i cannot for the life of me think of a title for this. but here is a little blurb about how sylvia got her scar and lost her eye to the secretary before the latin america leg of the tour (i've been calling her the director cuz she's clearly more than a secretary).
i was inspired by @onthebrinkofiero 's art, they're incredible, go check them out if you haven't already. if anyone else is starving for more content of these two let me know, i'm in the same boat and i need to write more. also i haven't posted fanfic online since i was like 14 so please be gentle with me lol.
word count: 1770
cw: eye gore, blood, violence
Nurse Sylvia loved to sing.
She made sure her patients knew that. More importantly, she made sure they appreciated her talent, even if she had to gag them first. Nothing irked her more than hearing someone scream and cry while she hummed a little tune as she drew their blood. Didn’t they know how lucky they were?
She always wanted to sing professionally, but the cards were never in her favor. Problems at home led her father to convince her to take up something more practical like nursing. She was the eldest; it was her responsibility to provide, once her mother was out of the picture. And provide she did.
Marianne, however, never had to worry about such a thing.
Blind from the day she was born, Marianne was Sylvia’s younger sister by three years. She loved to sing as well, and even Sylvia was humble enough to admit she was incredibly talented. She was their father’s favorite, not expected to work the same jobs as her sister. So she took singing lessons while Sylvia dragged herself through sixteen hour shifts.
That all changed when she was called into her boss’s office one morning. It was a grey, drab room like all the other offices, but one of the few in the MOAT that actually had windows. Not that there was much to see out of them; rain and fog constantly obscured the brutal landscape that the country of Draag was known for.
Sylvia took a seat across the desk from her supervisor.
“I understand your sister is an opera singer,” the Director said in her unflinching monotone, “Soprano, yes?”
“...how did you know that?” Sylvia replied after a moment of hesitation, her brow furrowing. When had she ever mentioned her sister to any of her coworkers?
“That’s not important,” the Director said dismissively, “We are looking for someone classically trained to accompany the Black Parade on the upcoming tour. She would be singing the national anthem at the beginning of every show, and performing alongside GW88 for one of the songs. What do you think?”
Sylvia folded her arms over her chest and slumped slightly in her chair.
“I can sing too,” she muttered.
“So I’ve heard,” the Director said with the ghost of a smirk, “But you are my head nurse. You are needed here, to attend to the reconditioning of our subjects. We need someone less…essential.”
“And why is that?” Sylvia asked. The Director sighed as she examined her leather gloves, adjusting the fingers.
“There is a chance,” she began hesitantly, “That something could go wrong.”
Sylvia stared at the other woman, trying to glean any insight into her mind from her stony expression.
“Such as?”
“Anything, really. You know that the reconditioning process is still in the relatively early stages of development. We haven’t worked out all of the, ah…kinks, yet. Your sister could be physically or mentally injured in ways we might not be able to reverse. But of course, that is a risk we take with every procedure.”
Sylvia leaned back and frowned at the other woman.
“So you want me to give up my own sister for reconditioning? You truly think I’m that callous, Director?” she scoffed.
“If something were to go wrong before a show, you would be her stand-in.”
The expression of intrigue that immediately found its way onto Sylvia’s face did not go unnoticed by the Director.
“You mean I would be performing in front of an audience?” she asked slowly. Just the thought of it made something tingle in the back of her mind.
“If your sister was unable to perform that night, yes,” the Director replied. Sylvia chewed her painted lower lip, mulling over the idea.
“Would I be reconditioned, too?” she finally asked. The Director tilted her head to the side almost imperceptibly.
“Do you think you need it, nurse? Are you not already loyal to—”
“Of course, of course I’m loyal,” Sylvia interrupted with a wave of her hand, “But, I just…when the Black Parade was reconditioned, there was something different about them afterwards. Not just their mental state, but their ability to perform. They became like…”
She paused. She didn’t want to say gods, that would be blasphemous, but how else could she describe their stage presence?
“...like machines,” she finished. The Director stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Do not interrupt me again,” she said icily. Sylvia’s cheeks flushed.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered as she stood up from her chair, “No, I will not allow you to turn my sister into a spectacle. I have morals too, you know. Now if you don’t mind, I have patients to attend to.”
Sylvia got up and strode towards the door. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted—but it didn’t turn.
“When have I ever allowed you to leave without dismissing you, nurse?”
Sylvia’s blood ran cold.
“And what happened to being so loyal to your country? We need someone to sing to inspire patriotism. You know this.”
