Ink stained pages

You stared at the complex from the truck window, holding your pack close. It stuck out in the white expanse like a sore thumb. Shifting nervously in your seat, you hugged your pack tighter. The man on your left unbuckled and exited the truck, the two on your right following suit. The woman in the passenger seat did as well, and the driver gave you a look from the rearview mirror.

"Well?" She demanded impatiently. "Get out."

"But I don't deserve to be here," you protested weakly. "Of course you'd think that. Murderers tend to only think of themselves. Now get out before I drag you out."

Sniffling, you unbuckled, opened the door, and reluctantly climbed out of the backseat. Only three of the four others in front of you regarded you with either glances or tilts of their head as you shut the door behind you and walked up to join them. The driver rolled her window down while you noticed the second truck pulling up behind her vehicle. "The truck next to mine is the person in charge of Luthe Station. They'll give you instructions and show you what to do." She explained.

A person came fumbling out of the second truck, brown hair strands sticking out underneath a beanie as they trudged over. They waved at the group excitedly. The woman in the first truck groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Get moving and go greet them. We have orders to kill you on sight if you don't enter the facility in the next eight minutes."

Startling, you started hurrying towards the newcomer, who grinned at the sight of your approach. It was quite adorable seeing you stumble through the snow. The others took their sweet time, the first truck staring you all down like a predator. The newcomer looked at your gear of simple insulated bodysuits, snow boots, and gloves, and frowned.

"Where are your coats?" They asked, their brows furrowing. "We don't get coats," one of the others replied. "We're criminals." The newcomer blinked. "Well, yeah, but the last group had their own coats."

"There was a last group?" You asked, fear worming its way into your tone. "Th-there w-was a last g-group?" Another one of the convicts mocked. "Of course there was!"

"Now, now, there's no need for that Convict 43," the newcomer scolded. 43 blinked. "How'd you know my assigned number?" The other convict from earlier snorted. "We have tags on the back of our suits, genius." 43 leaned back to see if this was true, and you followed the motion. Sure enough, you were all labeled from 41 to 45. You were the 45th.

The woman in the truck honked the horn. The newcomer scoffed and looked over at her. "WE'RE MOVING! Sheesh! She's so impatient." The newcomer gestured for you to follow. "Right this way, please."

The six of you made your way to the station, one of you occasionally slipping and falling. Weirdly enough, the newcomer never faltered. They soldiered on steadily, not a single waver in their step. The six of you grew closer to the station, pale lights growing brighter and brighter. Eventually you reached the entrance, two large steel doors standing before you.

"Alrighty! I am Luthe, and I am the station manager! As you can see, this is the entrance." You blinked. "I thought research stations were named after dead people?" You asked, confused. Luthe laughed, a bright, bubbly thing that didn't belong in the desolate winterscape. "Oh, yes! I was named after my great Grandfather!"

"Guess living alone in the Arctic runs in the family," 43 quipped, making you smirk.

"Convict 41," Luthe began abruptly. "Your room will be in the East Hall, which is close to my office." 41 cocked his head. "I thought you said the rooms were in the West Hall?" He asked. "The West Hall isn't for rapists." Luthe replied, their expression chipper though their words were spoken through gritted teeth. "Convicts 42 and 43 will be in the West Hall for engaging in loan shark behaviors. Convicts 44 and 45 will join Convict 41 in the East Hall."

No. No, no no absolutely not! You didn't- you weren't-

"But I didn't rape anyone!" You cried, stepping closer to 43. "I didn't do anything wrong! Don't make me stay with them!" 44 shot you a look while 43 put a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. "Aw, c'mon Fivey, don't murderers usually kill rapists in prisons?" 42 commented sheepishly. 41 glared at 42 as if he wanted to kill him then and there. "Quit giving them ideas. Besides, I don't want to share a hall with a cowardly little bit-"

Luthe cleared their throat loudly, interrupting 41. "The East Hall is for crimes that the government has considered most harmful. Murder is one of those crimes." They explained. Most harmful? Most harmful?! You didn't want to harm anyone! You did what you had to!

"It was self defense!" You argue. "Please, it really was-"

"I'm sorry, but rules are rules, and the law is the law, no matter the case." Luthe cut in harshly. They quickly turned, motioning for you all to follow. "Enough of this. I will show you your rooms now."

All you could do was miserably follow along, with 43 and 42 close by your side and glancing warily at 41 and 44. Luthe pushes the doors open, and your group follows them down a set of stairs. You pass through a somewhat large main area full of tables and random items and some safety tools. There were two sets of doors in one of the walls. As Luthe guides you into the East Hall, you notice a console at the hall entrance- and that the doors were barred like a cage.

"45, you are in room E-1," Luthe chirped, gesturing to the first door on the right. "44 and 41 will be across each other in rooms E-5 and E-6." A whole door down. How reassuring. "In all of your rooms are basic necessities such as pajamas, a bathroom, and your uniforms." They went on. "If you would please enter your rooms," Luthe ordered, making it sound as if it were a request. There really was no way of talking your way out of it, was there? Sniffling, you entered your room. The door automatically slammed shut behind you as fast as a steel trap. The suddenness made you flinch. "The security systems are set so the rooms lock at certain times from the outside." Luthe called. "There are cameras in your rooms and in the hall. Settle in now! We begin our work tomorrow."

Faintly, you could hear 43 speaking, and a dismissive tone from Luthe as their footsteps receded. So this was it. Dropped off and locked up in a hall. Deemed the worst of the worst and sharing a hall with people similar to the person you killed. How was this fair? People who have done worse have gotten away scot-free, but killing your assaulter has you on a suicide mission? Hot, angry tears came quick, streaking down your face as you shuffled into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The toothpaste was cheap- the old baking soda kind that didn't taste of mint. You had never gotten something done so fast. Blood mixed with your saliva as you spat into the sink. A result of the speed and harshness of the brush against your teeth and gums.

