Another chapter in the story of Gregory. I tried to include some of the feedback I have received regarding the previous chapters when writing this one, and specifically putting more time into editing to make the read more enjoyable. Everyone has been so kind so thank you once again.

Erika.

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Sitting up Gregory saw a food tray by his bed and a full cup of water. He wondered how much time had passed since that fateful night of his abduction. Lifting the layers of fabric from his chest he winced as the compression top brushed his puffy nipples causing pain to shoot through his whole chest. Not having a mirror made any real investigation near impossible, but with gentle probing fingers he determined the worst of the pain centered just below his nipples and he could feel an indent of skin, like a tiny incision point, but there was no bandage or stickiness of any liquids seeping, so whatever they did must be mostly healed up on the outside. He wondered if the voice would provide him any honest answers if he questioned it, or would he just get another body wrenching shock. While eating yet another salad, and drinking some water, he debated how much pain he was willing to suffer for some answers. Ultimately his inquisitive mind refused to let him drop it. When the food was consumed and he had washed his hands, the sink was provided so he assumed that was the expectation, he sat back on the bed, as comfortable as possible, and started what he hoped would be a pain free and illuminating conversation.

"May I ask what you did to my chest?" his tone was as polite as his situational frustration allowed.

"You may ask. There is no guarantee of any answers." This voice was a little different. Still genderless, and somehow monotone without truly being monotone. Like any expression of emotion was stripped from the tone. It was so generic you could mistake it for being a computer, except the fluidity of speech was too human.

"I felt the indents, did you give me very tiny implants or something? I know you put something under my nipples."

"You do not have implants in the typical understanding of implants. What you felt are injection sites." This time he could almost hear the hint of humour. Whoever was talking to him seemed to find pleasure in informing him of what was done to his body. He was reminded of the action movies where the evil captures the hero and gleefully relates the brilliant plan to his captive audience. Was he the hero then, a captive audience for this villain, or villains? How many people were involved in his capture? Was he the only one? Certainly with this operation there must be at least a few people involved, otherwise how could they watch him all the time.

Thinking of time, and the, so far, pleasant conversation he risked asking more, "How long have I been here?"

"Your politeness is appreciated, but that does not mean all your questions will be answered." this was not a helpful answer, and he again felt the frustration of his circumstance.

Trying not to show too much of that increased anger he tried another tactic, "Why did you inject my chest with whatever, and on that note, what did you inject?"

"Oh that is a surprise for you. It would take the fun away if it was spoiled too early." Whatever technology was being used to mask the voice failed this time to hide the laughter, instead it sounded slightly mechanical and decidedly unpleasant. A hollow, humourless laugh, promising pain, humiliation, and who knows what else.

With this Gregory retreated back into his mind. Unfortunately what his mind came up with was just bleak. Visions of giant boobs, pink and sparkly clothes, 80's big, blonde hair, and random images of not him, but still kind of him, danced around his head, causing his body to shrink into itself in protection, until the explosion of pain from his chest pressing into his knees broke the whirlpool of turmoil. Sitting up to avoid anymore unwanted contact, Gregory realized he had been silently crying. This was becoming too much, how could they do this to him. Wiping the tears from his cheeks he set a determined look on his face and ran through his mantra of strength and perseverance, promising himself to survive regardless of what these lunatics chose to do to him. Survive, hell, he was going to rise above all this and show them he was no weak girly man, no matter how they tried to alter his appearance, he was an alpha, and that would never change.

He caught himself rubbing his nipples, trying to make them feel better, noticing that the pain was not as bad, but now there was some form of itch, deep under the skin. Dropping his hands from his chest, he forced them to his side, hoping the new sensations would pass if he left well enough alone. Laying on his bed, hands tucked under himself, and staring at the ceiling, it occurred to him that he had been topless for some time and nothing seemed to have been done about it. He was comfortable, neither too hot, nor too cold, and so long as these uncomfortable feelings finally passed he figured he would be happy to stay this way. Being set free would make him a lot happier though.

Having awoken recently, and being mostly inactive Gregory was finding the lack of real movement quite unsatisfying. He stood up, walked to the window, expecting nothing, and finding exactly that, and then just pacing the room. Six steps to one wall, two steps to the bed, three steps to the window and then six steps back to the wall. The walking was not really activity enough for him, but certainly a lot better than sitting, laying, sitting, eating and then laying again. Boredom was truly a worse torture than he ever would have suspected.

In a vain attempt to find anything else to do he opened the bed side table drawer, and to his immense surprise it was not empty. No, he was staring down at a pretty face and a lot of outlandish claims in bold letters. Would a teen fashion magazine be better or worse than just pacing this room. The attempt to slam the draw shut was made quite laughable by the soft close mechanism kicking in before the satisfying clunk.

"You guys are so funny." he called out, but somehow his bellow still had a timid quality to it, his unconscious fear of pain softening his tone. Silence answered him.