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“You… are an ignorant fool. A dead man walking.”
Gideon circles him slowly, his footsteps unnervingly quiet despite the doctor’s sheer size and mass. His captor’s been thorough with disarming him, much to Leon’s disappointment, and he’s left with nothing to free himself. No way to defend himself if Victor has any plans for him beyond this weird interrogation.
Still. It’s not going to stop him from mouthing off.
“Y’know, I’ve been told that a lot,” Leon quips, testing the strength of the ropes keeping his wrists bound to the back of the chair he’s tied down into. They still won’t budge. “Not so sure how true that statement is these days.”
If it wasn’t apparent that the doctor isn’t a fan of Leon’s sense of humor, then it becomes glaringly obvious when an enormous hand fists in his hair and yanks his head back to expose his throat, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth.
“Do you believe in human evolution?” Gideon asks, his voice calm despite the painful tension he’s putting on his scalp.
Well, he knows the theory of evolution, but definitely not whatever crackpot bullshit this guy’s going off of.
“I have devoted my life to studying it,” he continues. The lenses of his visor click and whir as they focus on the blooming patch of gray creeping up along Leon’s jugular. “While you have devoted your life… to failure.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“But that’s alright. You are a very interesting specimen, Leon. Someone with potential. It would be a shame to let that potential go to waste…”
Leon opens his mouth to voice the question lingering in his head. Instead, what comes out is a startled shout when, without any warning, Gideon leans down and fucking bites him.
There’s a sharp stab of pain in his neck, distinct from the gilded teeth digging into his skin. On impulse he thrashes against the ropes keeping him bound, a futile effort to pull away, and he yells in repulsed shock when the doctor — still clamped down — starts to lick the patch of infection, that slimy forked tongue dragging across his skin with slow, serpentine strokes.
To his relief, the oral assault doesn’t last for long. Victor pulls away after a few torturous seconds of tasting him, glistening strands of saliva hanging briefly between his lips and the bite mark left behind. He catches a glimpse of something pointy-looking folding up behind his teeth as his tongue traces over his lips. Fangs?
Leon doesn’t get to ponder on it for long — because in that moment, he realizes something.
He’d been so shocked, so taken aback and caught off-guard by the sheer audacity of his captor just straight-up biting him like an animal that he’s failed to notice the insidious chill crawling through his veins, spreading from the new mark on his neck. At least, right until he feels that chill hit his heart, pulsing through the rest of his body.
“What… did you do?” He manages to groan out. He tries to wriggle free of the ropes again, but whatever Victor’s injected him with is taking effect terrifyingly fast. His head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and it’s a struggle to focus on his thoughts without them melting away into the syrupy haze overtaking him.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gideon croons. “I simply administered something that should help you settle down. I can’t have you in hysterics, after all. You may feel a little light-headed…”
Oh, he does. In fact he feels like he’s floating, up and up out of his own body, untethered by the weight of the world and all his problems. He feels like there’s something he needs to be worrying about, something important, but he simply can’t bring himself to care about it right now. Or anything else, really.
At the same time, there’s a sound, something ghastly and visceral as Victor’s body begins to mutate before his very eyes. Or more specifically his lower half; Leon can only watch in strange, dulled fascination as the flesh and bone making up his legs, for lack of a better descriptor, unravels itself, threading and intertwining with the new, pulsating train of muscle that takes their place, billowing out into an enormous serpentine body lined with dozens of stubby little grippy claws.
The sight should be equally disgusting and horrifying, and yet Leon just lets out a dumb little snicker.
“Shuld’ve known you were a snake all along,” he slurs out. For some reason, the sight of this half-man, half-snake-whatever, combined with the jacket and the gaudy rings just comes off as funny to him.
Gideon moves closer, countless centipedal limbs click-click-click-click-clicking along the floor as he crowds into his captive’s personal space again.
“Fascinating. The venom should’ve rendered you unconscious by now…” he murmurs, though he doesn’t seem bothered by the development in the slightest.
He doesn’t notice the pressure around his legs and wrist lightening up until Victor’s guiding his arms forward, hooking his enormous hands beneath his armpits to lift him up and onto his feet, the ropes left to pool on the floor.
“Come on, stand up for me, Leon.”
“Mnnh.” Leon grunts in complaint, because he was feeling pretty comfortable in that chair and he doesn’t really feel like moving much. His legs wobble when he tries to put weight on them, leading the doctor to simply lift him bridal-style over to a nearby table, and he can’t help but yelp in surprise at how easily he’s scooped up.
He’s set down on the table, laid flat out on his back, and with how warm and fuzzy he’s feeling he could probably doze off right here. Distantly, he’s aware that it’s a bad idea since he only really knows the guy’s name, but he’s supposed to be a doctor, right? So he should know what he’s doing, weird snake-iness aside.