It made you cry harder. Normally, having gunk that built up over the day scrubbed off your teeth before bed made you feel better, but in a cold Hell like this, the irritating prickly feeling of being overwhelmed made it worse. Wiping your eyes, you climb into your cot, tossing and turning for hours before finally tiring yourself out from the motions and falling asleep.

He awoke to the sound of something dripping and wriggling. Like worms. Or wet spaghetti. Wet sentient spaghetti. Blearily, he sits up, blinking once, twice- And then a tendril forces it's way into his mouth. And another. And another. He can't scream- it's fusing to his tongue. To his cheeks. The roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, crawling down, down, down and up, up, up… He can't think anymore.

"The sun is shining in the sky! There ain't a cloud in sight, it's stopped raining, everybody's in the play, and don't you know it's a beautiful new day, hey hey…"

Groaning, you turn onto your belly and cover your ears. Luthe's voice is clear from the outside of your room, sounding as if it's coming through a loudspeaker.

"Good morning! Doors open in 15! Please get dressed and meet in the main area!" Luthe orders cheerfully.

You couldn't really bring yourself to get up. Why should you? How could you? How could the others rise and get ready for the day without issue? You could hear them- 41 and 44, their sheets shifting and rustling. The tossing of clothing and small sounds. The flowing of a sink and spitting. Maybe if you didn't budge they'd leave you alone.

"Convict 45?"

You shift slightly. Luthe was outside your door, staring at your miserable lump of a form. They tapped on the metal bars. "Convict 45, it's time to get up," they pressed. Nothing. With a sigh, Luthe left. Before you could mentally celebrate, the door opened, prompting you to sit up.

"Silly thing," Luthe cooed, taking in the sight of your tired face. "It's alright. Most newcomers need extra help getting up." They take your hand, carefully tugging you up out of bed. "How did you-"

"Cameras," Luthe interrupts, steering you to the bathroom. "Aren't you worried I'll shank you or something?" You ask, raising a brow. You expected Luthe to be more wary, especially if you weren't the first group of convicts here. "You don't have one. You didn't begin searching your room right away trying to craft such a thing." Luthe replied. "Now come along, brush those teeth and scrub that face!"

"I'm not a child!" You snap, pulling away from Luthe. You do grab your provided toothbrush, though, and plop a dollop of toothpaste on it. "You're acting like one." Luthe comments. Before you can argue, they clap their hands together. "I'll be waiting in the main area to lead you to breakfast!"

You turn your focus to the sink, scrubbing your teeth and ignoring their departure. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks and made you want to slap yourself, but you refrained from doing so. You splashed water on your face, shucked off your pajamas, and pulled your jumpsuit and shoes on before hurrying into the main area where the others were waiting. 43 and 42 immediately situated themselves next to you, causing 41 to roll his eyes.

"Come along now," Luthe ordered cheerily, opening one of the doors in the walls. It led to a small cafeteria with a single long table and fold up chairs. There were bowls of something, as far as you could tell. "I made it all up," Luthe said excitedly. "Oatmeal isn't really a grand breakfast but it's what we have!"

"Am I seriously going to have to eat oatmeal for the rest of my life?" 43 asked in dismay. "You will eat whatever we are provided!" Luthe replied with their dumb, overly-happy smile. The meal, like Luthe said, wasn't much. Somehow the oatmeal was dry despite being the 'just add water' kind, and you all ate it in about five bites. Luthe then led your group into the room next door, which held a simple elevator. They pressed the call button and got to yammering.

"This will take us down to the lab and diving bell," Luthe explained. You could hear the tinkering sound of the elevator rising. "The diving bell will be used by 42 and 43 to take samples of the mass-"

Mass?

"Wait wait wait," 42 interrupted. "How are we supposed to dive with a bell? We don't even know how to dive!"

"The diving bell is called a bell because of it's shape, but it's not an actual bell. It's more of a container. You'll put on the suits provided and I will manage the bell ascension and descension." Luthe replied. The elevator door opened, and Luthe gestured everyone in. "You'll learn as you go! I left detailed instructions in the bell with little pictures, too, and we'll be able to communicate. Don't freak out when your voices get all high and squeaky."

They pressed the bottom button on the console, prompting the doors to shut. "I still don't like it. Why can't 41 and 44 go?" 43 complained. "They already have a job. They're manning the flashlight and taking pictures. 45 will be writing descriptions of said photos."

Seriously? While it was nice to have an easy task, you would much rather be put in the diving bell than having to work with 41 and 44. The elevator began to descend. "It will all be fine," Luthe smiled. "The last groups did wonderfully!"

"What did happen to those last groups?" You pipe up. "And what mass?"

"There's a mass at the bottom of the ocean," Luthe replied casually. "It's seemingly organic, and the scientists think that it's a new species of marine life altogether. Maybe some kind of relative to coral or sponge." The elevator came to a halt and the doors creaked open.

The room was interesting, to say the least. The walls were concrete but the floor glass. There was a weird open side room with a spherical machine and a gap beneath it, leaving rippling water. Next to it were two suits hung on hangers. There was other machines and desks, and in the center of the room was a cylindrical looking thing that poked through the floor.

Luthe pointed at the suits. "42 and 43, if you would please go put those on. Make sure everything is sealed!" Without much of a choice, the two reluctantly put on the suits, shambling around and fumbling with the seals. It was pretty obvious that the suits felt uncomfortable. Once finished, Luthe opened up the door to the diving bell and seemed to usher 42 and 43 in with their gaze alone. They beamed at the two as they shut the door, sealing the hatch with a twist of the wheel. Luthe then trotted over to the descension lever and pulled it down.

Watching the bell descend felt like watching a coffin getting lowered. The worst part was Luthe's smile. Were they enjoying this? Did they know something? Like 42 and 43 were very likely to die due to being untrained?

"While that lowers, let me show you three what to do!" Luthe said, turning around to face you, 41 and 44. "So, for star-"

The room plunged into darkness. The lights began to flash red.

"Oh, cheese and crackers," Luthe hissed. "Don't fret, everyone! The snow must have messed with the generators. There's a back-up that won't last for long. You three stay down here while I go upstairs to fix that."

