The Dark clinic

Dr. Joseph Newman, a bio-augmentation specialist, had been contacted by Singed’s people about his recent discovery of a project that, after DNA analysis, bore the obscure scientist’s work. Here was a man who did not work for wealth or fame, but for the sake of science itself. Known as the flesh doctor, the scientist was every bit as altered as his own creations.

Newman was a recluse, and when he did show himself people always looked. The man himself was old, bald and emaciated; though very tall and lanky. The skin on his face was pulled back and held in place by... pins... embedded in the back of his head, resulting in him having a perpetual grin, and wide open eyes. He wore a fitting robe that outlined his incredibly fragile torso, his abdomen so narrow it appeared to have nothing inside them. His arms were equally slender and unnaturally long, ending in well manicured nails.

The most disturbing aspect of Newman perhaps, were the four thin, graceful appendages protruding from his back, ending in a wicked surgical instrument or syringe, or both.

Newman was ushered down to the labs by female interns in lab coats (Because Singed has a great intern program for aspiring young female scientists), immediately to meet with Singed. In that augmented voice he spoke, clearly discomforting the young interns.

“Master Singed... I receive word you’ve captured one of my... old products?” He spoke, and then cackled. He seemed to portray the mad scientist very well...

Newman walked... (if it could be called walking) his feet were hidden by robes and made no sound as he walked beside Singed towards the holding cell. He only spoke up once he saw the subject, his voice having the slightest change in tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear Singed. While I am more than willing to share the fruits of my research with the scientific community, I must request that you hand this particular patient back into my care in the near future..."

He paused, to clear his throat of some horrid substance. "What I mean is... she is no mere child plucked from our streets, but the family member of one of my paying clients, as such I am bound to a patient-doctor contract, even if she did escape from rehabilitation. While there is no harm in holding her at present, we may run into trouble if you hold her too long. Now, did you wish to know something technical about her?"

Newman laughed, a sinister yet amused chuckle, which would've been impossible given he seemed to lack diaphragms. His arms twitched slightly as he spoke, not afraid. It was no secret that Newman emphasized the "Mad" in "Mad Scientist.", and that he dealt not in money but in exotic payments.

"My, my... money? I'm sorry Singed, but I am as poor financially as they come. I scarcely remember the last time I paid for anything." He laughed again.

"No, no... we are scientists are we not? We have recovered a Noxian Inflitrator whom we can control with substances. We should be *creative* in seeing how she can benefit us... I mean, you, in ways beyond trivial money cannot. After all, it is all... for science!" Definitely mad.

Newman's laugh died down at Singed's unamusing statement. He was lacking the Mad in Mad Chemist.

"On the contrary, I believe most of my clients under that project have become a merry band of hired arms known as the Dark Wings. Taminah here was part of the pioneering batch. Well then, I'm certain you can figure out the many trigger substances and phrases already in place that alter her state of mind... Eventually. Pity. We could have so much to learn from one another. Goodbye, Chemist."

He turned around to leave the mansion, disappointed Singed wouldn't work with him.

A cold, steel examination table. Bright, white lights. A sterile, cold environment. The sound of zaunite medical equipment, humming. Taminah awoke to these awfully familiar sensations, thinking herself at Newman's laboratories. No... she remembered, she was taken by someone else this time. She looked around to see the room she was in, and her wings being held up by cables... at least they didn't deign to remove those. An examination of the membranes showed Newman's work- the wings were tied inexplicably to her cardiovascular system, and would cause her to go into cardiac arrest should they be removed. Better dead than useless.

Stripped down to a labcoat, Taminah felt incredibly vulnerable without her equipment. The staff who stripped her down and segregated her gear took great care to handle the items. It seemed her primary armament were prototype energy claws; incredibly sharp even to handle, the staff in charge cutting himself carelessly as he triggered the energy field and losing a couple of fingers. She also had a field knife as a secondary weapon and tool.

She also had a secured utility belt filled with the latest miniaturized grenades, of zaunite make for Noxian operatives. That too, had vicious finger slicing security features for careless tampering. Her flight suit was also designed for high speed flight, streamlined to greatly improve her manueverability, and having an air supply for hazard zones. This was not a mere mercenary indeed- these were the equipment of Noxian Black Ops, equipped by Zaun.

Her loot bag was also inspected, all the stolen drugs accounted for, but there was a small vial which didn't come from Alchemax. Analysis showed it was some form of inert pheromones.

"Who... who's there... can I talk to a doctor? I'd like to contact my family...Please..." Taminah looked around, suddenly becoming frightened that she couldn't move her body. Her heart rate was rising again from the stress, while her system was slowly adapting to the substances that suppressed her motor skills.

Taminah looked away from Singed, unable to make eye contact, looking everywhere else but the person she spoke to. “Wings... the Wings... said they’d help me find my family... if I got them their combat boosters. I remember you were our old suppliers, so you’d have everything.” The girl sniffed, almost crying but holding it back.

“I... I don’t think they’re doing a very good job so far of helping me... They’re not very nice people either. They always call me names and talk about me. They think I can't hear, but I do.” She said, realizing that she knew all along, but simply ached to have company.

The staff in charge of arranging Taminah’s equipment submitted their report to Singed, including the vial of unidentified pheromones. The bat-winged girl looked at the vial anxiously, like a child that spotted a large rodent.