A hand rested on her lower back. Sylvia shivered; she didn’t even want to look at the mysterious woman, who had somehow silently gotten up and crossed the office in less than a second.
“I am loyal to my country,” she said quietly, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob, “But I am not a puppet. Open the door.”
The Director clicked her tongue in disappointment.
“A shame.”
Sylvia gasped as the Director grabbed the collar of her cape and pulled her back with strength uncharacteristic of a woman her size, the clasp of the garment tightening across her airway like a noose. Before she could break free, the Director slammed her violently down into the office chair and leaned over her. She rested one knee on the seat beside Sylvia’s hip and gripped her by the throat, pinning her in place.
“Let’s try this again, Sylvia,” she said calmly, leaning half of her weight on the armrest, “For the good of your country, you will bring your sister here to the MOAT by no later than tomorrow morning. Yes?”
“Go to hell,” Sylvia growled. She lashed out and kicked the Director’s knee as hard as she could, right on the joint, earning a screech from her superior. The chair tipped over at her loss of balance and the two women tumbled to the floor. Sylvia rolled over and attempted to crawl out from under the Director, but the other woman grabbed her by the hair.
“Stop being so fucking difficult,” snarled the Director, “We’re on the same side!”
Sylvia yelped in pain as her hair was pulled, her pristine bun unraveling in the Director’s fist. Her mind swam in a panic as the Director pinned her to the floor by her chocolate brown tresses. The other woman climbed on top of her and settled her weight on her pelvis.
“Get off…!” Sylvia panted as she tried to wriggle out from underneath her, “Get off of me!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, nurse,” the Director murmured, “If you aren’t going to obey me willingly, I’ll have to motivate you somehow.”
From the pocket of her suit jacket, the Director drew a dagger. Sylvia’s heart began to pound and she froze.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she squeaked, “All the resources it would take to regenerate me, you know it’s not worth it!”
“Who says we have to regenerate all of you?” the Director asked coolly, “I’m not going to kill you, Sylvia.” She brought the knife to Sylvia’s temple, tapping the razor sharp blade lightly against her skin. The nurse grabbed her wrist in an attempt to push the knife away.
“Ah-ah. Let go,” the Director said sternly. She drew back her other hand and slapped Sylvia hard across the face. The blow stunned the other woman for long enough to allow the Director to push down her right arm and trap it at her side with her knee. The Director took Sylvia’s other wrist and pinned it next to her head before bringing the knife back to her cheek.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said bitterly, ignoring Sylvia’s cry of pain as she slowly sliced the blade through her flesh, “But you leave me no choice.”
Sylvia shrieked as the Director made a couple more deep cuts. She could feel that the lacerations were close together; they formed some sort of pattern.
“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she cried, beads of blood crawling down her face and collecting in the shell of her ear as she tried to push the Director off. But it was far too late for that.
Silver flashed in the fluorescent office light. Before Sylvia could make sense of anything, white hot pain struck her right eye, and half of her vision suddenly went dark. She screamed as the Director finally stood up and stepped over her, calm as ever, and smoothed out her skirt.
“You BITCH!” Sylvia wailed, getting to her knees with her hand cupping her injured eye, “My face! What have you done?!”
“I have given you a reason to be loyal, nurse,” the Director responded coldly, “Every clinic in this country is operated by the Ministry. You won’t be able to get that fixed anywhere else. If you’re obedient enough, by the time the Black Parade is done touring, perhaps we will restore that eye for you.”
Sylvia groaned as blood and something slimy leaked between the leather fingers of her gloved hand. She cautiously touched the injury and yelped. Not only had her eye been slashed, her eyelid was cleanly torn in half.
“You will fucking regret this…” she hissed through clenched teeth, forcing back the urge to vomit as a bloody, gelatinous glob of vitreous humor hit the carpet with a splat. The Director chuckled quietly, and at that moment two nurses burst into the office.
“What the he—oh, god! Nurse Sylvia!” cried one of them.
“Nurse Clarice, Nurse Tucker, get her cleaned up. But don’t do too good of a job, understand? I think having a gaping wound in her face will do wonders for Nurse Sylvia’s arrogance.”
“Jesus Christ girl, alright, let’s get you back to the nurse’s station,” Tucker said anxiously, crossing the room to place a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder.
“...the door was locked,” she muttered.
“What?” asked Clarice, frowning as she came to stand on her other side.
“That door was locked. I know I didn’t leave the keys with you two. How did you get in?” Sylvia asked wearily, turning her head to shoot a murderous glare at the Director.
But she was already gone.