"What about 4 and 43?!" You protested, stepping forward. "They're still descending! Can we still communicate with them?! Let them know what's happening?!"

"Nnnnooo," Luthe confessed, inching closer to the elevator. "But they should be fine. They should have about three hours before they need to worry about anything. I can fix the generators before then!" They went on, walking over to the elevator and pressing the call button. "The backups only really power the elevator, fridge, and bathrooms." Luthe prattled. The doors creaked open and stepped inside. "Don't worry! This has happened before and everything was fixed and no one got hurt! Just behave and we'll all be fine!"

The doors shut, and in an instant, someone was tackling you by the side and rolling you onto your back, crawling on top of you to straddle you. The air was knocked out of your lungs, resulting in a weak, wheezing cry. "Eugh, surely you can sound better than that," 44 sneered, harshly grabbing you by the chin and forcing your head around. "Your face is alright," she hummed, her other hand trailing down to your chest and squeezing.

Your reaction was immediate. Screaming, shouting curses and protests, struggling and bucking and trying to sit up. 44 cursed as well, shoving her full wait down onto your shoulders. "41! A little help over here!" She bellowed, grabbing your face again to slam your head into the floor.

There was a gross, wet sound, and then 44's weight was gone. She vanished with a startled scream.

"WHAT THE FUCK-" 44 began, but her words halted abruptly and began to slur into nonsensical sounds and wails. You sat up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you looked around for the two.

There they were on the right half of the room, compacting into a mass, 44's screams turning shorter. Frantic. Dissolving into weak groans and gurgling protests and mixing with 41's snarls and moans. Their bodies melted into each other, arms attaching to biceps and necks curling around each other like snakes, skin ripping and blood spraying and dripping. Clothing ripped and tendrils unfurled out from the forming openings like wriggling worms. You shuddered at the sight of a human skeleton pushing out from 44's body, her flesh migrating downwards to join the bubbling mass that was fusing into a lump stuck to the wall. The position was awful- the skeleton arched and frozen in struggle, jaw open in a scream. You barely processed the feeling of your stomach hollowing out as you leaned over and puked up the little rations you were allowed this morning onto the floor. You choked. Sputtered. Coughed up yellow, foamy liquid before scooting backwards and running for the elevator.

You slammed your fist against the call button, gagging as the smell of iron wafted into your nose. There was a trilling, rattling, click-click-click sound, urging you to look back towards the thing. Sniffling and whimpering, your gaze shifted to the side.

The tendrils from the mass were slithering towards you lazily. It was like watching snails travel across a path. They quivered, muscle splitting as little eyes popped out and bulged, some of their irises misshapen and splitting. A screech left you, the pitch as high as a bird song and shaking. At the exact same time, the elevator beeped and the doors opened. Sobbing, you hurried into the elevator, frantically pressing the console buttons to make the door shut. The tendrils shot forward, reeling back to swing, but the doors managed to shut just in time. Shuddering cries slipped from your mouth as you pressed the button to the upper level. There was something at the bottom of the ocean. 44 tried to assault you and 41…

That was real. So real you couldn't even try to deny it. 42 and 43 were stuck with whatever was at the bottom of the ocean. Luthe was…

Oh Gods, Luthe! You had no idea where they were! As soon as the lift made it's jumbling halt and the doors opened, you rushed out and ran into the main area. The lights were all on now. Had Luthe fixed the power?

"LUTHE!" You cried, tone fearful and desperate. "Luthe?! Luthe, where are you?! Something's happened to 41 and 44!"

You heard the shifting of weight and a sniff from Luthe's office. The office? Did they just go back to their office after fixing the generator? You screamed for them and they didn't answer! Fear shifting into frustration, you marched over to the office and sure enough, there sat Luthe in their desk chair-

…slightly hunched over, eyes closed, and nose bleeding. They weren't trying to stop it or anything, they just let the puddle of red on their desk grow. Unease stirred in your gut and you cleared your throat. "Luthe?"

Luthe eyes shot open and their head swiveled to face you, brows raised in shock. "There you are! What are you doing here?!" They exclaimed, rising from their seat. "What do you mean?" You replied, stepping into the office. There wasn't time for this. You needed to leave. "Nevermind- do you know where the other stations are? We need to go!"

"Go?" Luthe echoed. "Go where? We're supposed to be here." They finally wiped their nose, but the blood dripped on, staining their shirt. "We can't be here!" You snapped. "41 turned into some sort of monster and killed 44! I don't know how that thing functions, but from what I've seen if it touches us we're dead! We need to get out of here and get help, 42 and 43 are still underwater! Now do you know where to go?!" You demanded, starting to open Luthe's drawers in search of a map.

"No," Luthe replied after a moment. "I don't know where to go, 45. I'm on strict orders to stay here and to keep the convicts contained." They explained with a frown. "You can't keep us contained if you die!" You argued, finding a journal. It wasn't a map, so you tossed it aside. Underneath the journal lay the keys to the spare truck. "How can you not know, anyway?" You continued, voice softening in confusion. "You've been here for how long?"

Luthe didn't reply, watching as you picked up the keys. "45, put that back," they ordered gently, like a parent speaking to a child. "No, we need to leave, Luthe!" You insisted, heading toward the doorway. Suddenly, you were tugged backwards, Luthe's hand grasping your arm. "Five, just wait a second, okay?"

Distantly, you heard the elevator doors creak open.

"Luthe? Let go."

"No," Luthe replied firmly, tugging you closer. "Just- listen. I know it's scary but-"

"-You knew?" You interrupted, stomach sinking. "You knew that- how did-"

"Five-"

Mustering your strength, you shoved Luthe away, running out of the room and for the stairs in the main area. You could hear it- the slithering of tentacles and gurgling groans from the direction of the elevator. It started that horrible rattle-chittering again, drawing closer, and you were plunged into darkness once more. You startled, sinking to the floor to feel for the wall and floor, scooting your way to the stairs.

"Oh, stars," Luthe hissed, hurrying into the main area. The mass groaned. "Yes- yes- hurry up, we need to find Five!"

