I really like funky hair dudes

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Chipp awoke as he often did, dry-mouthed and sluggish. He automatically reached in the direction of his bedside water bottle, only to find his arm unresponsive.

A grumble left him. He shifted in place. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep on his arms, but that didn’t make it any less irritating. The light streaming through his eyelids told him it was morning, but, ugh, he really didn’t want to get up yet. Was Answer trying to get him up earlier? Keeping the curtains drawn was something he preferred for a reason, let alone having to worry about how easily he burned if he wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t his fault he had sensitive skin!

In the throes of surly sleepiness, he hadn’t quite registered anything being amiss. His other hand moved to scratch an itch at his side, but it was just as immobile. Another tug, then another, and only then did the situation occur to him as being something out of the ordinary. It took him several more attempts to force his eyes open, both through the sleepiness and the stinging light. He turned his head, hoping to jar himself awake, and jolted at the feeling of cold metal against his cheek.

Chipp jerked awake, eyes shooting open, only to immediately regret it and grimace under the light. He squinted and blinked rapidly to try and clear the blur away. The vague, general feeling of tightness narrowed itself down to his arms and legs. He could shimmy his hips and roll his shoulders, but that didn’t allow for much range. Whatever had his limbs pinned down was snug enough to keep him otherwise in place.

Turning to find the culprit, all that awaited him were rolls of a plasticky blush material, covering him like a blanket up to his neck. The outline of his body was loose and vague through it. Something definitely had a hold on him, but the only details he could garner were from the bits of skin brushing against the material. Chipp tried to twist an arm to feel how it felt against him. Yet oddly, his arms didn’t quite feel like they were connected to him. Even without whatever was holding them down, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move them much, if at all.

Alright. Waking up in a dark space, chained up. That was new, but he’d been in plenty of weird situations before. He tried not to panic, despite the automatic quickening of his heart rate under the weird sheet-thing. How had he gotten there? It couldn’t have been random.

Chipp tried to think. Parts of him were trying to catch up to the rest. No thoughts began and concluded in a single, smooth motion. Stuttery thoughts shuddered to a start and tumbled apart into incoherency. The ever-glaring overhead light- some sort of lamp, not the sun after all- made focus even more cumbersome. His hands clenched and unclenched in his restraints to both give him something to ground himself with and to jog his memory.

Bits and pieces clung on after some time, nebulous but tangible memory. Following someone- into a house? He knew he had followed on purpose. They’d invited him- right, a smile, he remembered smiling. He’d been handed a drink and told to make himself comfortable. He recalled sitting down somewhere, and then…and then…

Icy horror shot through his body. He hadn’t simply fallen asleep. That tug on his consciousness was one he knew painfully well. He’d broken his sobriety. Not by his own intention, but that didn’t soften the sting. Years of abstinence, of overcoming the urge to turn to drugs, all undone.

Before he could decide if he was more aghast or furious, there was the sound of hinges creaking behind him. Chipp attempted to arch his back against the table so he could tilt his head upward for a better view. All he could make out was the very top of a doorframe as it swung shut again.

The newcomer, intentionally or not, saved him the trouble. A figure rounded where Chipp had found himself tied down to, and upon their eyes meeting, he beamed. “Ah, good morning, sir!”

‘Sir?’ That title, in that voice, it sounded familiar. Chipp squinted at the man, at his rounded and bespectacled face. He…they had spoken, hadn’t they? That voice coming from that face, in someplace other than a dark room.

All of this was making his head hurt. Still, Chipp persisted, forcing his brain to dredge up any kind of information. It must have been recent, hadn’t it? At least whatever had led to him being here.

’Sir? Sir! Sir, please- !’

It had…what had it been? A public broadcast? Outside, that was the important part. He’d been there in person, dedicating something or discussing something else, taking advantage of the nice weather. Things had been going smoothly. Answer had even been pleased, offering to handle cleanup himself while his boss went home early.

’Sir, please! I need your help!’

