Chapter 12
Specimen L
Killian Klebs
After being shoved into this room, I couldn’t take my eyes off the man in the suit—Master D.
I listened to every word he said, logging it all into my mental notes.
I watched how he touched my canvas. I heard the words he said to her.
I don’t trust him. His persona is a farce, a rouse, and my girl is blinded by it.
After Charlotte stuck me, I told her she needs to go back to the nurses’ station and practice on how to administer drugs the correct way.
Master D chuckled at that but didn’t scold me for speaking out of turn.
He knew I was right. And I also think he knew I was going to say something.
I can’t help it. It’s the way I’m programmed. There is no changing it.
A sudden rush of heat flowing throughout my body has me gripping onto the nearest object.
A singular metal chair. I take a deep breath but it’s extremely hard to breathe.
I shut my eyes and listen to my heart beating erratically in my chest. I count, then lose count when Lolli giggles.
I try again but all the noise in this room is heightened, making me grit my teeth.
My fingers tingle as the tightness in my chest begins to diminish, so I try to take another deep breath.
This time, I can and feel more relaxed. I open my eyes and immediately catalogue the room.
Five beds. Metal frames—bolted. Bathroom—single entry with no lock.
Camera in the top left corner and a useless mounted TV.
Observation. Ha. I almost smile as the drug hits me again.
Not like before though. It’s expanding, like something inside me has unfolded, but my thoughts don’t slow.
They multiply. All the details sharpen. White walls.
White mattress. White everything. Edges clarify and patterns are—everywhere. Clean. Everything is clean. No blood.
I exhale slowly. Measure it. Count it. One. Two. Three. My pulse steadies. Good. The drug isn’t chaos. It’s access.
“Look closer,” something in me whispers, and I do.
Jagger is pacing between the beds with too much force and energy.
Uncontained. Lucifer is sitting on the floor rocking but still smiling, only tighter now.
Less controlled. Vinny—unmoving, staring at the exit, but his eyes aren’t empty though.
Then my gaze finds Lolli—my perfect canvas, and everything in the room drops away.
My breathing stills as the drug narrows my focus specifically on her.
The way her chest rises, the way her fingers twitch.
She’s fascinating. I step closer and no one stops me.
No one even tries because they feel it too.
The shift. Something has changed inside all of us. Inside me.
Her eyes widen when I step into her view. She goes to say something but I shake my head.
“Not yet. You will get your moment, but right now, it’s mine,” I whisper, and she tilts her head.
“Then show me,” she states, but I step back from her.
Not because I want to, but because I need to see everything.
Jagger is pacing again, only more erratically, walking up and down the aisles of the beds mumbling like it’s their fault they’re in his way.
Lucifer is speaking to the voices, rocking faster.
I glance over my shoulder to see Vinny watching me, and Lolli then turns back to the locked door.
Lolli’s hand gripping onto my wrist has my head snapping towards her.
She sways slightly, and my jaw tightens.
That’s unacceptable. Her eyes flick to mine as I bring my fingers up to her face.
“Hold still,” I tell her, but my voice sounds different, like it doesn’t belong to me. It’s lower—tighter. She smiles while her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Or what?” she whispers, making my pulse race. I shouldn’t feel that but I note it anyway.
“I need to see,” I say quietly as my fingers brush the cracks of her skin where her scars lay. I observe them and the way they shift when she breathes. Incomplete, but not broken. Never broken. “Do you feel it?” I ask as her head tilts up at me.
“Feel what?” she breathes, and the question irritates me. I don’t like that.
“You’re different,” I say as my fingers brush her jaw lightly. Her skin is warm, and my mind races and thrusts me into a memory from not long ago.
Machines hum at a steady pitch as the lights burn clean and white overhead. Everything is exactly where it should be. My hands are steady and gloved as I look down at the body in front of me—open to interpretation. Not broken, just misaligned.
“Doctor,” someone says loudly behind me, but I don’t look.
“Silence,” I reply, not harshly though, and not with any emotion. Just necessary, because sound disrupts focus and focus is everything.
I lean in closely and observe every detail.
The rhythm beneath my fingertips and the way the body responds—the way it doesn’t .
There’s always a pattern. “There,” I say, finding the small flaw.
People think damage has to be obvious and messy but it doesn’t.
Sometimes it’s just one thing out of place.
One piece that doesn’t belong where it should be, and once you see it—you can’t unsee it. You have to fix it.
I work slowly, not because I’m unsure, but because precision takes time. Rushing creates errors and errors create consequences.
The room stays quiet while they learn or maybe they’re afraid. Both are still useful. I adjust, correct, and refine. The body reacts, and I smile.
“Hold steady,” someone says, and I grit my teeth.
“I am. You’re the one shaking,” I say and continue sliding the needle through the skin and pulling the thread tightly.
