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#2 hovering over it. Later you learn that it's not just some stupid thing and that it indeed is not an 'it', but actually a 'him', so you correct it;
#2 hovering over him, holding something shiny and sharp-looking, which you now know to be a scalpel. #2 digs the scalpel into his flesh and a twisted, ugly, loud and high-pitched whine rips through the air. He's the source of it.
#5 covers her ears and #6 straps a muzzle over his snout, which you never nowadays call a snout. It's a mouth. You are not an animal nor a thing.
The scalpel digs deeper, but he can't express his intense pain anymore, as his snout is sealed shut. Only muffled whimpers escape from behind the muzzle.
It's not the first time They do this, and he and you both know it won't be the last time either. So, he "sucks it up" and watches how #7 hands equipment (wires, small holster parts, cotton pads (which return bloody), a tiny circuit board and too many other things) over to #2 and #3 whom are alternatively removing and inserting stuff from and into him.
He, actually you, which you finally realize, can't escape the intrusion They deliver to your already abused and torn body, even as you tug your hardest at the bonds holding you in place. Your vision swims as the panic that never really left washes over you, but you stay awake because you know (already then, even with the brain you now know was still incomplete) that if you're ever going to get away from this hell (you know it's hell) then you'll need all the information you can gather from Them and the screen on your right. Though you're not sure if you even could lose consciousness, not with all the drugs They've given you (forced into your system) .
You don't know how long They continue, but when They're finished They open the straps and let you heal.
You lie still for a long time, maybe even days, before #5 comes to see you. She hoists you up and holds a metallic bowl before your snout. She pours water in as you take the edge of the bowl between your teeth and tilt your head. She nods approvingly and smiles a little.
Time passes and #2 makes you walk. He tugs you to your feet and pushes you to move. Your legs are build to only support your lower body, so you stumble down right away. #2 shakes his head and sighs, a little irritated. You find that you don't like it. He forces you up again and again and again as #3 takes notes, until you finally succeed to walk a full length of three feet. #2 is happy but he smiles (a gesture and sign of being happy or pleased with something, or in this case someone) at #3 and laughs with her but doesn't acknowledge you in any way, except to point out something from your knee to #3, holding it between his fingers.
Later that day (you suppose it's the same day) #5 comes back with a bowl of water. The muscles in your legs and back are aching, and you make a pathetic keening noise when she pulls you up to drink. You feel embarrassed over it.
One day, #5 let's you drink by yourself. #1, #2 and #7 are there to watch with #5 and you feel nervous. Your paws (hands, more likely) are shaking and you're uncertain and distressed. #5 (later you learn that her name was Mraak and not the number you gave her) looks at you somewhat compassionately, and that makes you gather your strength and you raise the bowl to your jaws. You get it to your mouth and taste the water as it flows to your tongue.
They hum approvingly.
Then your left paw twitches and you drop the bowl to the floor with a loud clatter, splashing water over your (naked) self and the table you're sitting on in the process. The rest puddles on the floor. Your paw keeps twitching and #2 frowns and glances at #1.
The change some phrases and you can comprehend a few words and parts now and then.
"-- shouldn't -- by now --"
"-- left -- water -- glitch -- "
"-- incomplete --"
"-- me! Do -- it work! --"
"It's not ready-- tests --"
"Shut --"
"Strap it --"
Then hands are grabbing you and pinning you down. They flip you over and strap you down. You fight and cry out, because you know what follows. Soon, #2 raises the scalpel and pulls a straight line over your spine. You try to trash and stop it, as the pain sears in your bones when they drive tools and metal into your nerves, re-calibrating your nervous system.
The pain doesn't go away even as days pass, but you learn to tune it out so that it fades into a constant background noise. A never-ending buzz of pain.
You hate your left paw.
Days pass, you learn new skills, drink the metallic-tasting water from the same metallic bowl, eat solid food for the first time, something that cracks and crumbles under your teeth when you bite at it, understand new things about Their computers and the way They speak and express things and then They call you a success. That almost makes you start caring for Them. Almost.
Then you're standing in a puddle of blood (the same shape and size as the puddle of water that you spilled that one day) you just bled from #5's skull, which is lying on the floor, half of her face clawed off and her body motionless. You're staring into #1's eyeless face near #5, his hollow eye sockets casting a dark shadow so that you can't see inside his head clearly. #2's also nearby, though you don't want to look at him. You know he's the most hideous looking one. The rest of Them are scattered around the building, unknowing of the Room's happenings.
You glance at you four paws. All of them are covered in the crimson liquid, and you feel bile rising up your throat. You taste that awful water in your mouth again.
You walk to the Door, climb up and punch in the code you'd seen Them use (5-6-1-3-8) and it slides open. Outside, on the Door stands "Subject 89P13". You right away decide that you hate it.
You pace along the hallway, leaving red footprints on the floor. You turn right and after a few steps, you see a figure on your left. You dart back behind the corner and listen for a while, heart pounding loudly in your ears. When you hear nothing, after a moment longer you abruptly jump back to face whatever you just saw.