Gideon studies him for what feels like an eternity. He seems to be contemplating something, if the curious hum he lets out is any indicator as he circles him, gnarled fleshy coils following in his wake.
His eyes feel like they’re growing heavy, and to be honest he kind of just wants to take a nap now. But apparently the doctor’s made a decision, based on the way he steps around to where his feet rest and begins to work off his boots.
“Wht’re you doing…?” Leon mumbles. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth.
“Making preparations,” Victor calmly replies, tossing the boots aside once he’s pulled them off. “It’s necessary to have… minimal obstructions for this procedure.”
“Pr..ced… wuh…”
“Don’t worry about it. Just relax, Leon. You’re in safe handsss now…”
Huge, scaly hands grip his calves, lifting his legs up and towards the doctor’s face. There’s a series of strange, muted pops, like a shoulder being wrenched out of its socket, and he’s not sure what’s causing it until he sees his jaw start to unhinge. First at the base, then straight down the middle, following the seam of the scar trailing down his front.
Much like with the initial mutation, Leon is unfazed by the sight, but he doesn’t really understand what’s happening. He just watches as Gideon’s mouth yawns impossibly wide, exposing those gold-plated teeth and a pair of viper-like fangs folded against his palate.
Then, he pulls his feet into his mouth and swallows them whole.
The sensation is utterly bizarre. A distinct pressure, tight and warm and wet, rippling around his feet as the esophageal muscles suck them in further, deeper. Another swallow engulfs his ankles, then his calves, that forked tongue slithering over his legs and smearing foul saliva in its wake.
The sight, much less the realization that he’s being eaten alive, should be viscerally terrifying at the most primal and instinctive level, innate to every living thing. And yet, Leon doesn’t feel any hint of fear or disgust. If anything it feels sort of nice in a weird way, that heat and pressure crawling up his body, and it’s strangely fascinating watching his jaws flex and adjust as he takes in his knees, his thighs. Although the drool soaking into his pants doesn’t really feel all that great.
It’s quiet, save for the faint rasp of his breathing and the slick, wet noises coming from Victor, swallowing at a methodical pace. His jaws are wrapped around his hips now — experimentally he tries to wiggle his legs in the clutches of his throat, but the strength and pressure of his gullet keeps him from moving in any way that isn’t down.
It continues like this for a while.
More gulping, more of his body disappearing down that greedy gullet. His hands pin Leon’s arms against his sides, and he can’t stop the shudder that rolls through him when he actually feels the inner flesh of his mouth on his skin. Gideon’s tongue slithers beneath his shirt, exploring the plane of his chest and stomach and prompting him to weakly squirm at the contact until it’s drawn back. It just draws a chuckle from him, muffled yet still deep enough to vibrate through his bones.
It doesn’t take long before his body’s being lifted from the table, hands supporting him and jaws stretched impossibly wide around his shoulders as they ‘walk’ over his frame, much like how an actual snake would consume its prey. The tight-warm-wet pressure cocooning him now still feels nice, but he can’t help the flicker of fear that washes over him when he feels it finally creeping over his neck, his head soon cradled in Gideon’s jaws.
His last view of the outside world, framed by golden teeth.
“Wait—“ Leon starts.
He’s cut off by that tongue slapping against his face before a final, heavy swallow seals him in darkness.
Peristalsis drags Leon down, down, down into the abyss, slick and hot and near-crushing. Every contraction draws a wheeze out of him, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs as he’s kneaded deeper into Victor’s body. His heartbeat is ever present, thumping with excited, heavy beats that he can practically feel through the tissue and muscle encasing him.
The only thing he can do now is simply endure, gradually sliding down through his captor’s torso and into his monstrous serpentine half.
Eventually — finally — he spills into the snake-man’s belly. It takes him a moment to realize he can actually see in here, thanks to a dim, peach-colored glow that seeps in from… somewhere. It saves him from having to navigate the stomach using touch and sound alone; in here it’s still cramped but noticeably more spacious, enough for him to wriggle and push at the stomach walls, which press in and squeeze with a squelching noise.
He can hear Gideon let out a contented sigh just as well as he can feel it, vibrating through the slick folds and muscle making up the space, followed by a subtle shift in gravity as he starts to move. To where Leon doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. Everything is so warm, and in his venom-induced haze, he can’t tell where his own body ends and the velvety flesh swaddling him begins.
It’s far from silent in here. He can’t hear the clicking of the snake-man’s claws on the floor over the constant din of his body at work; the now-calming rhythm of Victor’s heartbeat, the faint woosh of air rolling in and out of oversized lungs, the ambient churning and gurgling of his stomach adjusting to its new occupant.
It all serves to lull Leon into further complacency, and he’s too tired and doped-up to try and resist the drowsiness creeping over him. With a sigh he slumps a little further into the stomach lining, still rippling and kneading at him in lazy waves, and it’s not long before sleep drags him under as he’s carried off to parts unknown.