You could hear their movement, then the sound of flesh melding into flesh. Skin tearing and bones bursting from beneath muscle. Groans and whines and gurgles. Luthe had given themself to it willingly. Had even spoken to it! Did Luthe always know? Was Luthe human at all?

"F-I-I-I-VE!"

Whimpering, you scoot back farther down the dark hall. You can hear them- all of them. Their voices combined into one, all screaming for you.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

You need to leave. Get up the stairs, block the way…you can do it. Clutching the straps of your back, you sling it over your shoulders and inch backwards, keeping silent as that…thing stampedes through the other rooms.

"GET OUT HERE!"

Up the stairs, block the way. Up the stairs, block the way. You could block it, right? There was stuff you could block it with?

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, FIVE!"

Your heel meets the front of the first step. Shakily, you lift it, rising upwards little by little. If there isn't stuff to block the way with you could always just keep running. Keep running and hope you're fast enough.

"Can't find them," the thing whined. "Can't find them!" A sudden, loud moment of silence. You kept backing up on the steps.

"Five?" It called in 43's voice, suddenly calm. "Did you go upstairs?" 43? It managed to take 43 as well? If it took 43, did it kill 42?

Fuck.

"Have you left already?" It fretted, it's voice growing closer.

Fuck.

You twisted on your heel and scrambled up the stairs, flinging yourself at the doors. You could hear it starting up its screaming again, hurrying after you. Slamming through the doors and trampling through the hallway. "F-I-I-I-VE! COME BACK HERE!"

Throwing one of the metal doors open, you hurried through the opening and slammed the door shut. You spotted the emergency fire hatchet and extinguisher. You quickly opened up the glass box and grabbed the hatchet, slipping it through the door handles before looking around frantically. Your gaze on one of the tables and shoved it against the doors before booking it. You passed one of the shelves holding various items and pulled it down once you made it to the other side.

Something slammed against the doors. "PLEASE!" It wailed. "PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T GO! FIVE, PLEASE! YOU'LL DIE OUT THERE!" It kept slamming itself against the doors, shoving the table back bit by bit from what you could hear. Choking out a cry, you turned and kept running. Which way was out again? Left, straight…right…doors-

You burst out of the facility, cold air shoving against your face. The thing kept screaming from inside, begging you to come back. Wiping your eyes, you steeled yourself. You could see the truck- some feet in front of you, a little ways away. Crying at this point, you tried to move through the snow as quickly as you could. You didn't want to die. Didn't want to get torn apart and forced into some horrible, weeping shape. It seemed like the environment wanted you to die- wind pushing against you, the snow making you stumble and falter. You were taking too long- you needed to hurry!

Letting out some pathetic sound of relief as you reached the vehicle, you fumbled for the keys in your pocket and unlocked the truck, hopping into the driver's seat and jabbing the key into the ignition lock. It took a few twists, but the engine roared to life after the third try. Not even bothering with the seat belt, you flattened the gas pedal with the bottom of your boot and twisted the driver's wheel, turning in a circle to be able to make a beeline for the main road-

When a licorice-red tendril burst out from the ground. It rose into the air and curled, the tip slamming into the front of the truck and piercing the hood. The force of it sent the truck forward and falling onto it's back, tossing you around on the inside. You felt the impacts before you could register them- hitting your head against the wheel, your back hitting the roof of the car, and shards of glass digging into your skin.

You couldn't move. Your vision was swimming and everything hurt. You could vaguely see the tendril pulling away. More tendrils joined the fray, one with a blob-shaped end compared to the others. It drew closer, looking at you through the shattered windshield, and as your gaze focused you realized with a sinking stomach that whatever this thing was, it was wearing 42's head.

It was in that moment that you realized you were stuck. Your heart was in the bottom of your stomach and your chest was hollow. If you came out through the only way out, you'd be out in the open and that thing would take you and wear your head, too. 42's head groaned at you, a disgusting sound.

There was nothing you could do.

…Well, you could cry harder. That was a fair reaction to this situation.

Through the roaring wind and the creaking of the truck's metal, you could hear footsteps crunching through the snow. Panting breaths and frantic mumblings. 42's head groaned again, turning to look at the newcomer.

"No…no no…ah…"

You choked on a sob, letting out another meek noise. That got the creature moving, finally sliding it's entire body out from the ice and meandering towards the newcomer. You could hear the process from before- flesh fusing to flesh and voices mixing together. You couldn't not listen. Between the rushing snow and cracking ice and the wails, it seemed to last hour before it finally died down.

Then, footsteps. Something pressed against the metal frame of the ruined truck, rounding to the front and crouching down outside of the driver's area.

"Five, open the door." It commanded softly. You shook your head, looking away. You didn't want to see it- see whatever revolting amalgamation was speaking to you. "Please? Sweet thing? You're crying. I don't want to be mean."

"Y-yhh-you're gonna hh-hurt me," You sobbed out. "I don' wanna die!" It recoiled away from the window slightly in response.

"I won't! I swear, I won't! I hurt the others because they were bad, Five, but you aren't! I realized that! You're nice, Five!" It insisted, words frantic. "You can help me, Five! You can help me make sense of things if you'd just stop hiding and let me make sure you're okay!"

Wiping your eyes, you stopped to think. You were dead either way, and there was no killing this thing now. You could die brutally, or you could die…quickly? Softly?

Softly? Was that how this thing made you feel? Soft? At ease? It'd be better to die calm than afraid. Sniffling, you shakily sat up and reached for the key, pulling it out of the ignition lock and pressing the button to unlock the car doors. A relieved, happy noise left the thing outside and it moved back so it could open the car door, coming back into view to peer down at you.

On the bright side, it wasn't mimicking any of your team mates. On the other hand, it had a mix of their features. 42's curly hair and stubble, and the darkness 41 had in his own. Brown eyes, 43's kind smile and skin tone…it didn't seem to pick anything from 44, though. You didn't miss the tear tracks on its cheeks.

