Consequences for Failure

Luther fiddled with the strange puzzle for probably around a few minutes until the same voice as before broke his silent focus.

"Solve the puzzle or you will be penalized for not taking this seriously. This is your final warning.".

Luther began to panic. He was trying his best to figure out what he needed to do to this thing to solve it but nothing worked.

His mind was racing, his heart followed suit. The stress of it all was making him sweat bullets. He was taken by mysterious people, and he has no idea whether the consequences would be something light, or if he would be maimed out of anger.

"Due to your clear lack of focus and not taking the cognitive test serious. The punishment will be dispensed to the experiment. Making adjustments for the upcoming operation." The voice spoke from the intercom. Causing Luther to jump in fear, his blood almost jumping out of his veins, he was left frozen in fear of what was to come.

A feint hiss could be heard coming from all around him. The room began to smell like a gas leak of some kind. It didn't smell putrid but it definitely wasn't a bouquet of flowers either.

Luther tried to hold his breath. He's seen this kind of thing in all kinds of media. Ranging from movies, shows, to video games.

And his common sense told him that inhaling what smelled like a gas leak, which are usually fatal, would be a bad idea. He tried his at not breathing, squirming in resistance of defying biology. Which only made things worse.

He had to breath. And he did. He started taking deep breaths of whatever was on the air. He could control his breathing. This eas the most out of breath he's ever been in years, maybe even his entire life.

His eyes began to feel heavy. His arms followed suit. Eventually the pleasure of keep the eyes closed outweighed the will to keep them open and he unwillingly fell unconscious.

Luther eventually woke. This time, he woke up to a strong sterile white light attacked his eyes. He went to cover them but his hand didn't make the journey. He tried again and only repeated the previous failure. He yanked has hand and that's when he realized.

He was strapped down to something. He looked towards his restrained to see what it was. His hands and feet had been restrained by some kind of binding. No amount of squirming could get him out of this.

Luther dashed his head around this new room. He was beginning to panic. After violently yanking all of his limbs in attempt to escape his bindings he had apparently made lots of noise. If he wasn't panicking he would have noticed a man quickly approaching him. His panic filled trance was forceful broken by a grab to the head, then a hard shake.

Luther looked at the man. He wore what seemed to be a surgeons attire. The man worse a surgeons helmet, to keep hid hair out of the way and to prevent it from falling into people, a mask which covered his nose and mouth, strange glasses, gloves and the classic surgical gown. "The fucks your problem kid? You're gonna knock something over that's worth more then you." The man spoke, dishing our a rhetorical question. Luther tried to respond woth a question of his own, but nothing came out. He tried and tried. Eventually attempting to scream at the top of his lungs but all that came out was just air. "You trying to talk? Yeah, ya can't do that can you, huh. Wanna know why?" The man gave another question, Luther nodded since hid voice couldn't answer.

Luther couldn't see his mouth, but he could tell the man was grinning ear to ear. The man reached for a glass vial, which seemed to be filled with some sort of dark red liquid. With a few chunks of something at the top. The man stuck his gloved fingers in it and pulled out something. It dripped. It was a small circular, clearly fleshy thing. Looking like it was made out of muscle.

"Gues what this is." When the man finished speaking he let out a snake like laugh. "It's your voice box! Yeah, we got that sucker out just so the operation doesn't hurt our ears!" This time, he let loose a hearty gut laugh, swinging back his head and putting his hand over his stomach, needing to grab onto a small, on wheels table from falling from the weight of the appearent comedy of the situation.