That man hadn’t been there. Or maybe he had, someplace in the crowd, but Chipp hadn’t noticed him. When he had been approached afterward, he recalled not being familiar with that face. It hadn’t been the first time someone approached him after a public showing. Several people had come asking questions, or to comment on the quality, or to offer words of support. He’d simply assumed he was another civilian looking for small talk.

‘Yes?’ Chipp had replied, putting on one of his nicer million-yen smiles. ’Something I can do for you?’

’I’m so sorry to ask this of you, but I don’t believe there are many others that could help me.’

As an elected official, few things could catch his attention quicker. 'What? What is it, citizen?'

Merely being looked at had made his expression turn relieved. Hadn’t it? It was more of a feeling than a solid recollection. ‘My son, he- he’s in dire need of help. Ever since the accident, he’s been unwell, barely able to leave the house. I’ve done what I could to heal the damage, but I’m not sure he’s ever going to fully recover without a proper replacement.’

’A transplant?’ Though keeping it to himself, Chipp had cringed at the thought. Anything involving needles and hospitals tended to put him on edge. It reminded him far too much of his youth.

’Yes. I’ve searched all across the country- nay, the continent- trying to find someone who’s a compatible match for him. Finding someone with the correct blood type, correct Rh factors, every crossmatching and health test has been an uphill battle. The few that I have found that were healthy and able to help my son, they all refused and turned me away. I’ve grown desperate, sir.’ He clasped his hands together, head lowered. ‘Please, mister President. I ask you as a father. I don’t want my boy to suffer anymore.’

Chipp had still been apprehensive at being approached so abruptly. He could see the desperation in the man’s eyes, though, and it softened his unease. His personal discomfort couldn’t come at the cost of an innocent life.

So he’d given him a warm smile. ‘Of course. Helping people is what a President is for!’

While distracted in thought, Chipp hadn’t noticed the man wandering around the room, grabbing various items off of the shelves. A little humming ditty left his mouth as he worked, as though all of this was entirely normal, and most people had the president-elects of their respective countries tied to tables on a regular basis.

“Y’drug me.” Chipp slurred. He hadn’t realized how unresponsive his body truly was until speaking came into the mix.

“I know, I know.” The man calmly nodded. “It merely seemed like a faster way to set up. I didn’t want you to get cold feet.”

“Y’ din’t- ” There wasn’t any need to do this, he wanted to say, I said I would help you.

“I wanted to ensure this would be done as swiftly as could be. I assure you, my home office is just as up to snuff as any operating room!” The man held up what took him several moments to recognize as forceps, before placing them on a nearby tray.

Wait- this was where they were going to do it?? No wonder this freak had knocked him out, there was no way he’d ever agree to getting cut up in a place like this! A regular hospital was already pushing things out of his comfort zone, how could he be sure any of this was legit??

‘Transplant’ nothing, Chipp was fully convinced this was just some full-on psycho organ peddler. How could he possibly have been so stupid?

“Daddy?”

Chipp froze.

“Billy?” The man looked up from the counter. He smiled. “Ah, Billy, come introduce yourself. It’s only polite.”

Chipp forced his head to lift from the table. Though difficult to see, the far wall of the room was not a wall after all, but an unlit passageway. From the shadowed hall came a young boy, a hair taller than the man. Chipp could only assume he was young. Nearly every inch of his face was wrapped in bandages, criss-crossing like mummy wrappings. The only feature visible through it was a pair of eyes, peering out from the shadows. His shoulders were slumped and nervous, only emerging further into view with more gestures from the man.

Upon seeing Chipp, however, he grew far more bold. A few steps put them nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. A scarred hand reached out to stroke his jaw, gentle, almost reverent in its carefulness.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so pretty…” His voice was low and stilted, syllables coming out strangely. Given the bandages, Chipp had to wonder what state his mouth was in. He had to wonder what state any of his face was in under there. “That’s gonna be mine?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” The man approached his son, patting his shoulder with the sort of gingerness only a parent could convey. “And I promise this one will last.”

‘Last?’ “Whuh- whu-...“

“Now go lay down, alright? I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Daddy needs to do his work in peace so he can make you as pretty as possible.”