It leaned in and reached for you, coaxing you to let it help you out. "It's alright, Five," it promised. You faltered, gaze focused on its hand. "It won't be like what I did to 44, bub," It said, amusement lacing its tone. Trembling, you reached up and took its hand.

Your skin didn't immediately start fusing together. It's hand didn't tear open to form a new mouth and bite into your flesh. Instead, it grabbed onto your arm with its other hand to pull you out, adjusting its hold to cradle you the moment it dragged you out from the truck. "You scared me so much when you disappeared," it murmured. "I thought you had left or got hurt! We were all so scared!"

"We?" You echo shakily. It let out a little hmph as it rose and nodded, stubble brushing against your head. "We're all here! Well, not 44. I didn't see it fit to hold onto anything of hers."

"I don't understand," you whisper. One moment this thing was chasing you after devouring your team mates and the next its cradling you like a child and walking you back into the facility. The thing holding you just laughed. "I gain the knowledge and memories of everything I've…uh…collected. The mass, too! …Unless I decide to just turn them into food."

"So…44 is…?" You started. "Gone," it interrupted firmly. "That horrible woman can't hurt you again. She's all gone, sweet thing." Its hand rubbed at the back of your shoulders as you neared the entrance to the research facility. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there with you. I got busy with Callum before I could come back." It explained remorsefully.

"Callum?" You echoed. "Oh! Right, you only knew each other's designations…Callum was the one you called 43! He held a lot of care for you, you know, just like I do!" the thing rambled. Reaching the doors, the thing wearing your team mates set you down (though kept a hand on your shoulder) as it opened one of the doors. It guided you inside, through the rooms and down the steps you ran up. All the way to the elevator shaft. You immediately tried to pull away, digging your heels into the floor.

"Whoa! Hey, hey, it's okay," it shushed, coming to a halt to hold you steady. "What's wrong?" You shook your head. "I don't want to go down there again!" You cried. "Is it because of what happened?" It asked you. You nodded, and its hold relaxed. "Ah…I hadn't considered that," it frowned. It redirected it's path to it's office, leading you inside like a lamb to the slaughter.

"I've been thinking of actual names for myself," it announced, setting you down on the chair. "I was thinking something nice sounding, like Hewie, but I don't know. It's too man-like, you know?"

It was hard not to see anything but blood and gore when you looked at it. Hard not to see the fleshy tendrils and the viscera of the others.

Viscera…

That wasn't nice sounding. You didn't want to comment anything, either. If you angered it, it would probably kill you like the others. You tried to come up with a good alternative in your head when it clicked.

"Why not Vicky?" You suggested hesitantly. It looked over at you. "Vicky?" It echoed.

"Yeah," you confirmed. "It can be a name by itself for girls or be a nickname for a boy name."

You were caught off guard by the sight of it tearing up. "You thought of a name? For me?" It let out a happy sound, pulling you into an embrace and nuzzling into your head with an odd chitter. "Ohh, I knew you were the best! Such a sweet little one for me! For us!"

It pulled away, patting your head with a grin. "I've been so alone for so long. In pain. Wondering. Waiting. Unable to go back home. Everyone who came before you always tried to hurt me, but after I…collected them, I learned that there was more to you humans than just mindless violence."

You blinked, genuinely stunned. All in one day you've been forced into some fucked up escapade because you were wrongfully convicted, assaulted, forced to watch your coworkers die brutally, and now you're being coddled by the very thing that killed them that's also telling you parts of its backstory.

"I have so many memories," it murmured. "Happy ones, sad ones, but it all led back to one thing. Family. Bad ones. Good ones. Little ones of their own. It made me wish I had my own. My kind never had it's own independence like that. We were always together. We never had anything of our own, but I found myself wanting that now that I was alone."

Oh.

Oh.

"Is that so wrong, sweet thing? To want something like that? A little one of my own?"

You tensed.

"And you're the perfect candidate to be that for me!"

Huh?

Its embrace tightened. "My little one," it whispered happily. "We all love you so much. You remind us so much of our own…"

You felt like you were drowning.

"It's time to rest now, okay? We can talk more tomorrow, precious thing…"

Wait, what?

"Where are you going?" You asked, watching as it…Luthe? Vicky? Pulled away. "I need to go to the neighboring station and inform them of what happened!" They chirped. "I'm back to being Luthe again, but between us, we are Vicky!"

Vicky grabbed it's keys and stepped outside the office, flashing you one last smile. "I'm sure they'll let me keep you!"

But the smell of chocolate was strong enough to overpower your sleepiness, and before you knew it, you were sat up in bed, blearily looking around and noticing the bright sunlight peeking through your closed curtains. Your fathers were usually insistent on not letting you sleep in, no matter how you begged, so you were confused why they would leave you so late into the morning.

Before you could gather your bearings and think logically, you found yourself pouting. They wouldn’t forget about you, would they?

Your stuffed sheep, Baa-nie, was tied by soft ribbons around your back to the front of your sleep shirt. He was immensely soft and weighted, and also scented with sleepy lavender. It was near impossible to undo the laces yourself, usually one of your fathers would do it before you came down for breakfast.

Although you tried to avoid acting like the child they delusionally insisted you were, you find yourself unconsciously wrapping an arm around him, sinking into his softness as you lift off the blankets and walked over to peek out of your bedroom door.

The smell of chocolate hit you instantly when you cracked the door. You peeked down the hallway towards the kitchen on the other end of the apartment, where you saw your Papa Viktor sitting on a stool, facing towards the island counter, while your Dada Jayce was standing in the doorway, chatting about something that ended too quickly for you to make out.

Looking around further you noticed that the apartment looked different; there were decorations, shiny star stickers hung on the walls next to brightly-coloured balloons. You cracked the door open a little more and blinked deliriously at the words on a balloon sitting right in front of your door.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

It cheerily announced, as if the message didn’t send a blood-curdling shiver down your spine. Was it really your birthday? Already? How long has it been since they took you? Had you lost track of the days… the months that quickly?

… How old were you even turning?

You were horrified as you found the answer faster than you ever wanted to, as you glanced around and saw two more balloons, shiny holographic plastic blown up in the shapes of two clear 1s.

