Nicodemus in Immortalis Logs a Daily Nicolas Note on Patient Cooperation

Day 147. Subject: Nicolas. Cooperation level: Minimal, yet tantalisingly performative. He lounges in the restraint chair this morning, eyes half-lidded, that perpetual smirk curling his lips as if the straps are mere accessories to his discomfort. I administer the serum, vial seventeen from batch C, and he does not flinch. No thrashing, no curses spat through gritted teeth. Instead, a low chuckle escapes him, vibrating against the needle’s plunge.

“Doctor,” he murmurs, voice silk over broken glass, “you handle me with such care. One might think you enjoy it.” His gaze locks on mine, pupils dilated from the compound, but sharp enough to cut. The monitors spike: heart rate steady at 92, neural activity blooming in fractal patterns across the screen. Cooperation, if you can call it that. He complies with the injection protocol, holds position for the full five-minute infusion. But his mind? A fortress of mockery.

Post-serum observation: Skin flushes crimson along the injection sites, veins threading black beneath the surface, a map of the immortality we chase. He converses freely during the hold period, recounting fragments of his pre-capture life, lovers discarded like spent cartridges, kills tallied with casual precision. “They begged, Doctor. All of them. But you? You command.” Lies, perhaps, to probe my resolve. Yet the data does not lie. Synaptic firing aligns with truth serum baselines: eighty-seven percent veracity. He cooperates enough to reveal, but never enough to yield.

Afternoon session yields better. Restraints loosened per protocol escalation, he submits to the dermal mapping without protest. Fingers trace the scars on his torso, old and new, while he watches, breath even. “Mark me deeper,” he suggests, voice dropping to that gravel whisper. No resistance when the scalpel bites, only a hiss of pleasure-pain. Tissue regenerates at projected rates: one millimetre per minute. Cooperation here is exquisite, almost voluntary. Almost.

Evening log: He refuses oral intake, spits the nutrient slurry across the tray. A regression, but predictable after high-compliance hours. Punishment cycle initiated: voltage at 40 milliamps, localised to extremities. He arches, laughs through it. “More, Doctor. Make it hurt proper.” Threshold reached; compliance resumes by 2200 hours.

Overall assessment: Nicolas toys with the process, a predator feigning prey. Cooperation is a weapon in his hands, sharpened daily. Tomorrow, we escalate to tandem immersion. He will break, or I will refine the method until he cannot pretend otherwise. The logs accumulate, each note a step closer to the core of him.

Immortalis Book One August 2026