Every movement is intentional. Every action has purpose.
This isn’t harm—it's improvement, even if I didn’t have their consent.
But they won’t know when they wake up what had happened.
They won’t thank me for the work I’ve done.
How I made their looks better. This is the part they never understand.
My students—my proteges. They call it something else—dangerous and unethical, but they don’t see what I see or understand the potential.
What something could be if someone just took the time to fix it properly.
My breathing stays even and my hands don’t falter. This is the only place things make sense. The only place where chaos becomes—something better. I lean back slightly, assess, and adjust again. Perfect.
“Remarkable,” someone whispers beside me.
I smile as I remove my hand slowly, then take off my gloves.
They know what to do when I remove my gloves.
They know I’m finished with this one. But does it ever really end?
There’s always something else to refine—to correct, and once they start seeing things my way—they won’t be able to stop either.
The world isn’t broken, it's just waiting for someone who knows how to fix it.
“Killian,” Lucifer's voice cuts in but I ignore him. He’s irrelevant. My fingers twitch on Lolli’s skin. Temperature elevated. Pulse increased. Neurological response heightened.
“You shouldn’t ignore variables,” I mumble, and her smile widens.
“I’m not a variable,” she states, and I wrap my hand around her throat, pulling her closer to me.
“No… you’re a constant,” I say as the room tilts. Not physically, but internally. Everything aligns around her. Everything. Jagger stops pacing. Vinny is watching closer now, and Lucifer looks more entertained than ever.
“Careful,” he tells me, but I don’t look at him.
“I am careful,” I lie, because the drug stripped something away. Hesitation. Distance. So, I tighten my grip, making her gasp as her hands pull at the bottom of my shirt. “You’re not afraid?” I ask her as a smile spreads, making me loosen my hold just a fraction of an inch.
“Should I be?” she asks, licking her lips.
“No, you should be understood,” I say, and the words land harder in my chest than they should, causing something inside me to lock into place.
Not just desire but possession of knowledge.
She isn’t finished and the need for completion weighs heavily in my grip.
But suddenly, I need to see what she becomes fully and completely. No interface, no control— just her.
The camera hums above us, watching, waiting. My head tilts as her fingers reach underneath my shirt, pressing her nails into my flesh. I hiss, wanting to feel inside of her so badly.
“I know what he’s doing,” I say as Lucifer shifts slightly.
“And?” he asks as my eyes stay on hers.
“He wants to see what happens when we stop filtering.”
“And?”
But I don’t answer, I look down at my canvas and she blinks up at me.
“Sit,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“Make me.”
Good! I move fast, releasing her throat then wrap my hand around her wrist, guiding her to the nearest bed. She doesn’t fight me as I ease her down on the edge of the mattress. My fingers brush her skin again. Not cutting. Not yet. Mapping. Understanding.
She looks up at me and I grip the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head.
My hands have a mind of their own and they trace her porcelain skin, starting at her scarred cheek, down her collar bone, and over her perfect tits.
I pinch her nipples, causing her to moan as they pebble from my touch.
I sink to my knees and trace the scars down her arm, then open her thighs.
“May I?” I ask, and she nods, but I shake my head. “Use your words, Canvas,” I growl, making her giggle.
“Touch me,” she whispers, and I lean in and drag my tongue up her inner thigh while my fingers still drag along her rigid skin, memorizing every line, every divet that needs fixing.
Her moans bring me back to the present the closer I get to her cunt.
“How loud can you get?” I ask, and she giggles, causing her perfect tits to bounce.
Behind me, Jagger cracks his neck as Vinny shifts closer, but Lucifer sits down in a chair laughing at the wall.
I roll my eyes then sink my teeth into her flesh, making her moan again.
I need to see and feel her reactions. Her limits need to be known, because this isn’t about hurting her.
I’d never willingly harm her. I just need my perfect canvas. It’s just that simple.
“Now, lay down,” I order, and she does. The tension in the room is thickening the more I touch her and I need to shatter it. My gaze flickers to the camera and I smirk.
“Watch closely,” I say, speaking to it. “Because I’m about to make her scream.”
I shove my face between her thighs, biting her lips before sucking her clit into my mouth. Her legs tremble around my neck as Jagger growls.
“Stop touching her! Stop touching her,” he yells, but I don’t listen.
If anything, I allow my hands to roam her body while my tongue makes her shiver.
I sink my teeth into her thigh, marking her perfect skin.
They tremble but I hold them steady as I inch higher and higher, leaving my teeth imprinted on her flesh.
She whimpers with every bite, then I drag my tongue over her clit and she shivers, moaning my name.
“Louder, Canvas. I want to hear you shatter,” I command, and she giggles. A chair scrapes against the floor and I don’t wince. No. I focus on my canvas and how, with every swipe, every flick she shatters beneath me a little more.