Eleven. These psychos were really going to try to convince you, and themselves, that you were turning Eleven.

What worried you most was that it dawned on you that you truly couldn’t remember what age you were supposed to be turning. Weren’t you in your twenties? Why couldn’t you remember your own age?!

Without thinking, you clutched on to Baa-nie and bit your lower lip between your teeth to comfort yourself. Viktor had taken an interest in truly adjusting your mind into that of a child through hypnosis some weeks ago, and you had gone along with it to avoid any punishment. There was no way it could have seriously been working, was there?

Your breathing became heavy and unsteady as you wracked your brain, trying to remember the age you had turned at your last birthday, but all that came up was indeterminable colours and sounds, like your memories had been turned to slick oil that you couldn’t hold onto.

You stared at that dumb balloon like it was going to attack you as you took a few paces back from the door. It began to swing wide open in your absence, and it was only a matter of time until-

“There’s our sweetheart!”

-they noticed you were awake.

Panic kept you rooted to the floor as you watched Jayce’s shadow grow on the wall, accompanied by his heavy footsteps. When he rounded the corner, his beaming smile softened at the sight of you. You must have looked like the perfect image of the little kid he imagined you as, staring up at him with sleepy, spooked eyes and messy bedhead as you clutched your stuffy.

“Happy birthday, sweetie! You excited?”

He offered an olive branch, you knew how this went. They give you one or two chances to play along, and disobeying meant a punishment, which was always changing and always left you crying and wondering why you had ever been so dumb as to stand up against them in the first place. But… seeing as it was your birthday… maybe they’d be more lenient?

Worth a shot, you figured.

“I’m not eleven.” You barked out. Not exactly the scathing tear down of his delusions that you wanted to give, but you were terrified to overstep.

The smile didn’t leave his face as he sauntered up to you, leaning down a little as he laughed and put a hand on your cheek, “Well, sweetheart, how old are you then?” He kept looking down at you with that sickeningly sweet smile, as if he somehow knew that he had hit the exact nerve that was tearing your mind up.

It was a moment of weakness— so much damn weakness— that lead you to respond petulantly, “W-well- that doesn’t matter! I’m not eleven!” You muttered it through gasps as you tried to hold yourself back from having a full blown panic attack, or as he’d call it, a tantrum, right in front of him.

Seeing your distress, he moved in closer, crouching down to crowd your face completely. You recognised his body language like someone kneeling down next to a lost child, and you could bet he wanted to do the same, but even though he was taller, you were still a full grown adult, you were—

“Ahh, this is why I said we should still wake you up on time,” he muttered, “You always get so cranky when we let you sleep in. Listen, hey, it’s okay.”

He placed his warm hands on your shoulders- a more effective grounding force than you were ready to admit- and pulled you in slightly, still not going for a full hug as he tried to avoid spooking you further.

“I know eleven seems like a big age, but we’re always gonna be here to take care of you, no matter how big you get.” He nuzzled his forehead against yours.

It was a warning wrapped in love and reassurance. Drop it or face the consequences.

Before you could gather yourself, make any move to regain your dignity, his right hand snaked around your shoulders as he crouches and moves his left arm under your legs. You squeak as you realise you’re being swept up off your feet, your own arms surging around Baa-nie for comfort as your whole world was tilted on its axis.

