides into my bottom shattering any sort of desire I had before. I try and squirm, but can't move. Somewhere along the way it brushes something sending a wave of heat up my spine and down to my toes. It is pushed inside before reaching a stop far deeper than I thought possible. 'Just thermometer,' I tell myself over and over again, but it doesn't help. Is this what it feels like to be raped?

Hands are ghosting over me, poking, prodding. The glass is removed after a few moments and I can't help but sigh in relief.

"19.44 Celsius" She reads.

I hear a writing utensil scratch against paper undoubtedly taking down the data.

"Did you finish modding the exto-sexer?" He asks. "We'll want to get a good sample."

I hear her rummaging about, returning a moment later with a device in her hands- one that I vaguely recognize as something advertized in a dirty magazine I had seen Dash and Kwan looking at- but altered with what I knew was an ghost resistant and therefore phase proof coating.

I look from one to the other. As bad as that was, I know this will be worse. "Please... don't... let me go..." I mouth unable to vocalize.

They are neither paying attention nor to the care as the momentary peace is is broken as a small hand takes my flesh and threads it into the device. A button is pushed on the outside and it begins... moving. Kneading my flesh like bread set to rise and bake. It hurts, but brings that familiar need for release to my gut.

Blood begins to rush to the extremity. I cannot stop myself from rising to the occasion. My body takes pleasure and begins to buck against my will, though it does not get far as I am strapped to the table.

I can't look. My eyes are screwed shut, begging for it to stop as wave after wave of pleasure or pain- I can't tell which, perhaps both- wash over my body. This is an intimate sexual contact that I can't escape in mind or in body. My balls contract- I come hard and fast.

"Subject displays typical copulating behaviorism- possible hold over from life?" She notes out loud, glancing at the camera.

Tears are rolling from my eyes. I'm crying. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop my own body from betraying me, from... enjoying this torment.

It was never supposed to be like this.

I'm supposed to be the hero! The good guy! Good people don't... enjoy things like... like that.

A final wave of pleasure rips by body apart as I begin to cry in earnest now. Not the horrified tears of before, but chocked sobs that grip my entire body.

Make it stop. Please! Please... It's Danny... your son... I scream but the words won't come.

The worst is that I know this torment is just beginning.

Somewhere, deep inside, I know it's my fault too. My responsibility. If I hadn't gotten caught- if I had told them before-

"See if it's temperature has changed at all," she interrupts my train of thought before it could finish.

I try and contract the muscles- maybe, I can stop it from going in all the way. Maybe I can stop it from touching that aching part of me. And again I feel the glass rod pushed into my body. My resistances doesn't help. Instead it seems only to fuel the guided attacks as it is pulled in faster than before. Agonizingly I wait as they move about me. Each step jolts my body and seems to rattle the thermometer still inside me.

"I can't wait until we tell Danny about this- he'll be so excited!" The teal figure gushes.

All thoughts of telling them disappear as I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, if they ever find out what they've done to their only son- it would destroy them. Like they are destroying the ghost boy.

Me.

If they even would consider me their child after my death.

I'm not sure that I am anymore.

"Don't forget to put the sample into the liquid nitrogen Jack, we don't want it to degrade on us." She adds, back to the task at hand.

He grunts in affirmation, already busying himself with collecting my fluids.

She returns a moment later, where her hand finds its way down between my legs. She removes the thermometer and reads "18.87" out loud before recording the data on the paper. "Hmm, interesting..." She trails off staring at me for a moment. A scalpel is handed from one to the other and I know with an unwavering certainty, I'm not getting out of this.

"Starting with standard "Y" incision on ventral side of subject," The feminine voice speaks, making note of the date and time for proprieties sake.

I can only watch as the scalpel gets closer and closer to my body, easily parting skin when it touches.

The layers are pealed away, rolled over my sides to expose my musculature.

It's beautiful, in an odd and more than slightly disturbing way. I knew that I had gained muscle from my activities, but to see it so plainly before my eyes is an experience in of itself. Green ectoplasm is beginning to leak from the remaining structures, seeking to repair a surface that is now tacked down to the table.

If I had anything in my stomach- if I even have a stomach in this form, it would have come up. Bile- or whatever the ghost equivalent is, rises stinting my throat.

Turning to the side I begin to cough. Burning acid green liquid splatters from my mouth and nose as my body spasm.

Then the pain sets in.

I grit my teeth fearing that they will crack. I've heard that can happen to people under torture. I can't help but taste the disgusting stuff that just made it's presence known. I can hear one of them collecting it for a sample.

