The nurse's hands move in gentle soothing motions, her hands moving reverently through your hair in smooth petting motions. The soft flesh of her palm soothing in that uncomfortable yet slightly arousing way one can feel while being petted like a dog or other domesticated beast. The slight pressure of her muscles pressing down on your head is oddly maternal. "Ssshh baby boy, I've got you." She murmurs sweetly into your ear. The soft press of her nails rake pleasantly against your scalp, pleasurable shivers shoot down your spine, the aching muscles of your body giving tiny relaxed twitches, the pain of dying multiple times ebbing away in soft soothing clarity.
Your eyes look up at her cooing face, head resting gently against her soft thighs. Despite the speed of which you know this woman can go, the flesh of her upper legs is malleable and squishy like a pillow. You thought her legs would've been hard and wiry with muscle but the contrast of your imagination to the reality of it is also strangely comforting, it brings your mental image of the guardian down to the level of humans rather than elevating her to the level of the devil. This soft and cutesy side to her is refreshing and makes your heart stop its frantic dance that would've eventually given you a heart attack otherwise.
Her bright blue eyes are slanted in a different way now, the slant is soft and maternal, giving her that motherly look that soothes babes and men alike. her bright irises reflecting the now bright room. her soft flesh never stops stroking the course grain of your sweat soaked hair. The heat of the air is both uncomfortable and arousingly soft and pleasant, the pressure to the top of your head makes you feel hotter and more receptive, like a piece of putty in her hand. The worst part about it is that you don't care, in fact you feel that small urge in your mind. let her be, she can do what she like, this feels too nice to resist you think to yourself.
"That's right just give in, I prescribe lots of rest and pets," the guardian says, tone small and soft as if she's talking to a cornered animal that's ready to bolt or bite. A tone that you yourself once used to quell the rage of a very small and very aggressive dog (a chihuahua) that had been trapped by the nasty kids on your block. It had probably been tortured by those boys until you had saved it, moved it carefully from the locked box after calming it enough to touch it without losing any fingers. How the fluff of it's throat had trembled and rolled with deep growls that vibrated through your fingers, how the sadness in the dogs eyes had never been the same as other happy dogs even after you adopted him. Realisation hits you like a train, You must have that same look to her. Depressed and half dead already, suicidal in nature.
You start to wonder what you had planned to do with that scalpel, who it had been meant for, you or the guardian. The feeling of that sharp blade in your hand, the reassurance that heavy metal in your loose, trembling grip. The shock hits you worse than the time the guardian had smashed your skull in using a makeshift mace made of stones and a candelabra. That had been an unpleasant feeling.
Yet now the guardian is soothing you, stroking your head like your an infinitely precious idol that needs to be kept close to ones heat and kept clean and pretty. She moves her hand carefully down your face, the soft flesh of her thighs clenching and unclenching in a soothing almost oceanlike lull that serves to further your submission and contemplative attitude. Her ebony skin glinting with gentle artificial light as she continue the soft soothing of your soul and making your tense and aching pains disappear like some fitness guru or masseuse; who's hands know where to go to relieve you of your pain, who's hands are so gentle yet capable of excruciating pain and death.
The contrast of her personalities between all of your previous runs and this one is stark and slightly disturbing. The gentle caress of her flesh is both alien and familiar like a mothers warm embrace after a particularly harsh telling off, or a girlfriends familiar flesh wrapping around you as you make up. The tender nature of this hold compared to the violent and painful nature of your first encounter is chilling in it's difference however you cannot tell whether the shiver that's running down your spine is from the gentle touch of the guardian or the bone chilling shift in her usually sadistic nature.
Your confusion and submission spike as she presses a nerve, tenderly, on your neck. The soft shell of her nail digging in pleasantly, like an affectionate scratch behind the ear, "How cute you are when your like this for me," she coos softly, "don't be shy, I can tell your loving my touch." Her tone turns deeper and more obsessive, the dark edges of her possessive nature arching from her voice and stabbing your ears with alarming clarity.
Your mind starts racing, trying to figure out what to do. Trying to figure out her desire. Her petting turns rough, the soft pressure slowly increases until it becomes harder and almost scrape like, the skin of your face being pulled taut roughly by the hard smooths of her flesh. The palm of her hand tugging at you with wild and sadistic intent.
You start to put things together: petting, trapping, speaking softly to you. The gears of your head start turning faster, the soft ache of your muscles gone only to be replaced by this head ache. You give in you let out the most undignified sound you can make, a soft puppy whine.
High and warbly, showing submission and hoping you got this right. Then you do something yo thought you would only ever do if Akane asked you to... you bark.
Her bright eyes go wide and pleased, face breaking out into a happy smile, the obsession gone.
"Good Puppy," she says. The world freezes turning that soft grey of the rewind. The AI voice pipes up, "Floor complete, successful fulfilments of the Guardian's desire. Objective, bark like a dog complete." Your eyes fill with tears of relief and anger. The objective was that simple!!! "Initiating transfer to the waiting area." The world goes the familiar black that indicates your return to the receptionist.