“Okay…” The boy made a noise, like laughter, if it was performed by a rusted lawnmower. He gave Chipp another fond look as he turned. “Thank you…thank you so much…”

Once he had vanished into the shadows once more, the man turned his attention back to his supplies. A now-full tray was carried back to the table. Chipp watched him sort them, fingers flicking at the air as he went back to his humming.

“I really can’t thank you enough, sir. Years of cruelty and humiliation can’t be undone, but my boy will finally be able to have a normal life again. You’re going to make him beautiful.”

This guy was insane, absolutely off the deep end. And he’d walked right into it. This wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind upon hearing the word ‘transplant.’ If he could go back and give the man not only a no, but the fiercest thrashing possible, he would have. But what good did that do him now?

As he glared, his captor calmly pulled back a corner of the blue tarp. Underneath, there was a thick strap keeping his arm pinned, as expected. There was also something else, something he hadn’t noticed in his attempts at wiggling. Something half-poking out from the joint of his elbow, a clear tube that buried itself under his skin.

The sight of it made Chipp jerk back, protesting in wet, incoherent syllables that were far less understandable and dignified than what a ninja should have been capable of. It was in him, oh fuck, it was in him, nothing was supposed to be in him, he promised- he hadn’t-

“Calm down, calm down. I know shots are scary, but now that the line’s in, I won’t have to do any more, okay?”

A pat on the shoulder just made him resist more, gritting his teeth and jerking his arms in their restraints. It didn’t help. It didn’t do anything. The sight of that thing embedded in his arms flopped with the motion, and- oh fuck, oh fucking hell, he could feel it moving- !

“N-nuh, n’m’re-” None of the words he wanted came to form. His mouth lagged, but his brain was rushing around in panic. No drugs, no drugs, for the love of everything, I’ll let you cut me open with a rusty-ass butter knife and rip out my guts with your bare hands, but no fucking drugs!!

Of course, none of his thoughts went heard. Even if they had been, he doubted they would be listened to. In desperation, Chipp merely blubbered around the few noises he could force out. “N’more…”

“Certainly not, sir!” The man looked down at him, playfully scolding. “I just said ‘no more needles,’ didn’t I?” He held up a bag. “I’m a man of my word! Don’t worry about a thing. I’m a professional. I know this sort of thing takes a delicate hand, and having you get all squirmy and screamy will just go and make a big mess! I just need to hook this up, then it’ll be a smooth ride from there! You won’t feel a thing!”

It did the opposite of calm him down. “Nuh, nuh- nnnnnn- !!”

Speaking wouldn’t have stopped it. Maybe it would have made it feel like he’d put up more of a resistance. He turned his head away, yet he still felt it the moment the tube connected and its contents escaped inside of his body.

Numbness washed over him in a wave. Were it not for it immediately relaxing all his muscles, Chipp would have thrown up then and there. It felt good. He hated that it felt good. After all these years, his stupid dumbass brain immediately recognized the hazy vertigo. Despite the dread in his guts, there was still a little jitter in the back of his mind, elated by the sudden rush of chemical balm in his blood.

Chipp was going to kill him. No quarter, no diplomacy, he was going to cut this man down like the animal he was.

“How are we feeling?” The man asked, as cheery as ever.

Chipp had no reply. Not even his slowing thoughts could supply one in his mouth’s stead.

His captor frowned. “Oh, dear, why are you crying?” He grabbed a patch of gauze from his tray and used it as a makeshift tissue, blotting the man’s cheeks dry. “There’s nothing to be scared of! I promise, you won’t feel a thing!”

It would have been better if it hurt. Pain was tolerable. This was a degradation he couldn’t take with such ease. He wondered if he managed to throw up after all, he’d choke on it and drown. He hoped so.

The damp gauze was swapped out for a fine scalpel. “I won’t be cutting too deep, but therein lies the issue! Cutting too deep would damage the underlying tissues, but too shallow ruins the skin! So I need you to sit very, very still, and I need to be very, very careful. Let’s both do our best, okay?