Hesitantly I open my eyes to see her coming down again. The green blade in her right hand, carefully placing just below my ribs.

I don't feel anything as it begins cutting the tissue in a mirror of what was done to my skin. The cross sections of the muscle look more like something that would be stuck on the grill and cooked than something that is-was-IS a part of me.

Each flap is rolled over the sides of my abdomen, a few connecting tissues cut and collected to allow for the dissection.

A chunk of meat is sheared from one of the sides. A ligament from my ribcage is lifted and snaps from the strain to join the skirt steak a la Danny. She turns away, grabbing something small that I can't see well enough to tell what it is.

A high pitched whirring buzz cuts through the tense air- and with a sense of dread I know what she has in her hands.

It's a small green circular saw.

All hopes of surviving this drain out like my ectoplasm dripping on the floor.

She's smiling.

Smiling.

She's enjoying this.

And in a sickening way, I can almost understand why. This the accumulation of years of research- I am going to be the thing that proves them to be real scientists, not crackpot crazies that beleive in something that doesn't really exist as the world sees them. For that, I hate her all the more.

I'm almost sorry that so many of their various ghost theories will be proven wrong.

Almost.

But I can't bring myself to care. I am the one being vivisected. I'm the one being tortured, experimented on and d-dying.

Dying.

I didn't think I could. That's just something I don't think about. Yet I know I am.

The ectoplasm is starting to tint red with the blood from my human side.

Usually, unless it is bad, the injuries from one form don't affect the other. To see this is just a confirmation of how bad this really is.

The blade seems to descend in slow motion screeching as it makes first contact with my sternum.

Shouldn't this hurt?

Shouldn't I feel something more than this... numbness?

Maybe I'm going into shock.

I hope so. I've heard that shock is nice. Maybe then I won't care anymore.

The bone- or whatever, is made quick work of. Little flecks of it are on either side of the cut, oozing sluggishly.

Those are collected into a vial, and a truly evil looking device is taken from the table.

He places it over the break in my chest and begins cranking. The two sides separate slowly and I can see something moving.

"This is amazing..." she breaths again, looking at my heart as it beats inside my chest.

Iridescent green numbers (I am starting to hate that color) change signaling the end of another minuet in this hell- another minuet closer to my end.

The lab is starting to swim and a strange sense of vertigo grips my gut. Grey is starting to paint my vision, splotches of pigment blocking the view of my own autopsy.

"Amazing," she breaths for the third time prodding something unknown organ.

In the warped reflection of the camera lens, I see her lifting a scalpel-

"Careful Mads, we don't want to destroy it until after we've had a chance to study it."

It.

I'm an 'it' now.

She agrees and moves to a different structure to cut.

To describe what it feels like as an organ is being methodically hacked out from within you is like describing salt.

You can't.

What I think is my spleen is plopped with a slight squelch onto a nearby table. He takes it, carefully placing it into a container full of an unknown liquid where it hangs suspended.

Seeing your own organ suspended in a jar like some... specimen is entirely too much for me to handle.

A ghostly wail rips itself from my throat and the lab starts shaking. The lights above the table begin to sway and tiles fall from the ceilings. One of the tiles breaks over her head, knocking her unconscious. Jack rushes over to her, fear evident in his face. The cable holding the lamp breaks hitting him in the back of the neck. He too, crumples to the ground.

The sound still emanates from my mouth as the lab collapses around me. Inventions disintegrate and the air fills with ill-colored dust.

I have no doubt that had the lab not been reinforced, the whole house would have collapsed. The remaining lights shatter and the area is bathed in darkness. My cry ceases and I know I don't have much time. Pulling the last of my reserves I turn intangible and am able to slip through the restraints. I notice that my ghostly wail destroyed the transformer which converted electricity to the ecto energy that powered the lab- and kept me from escaping. Without thinking I try and sit, only to be forced back down by pain.

As far as I can tell everything is ... more or less intact. I feel around for the pins holding my tissue to the table, pulling them out ungracefully. The tension is relieved as a new ache replaces it. Carefully taking each side I fold my skin and muscle back into place.

With both hands wrapped around my belly to keep my insides in, The link between my two halves is fading. The strange stasis between life and death is the only thing keeping me... here. Somewhere deep within myself I know that if that bond breaks -

I concentrate desperately on where I want-need to go, and my solid form turns to smoke and fades away.

To Be Continued...