It was better to play along at this point, you couldn’t help that the chocolate smelled really good.

~~~

-He discovered video footage of you taking your mask off and showing your face. With all the connections Genesis had, it was no problem figuring out everything about you.

-The one big thing that shoked him was your age. Finding out that his greatest enemy was just a highschooler left him devastated.

-"You don't understand it, you moron!", he gripped one of his henchmen by the collar. "This proves everything I've been saying about society! This city is a rotten place...authorities are too busy stuffing their pockets with the bribes I give them, meanwhile children get sacrificed to supposedly defend the rest of the citizens"

-This discovery left the villain torn between emotions. On one hand, he pitied you. You were only a kid, trying to do the good thing and risking your life doing so. The system has failed you.

-On the other hand, you had been a thorn in his side for ages. You have foiled each and every plan of his, further driving him mad and fueling his hatred for anyone standing in his way. He couldn't let you get away with this without consequences.

-The villain's revenge required careful planning and wouldn't be an issue now that he knew so mich about you.

______________

-You lived in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city together with your mother.

-She raised you by herself and worked as a nurse, often being away from home for nearly the entire day. It was practical for keeping your heroic identity a secret from her, but it was sad to see her so exhausted.

-So you were genuinely happy when she told you she met someone. The nice gentleman she spoke about at the dinner table was a patient at the hospital, who somehow managed to end up there nearly every week, always with some strange injury.

-It didn't seem too strange to you at that time. With so many criminals terrorizing the city daily, it wasn't unusual for civilians to get caught up in a fight and suffer injuries.

-You weren't sure if you would be able to keep the promise to your mother and show up to the dinner at home, to which she invited her new friend. Genesis was likely to attack very soon and you would have to stop him just like any time.

-But to your great surprise, it was radiosilence. There were no murder robots, no bank heists, not even a robbery in some alley. The city was...strangely quiet. You were able to stay for dinner and properly meet this new guy, "Konrad".

-Konrad turned out to be great. He was polite and charismatic, always knowing exactly what to say and what would interest you. He made your mom laugh and acted like a true gentleman. But he never excluded you or made you seem like you were just an obsticle on his way to win her heart.

-He engaged in conversation with you, listening intently and asking many questions about your life. And he seemed to magically guess what you were into and how your life was, as if he had met you before.

-The relationship between Konrad and your mother developped quickly. He was staying over more frequently, carving out a spot for himself within your small family.

-He defended you when the school complained about your absences, helped you with projects you barely had the time to finish and never asked where you were going so suddenly, late at night. He'd always just give you this strange knowing look and greet you with a homecooked meal when you returned back in the morning, tending the smaller wounds.

-You were starting to truly trust him, seeing him as part of the family. One time you vented to him about being tired, always stressed about the state of the crime-ridden city and having no time to have a normal life.

-He'd hug you and tell you that everything was alright and would surely get better soon. That evening you spent at his side, watching a movie together.

-You would notice a strange scar on his arm, one that reminded you of your arch-nemesis, who you haven't seen in a while now...

-Konrad would laugh it off, saying something like: "A feral little cat scratched me after I've crossed his territory. Now hush, you'll miss the best part of the movie, kiddo."

-After that, all of the usual criminals you fought, slowly started to dissappear from the radar...

____________

-Life sure was taking a strange turn. You barely wore your hero costume nowadays, all the criminals somehow vanishing in mysterious ways.

-And you seemed to have less and less time to investigate this mystery. Your mother and Konrad were both pushing you to go out more, be social and enjoy the regular teenage life.

-Konrad was the more pushy one, who encouraged your mother to also work less and focus more on you. You would've never let some stranger dictate your life like that, but he had already managed to assert himself in the role of your step father.

-He managed to gain your trust and made you like him, to the point where you really couldn't dissagree with the claim that he was like a father figure to you.

-And the engagement ring you were now helping him shop for, only sealed that fate.

-The man was looking for the perfect ring for the proposal to your mother, not batting an eye at the prices, despite always claiming to work some unknown job, that paid "enough to pay the rent", when a robbery occured at the jewelry store.

-It was the first time in a month that you were witnessing a crime and the sudden danger made you act on pure instinct. Once the robbers fled, you are up on your feet, ripping yourself away from Konrad's hold, making excuses as to why you have to leave.

-You return home late that day, quietly dragging your feet up the stairs with the expectations to first get scolded by your worried mother and then get a milder scolding by Konrad, followed with a delicious meal he cooked.

-To your surprise, the lights are out in your home and it's empty. Nobody responds when you call and nobody sees the hero costume peeking out from your bag.

-You are ready to call it a day and collapse in your bed, when you freeze upon seeing a figure on your window sill.

-Genesis sits on it, calmly observing the lights of the city and the distant traffic, before turning to you.

-"Ahh, there you are, kiddo...I was getting worried, wondering when you'd come home...It's not nice to run off from your parents, hero."

-You are about to ask him what the hell he was talking about, when the mask slips off his face, revealing a familiar face.

- Genesis (or Konrad??) smirks in delight at the sight of the pure shock on your face. "Aren't you happy to see your dad?"

-You immediately spring into action, but he's faster and actually prepared for your escape attempt. You are instantly trapped with his newest invention, limbs bound and mouth shut so no one would hear a cry for help.

-"Oh no, no, no...You've already slipped away from me once today and I simply won't allow myself to let you leave me again."

-He sits down before you, mockingly pinching your cheek. "You stupid, adorable child. Your poor mother was conveniently called from work and had to leave for an emergency. But imagine if she stayed. What was I supposed to tell her? How could I make her worry, saying her child ran away after we witnessed a robbery? Don't you have a heart?"

-You certainly had no brains. First you become a suicidal hero, then act so recklessly with your identity, allowing a criminal mastermind to find out about it. And now you spent almost a year around said villain, trusting him like no one else while he took control of your life.

-Someone as irresponsible couldn't survive on their own in this cruel world. You needed guidance from an expert, that would never leave you out of his sight.

-"Too bad you won't be awake to hear about the surprise us adults have been keeping a secret. Your mother sounded so excited at the idea of living in a big house, far away from the city, in some remote location. After she says yes to my proposal, she'll say yes to moving as well, no hesitation. Don't you wanna live with Papa, my little hero?"

-"As much as I've genuinely grown fond of your mother over the time of my mission, I am still shook by how clueless someone could be and how easy to influence. She will not save you from the evil step father. Why would she believe you? The troubled teenager that fails school, has no friends and runs away from home, returning hours later, covered in bruises? No. She's going to believe the love of her life, the only one that makes her feel like a human being after years of loneliness. And that man already fed her ideas about how her troublemaker needs guidance and authority and a father's love."

-No amount of struggling helps you escape the needle of a syringe that injects you with a drug. Nothing helps you when he tucks you into bed and kisses you on the forehead.