You stare into brown, savage eyes and see monstrous, sharp and bloodied teeth presented at you.The beast has brown fur with light and dark patterns accompanied by a thick tail. It mimics your posture perfectly and only then you realize that what you see is not just some random beast.
It's, in fact, you.
Rocket wakes up with a harsh gasp that escalates into a small coughing fit. He climbs up from his bunk and runs to the basin, immediately throwing up. He tastes metallic water and blood in his mouth and grimaces, face scrunching up. The cyborg heaves for a while, hanging on the edge of the basin before he screws the tap open and sprinkles water over his face and neck. He gurgles with it, but doesn't dare to swallow it despite his thirst, fearing that it'll come up as soon as it passes his vortex.
The trembling in his limbs still hasn't subsided as he steps down from the stool placed before the basin. His legs feel weak and the agony they're in every day feels even more intense than usually.
Groot is still healing and needs a lot of sleep, so Rocket limps to the door of their shared room and exits. It's just another sign of how badly hurt Groot had been that he didn't wake when Rocket did. He was always there to comfort Rocket after a nightmare, but Rocket won't risk the full recovery of his first and best friend over something as petty as a bad dream. He owns him that much.
The mammal drags himself to the communal kitchen of the Milano (imagining bloody footprints following him), climbing up to a chair and then to the table. There was no way he's going to sleep tonight.
His legs keep cramping so he grabs the other and slowly dug his fingers into the muscle, trying to ease the strain. He lets out a stifled grunt.
"Rocket?" He stiffens but doesn't raise his head from where it's buried against his drawn up knees. He already knows who it is by his voice, and isn't surprised. He tends to wake up in the middle of the night also, as Rocket has already learned.
"You OK, buddy?" Neither of them had switched the lights on when they'd entered, but Rocket can just make out the outline of Peter's jaw and his worried frown from the corner of his eye. Great. He settles a hand against Rocket's back.
"Hey, man, you're seriously freaking me out right now. You've gotta tell me what's going on." But Rocket can only taste the disgusting water in his mouth. Luckily Peter happens to glance at his feet where Rocket's claws are trying to stop the painful cramps.
"Your legs hurting?" Rocket gives a slight nod, feeling ashamed to admit it to someone other than Groot. But he really doesn't know what else to say.
"Let go, I know what helps," the Star-Lord says urgently. Rocket tenses impossibly even more, but complies after a while as Peter keeps poking at his arms.
He uncurls Rocket from his fetal position gently, murmuring reassurances as the cybernetically enhanced raccoon lets out an involuntary whimper. He sits down and pulls Rocket into his lap, back resting against Peter's abdomen and chest as he takes a careful hold of Rocket's foot, flexing and massaging it.
He finds that it helps, and slowly relaxes against Peter, listening to the steady beat of his heart. With every knead the man delivers to his feet, the pain eases and the anxiousness melts out of his core. The nightmare slowly moves itself from the front of his mind.
When the hands finally stop, Rocket's nearly asleep. He feels a tender hand carding through the fur on the side of his face and cracks his eyes open.
"Sorry, man," Peter apologizes and starts retreating his hand. "I know you don't like to be treated like a pet bu-"
"It's alright," Rocket blurts before he can stop himself. Peter stares into his eyes for a moment in surprise before the hand returns, now scratching behind his ear. He closes his eyes again and let's himself be carried back to his bunk.
Before sleep takes over, he feels a gentle kiss being placed against his forehead.
"Good night, Rocket," before a door is being clicked shut.
Somehow, Rocket knows that there won't be more nightmares that night.
After a few weeks, Rocket finally decides that it's safe to talk. He tells Gamora about the pain in his spine, since he thinks she'd most likely be the one to understand. In fact, she gets it and says that she'd had the same problem in her arm and knows how to fix it.
So, that's how Rocket ends up lying on his stomach on a table in the med bay of the Milano. He refuses to take any anesthetics so Gamora warns him that it'll hurt and tells that Rocket has to keep still no matter what. Rocket tells her that he'll manage.
She doesn't strap him down, but Rocket still feels a familiar panic rise when she looks for the right spot to start cutting with her fingertips.
That's when Peter enters the med bay, holding Groot's pot in his arms. Rocket forces himself to calm down even though he knows that he's already hyperventilating.
Peter reaches with his hand and settles it behind Rocket's ear, scratching at the spot he knows Rocket likes. Groot smiles at him from the pot.
He feels another hand, bigger this time, brushing at his lower back. He looks over his shoulder and finds Drax staring into his eyes, smiling a little worriedly but nevertheless reassuringly.
"Hey," Peter says and Rocket turns his head back towards him. "It's gonna be okay. We'll all be here." And he believes Peter. He grasps the hand that's still caressing the back of his ear and its grip tightens when Gamora sinks the edge of the blade into the mammal's back. Rocket feels his breath catching in his throat as the old fear sweeps over, but the constant presence of gentle (not forceful) hands on his body reassure him.
Gamora is quick and not long after Rocket is already up on his feet. A few days pass, and neither inside him or in his body otherwise;
It doesn't hurt anymore.