-"Shh...don't worry, kiddo. I forgive you for destroying everything that was dear to me. My revenge on you will be the kindest gesture you'll receive, I promise. I will put my fight for world domination on pause, for now. Because thanks to you, the only dear thing left in my life is you."

Sevyn strained to pull his head up, but quickly threw it back down as the light was switched on. It was much harsher than the sweet honey that poured down the stairs. No, this was isopropyl alcohol burning a scraped knee. A scolding for riding in the street.

The door was locked behind him, and Viktor began his descent into the basement. With each step, Sevyn felt a new wave of dread in his gut. He felt nauseous by the time he saw the Shepard’s black shoes.

“You’re still awake…” Viktor observed. Sevyn did not respond.

The Shepard brought a hand up to the jaw of his lamb. The younger man did not resist the touch, however, the grimace on his face was difficult to contain.

“Relax, Sevyn. You’re almost done.”

“Almost.. done?”

Viktor clicked his tongue and tilted his head. “Hm?”

“I-“ Sevyn breathed in through his nose. “What else do I have to do, sir..”

The Shepard hummed in approval and ran his thumb across Sevyn’s cheek. “I’ll let you pick this time.”

The younger was released from the unwanted touch, left only to watch as the cabinet at the far end of the room was opened. Inside contained several different tools to earn God’s- or Viktor’s- forgiveness. Sevyn’s least favorite was the barbed wire bat.

The Shepard took his time in choosing the tools for the job. It took at least three minutes for him to return to the younger man, and by then the pit in his stomach had grown into a sinkhole. He tried to keep his breath even, but was unsuccessful. He kept his eyes closed until instructed to open them.

In Viktor’s hands, he was met with his options.

The left held a muzzle. The right held a taser.

“What are the rules?” asked the lamb.

Viktor stayed silent until Sevyn realized what he was waiting for.

“What are the rules, sir….”

First the muzzle was explained.

“If you pick the muzzle, you won’t hurt for seven days. You’ll go outside again. Come to church. See your sibling. Sleep in your bed. But it doesn’t come off for seven days. Not for food, not for water, not for prayer. Seven days.”

The lamb swallows thickly. “And the- the taser, sir?”

“I’ll use it now. You’ll be punished for the next seven minutes, and then you’re finished for the week.”

The younger man had to give it some thought. There would be no immediate physical pain involved with the muzzle. But the humiliation, thirst, and hunger would slowly erode his body until he most likely died before the end of the punishment. It would be a slow and agonizing death. But he knows if there are only seven minutes of torture left in the week, it will be torture until the last millisecond.

“There is no choice,” Sevyn murmured. “There’s— I don’t have-“

“Pick, Sevyn, or I will.”

Sevyn hung his head in defeat. “… The taser, sir.”

“Very well.”

Viktor replaced the muzzle in the cabinet, and returned with a timer in hand. He set it to seven minutes, placed it on the window ledge, and began.

Minute one.

Viktor first pressed the taser into the left pectoralis major. The moment it made contact with the skin, Sevyn was howling in pain. While gripping onto the chains that held him in place, his body began to shake so fervently he was practically vibrating.

After seven seconds, Viktor released. Sevyn’s body relaxed and he whined like a dog left out in the rain.

His next trial was cauterizing.

Each gaping wound littering the body of the lamb was targeted. First it was his arm, a wide, torn, ugly looking thing in his shoulder. It would leave a deep and awful scar, and now, it would be worse.

The blood sizzled underneath the taser. Sevyn thought the pain before was all he could take, but now, he’s met a new face of it. It felt like claws ripping apart each individual nerve. It was digging deep, deep into his body, picking out the muscle fibers, the nerve cells, the bone marrow, and eating it alive until all that was left was the scorched, now bloodless wound that would never quite heal.

Viktor moved on to the next. The single moment of relief was the most blissful Sevyn had felt in days.

Minute two and three mimicked the first. By the fifth cauterized wound, Sevyn was pleading for the muzzle. He was desperate for relief, desperate to distract the Shepard for even one more second before the pain began again.

“Please!” Sevyn wailed. “Please, I- I change my mind, I change my mind, please, please, I wan- I want-“

“I don’t care what you want,” Viktor interrupted. “You made your bed, Sevyn. Lie in it.”

Minute four.

Blood poured from Sevyn’s forehead and scalp. The crown of thorns had been jostled around enough to sink its teeth into his flesh, mixing the tears on his cheeks with blood. It began to seep into his eyes, blinding him with thick, red droplets hanging onto his lashes. Now, not only could he not escape, but he also couldn’t see what was happening next.

And next, was the spine.

Viktor stepped around the younger to be at his back. His sobs and whines were testimony that even the most disobedient dogs could be trained.

The taser was no stranger to Sevyn by now. Its teeth sunk into his flesh like a hungry animal who could never be full. First, it bit into the muscles at his sides. Viktor was showing mercy by doing so.

Next, small spurts of electricity were shot into the lamb’s spine. For a few seconds at a time, Sevyn was subjected to an ongoing assault against his central nervous system. Instead of clawing at specific nerves inside the wounds, this time, the taser had access to paths it was previously not granted. The electricity shot up and down his body in the same moment, coursing through his spine and twisting into every limb. It felt as if it was burrowing between his vertebrae and shoving itself into the spinal cord, biting its way through like a vulture to a carcass. Sevyn saw white flashing in his eyes, soon corroded by black swirls that shoved him into darkness.

“— up, Sevyn. Wake up.”

The younger man lifted his head, blinking blood and tears from his eyes. Viktor hushed him as he cried, hushed him as he flinched at the feeling of something soft touching his eyes.

“It’s alright, shhh. Are you with me?”

Sevyn sputtered out a response even he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t form a coherent piece of conversation even if he tried, so he looked to Viktor for guidance.

“Are you with me, Sevyn?” the Shepard asked again.

The younger man nodded. “I’m s- I’m sorry,” he wept.

“What for?”

Truly, Sevyn didn’t know himself, but he knew the answer Viktor wanted.

“For running away. For dis- for disobeying, for- for questioning my faith. I’m sorry, Father, please forgive me. Please forgive me.”

Viktor’s head tilted as he begged. Sevyn couldn’t tell what gears were turning behind his eyes- he could only hope he had activated the correct ones.

“You have two minutes left, Sevyn. Can you stay awake?”

Sevyn mourned, tears springing from his eyes once more. A pathetic cry escaped his torn throat and he dipped his head, nodding in defeat. He shut his eyes as the blood lapped at his eyelashes once more.

Viktor unpaused the timer, walked behind the lamb, and continued to minute six.

Sevyn felt a sharp, slicing pain come from his right heel. Blood ran down his foot and into the drain like a hose. Before he could process the pain, Viktor was tying his feet together.

“W- what’s ha-“

“Hush.”

Sevyn obeyed. He wouldn’t dare make a mistake now.

At least twenty seconds passed before Viktor had Sevyn’s legs completely bound together. They were then chained to a shackle sticking up from the ground.

Minute seven.

Viktor grasped Sevyn’s right leg to help keep him in place, and then dug the taser inside his flesh. It had not yet been activated, but he could’ve been fooled. He couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop crying. His flesh was ripped apart, the taser gnawing away at the meat until it touched the Achilles heel.

Then, it began.

The worst pain he had ever felt in his life. His entire world flashed before his eyes. The church. The Bible. The woods. The city. Cigarettes at three in the morning, drunk on a curb. His sibling’s face. God. Viktor. It all melted into one big, awful moment inside his leg, the electricity reverberating across his entire body. He could feel it from the bottom of his foot, up to the whorls of his fingerprints. Every molecule occupying his anatomy had been ripped away from its original purpose to experience the wrath of God. The forgiveness of Viktor.

When Sevyn could taste his own blood, the timer beeped, and Viktor stopped. Wordlessly, the Shepard stood, walking round to look his lamb in the eye.

“What do you say?”

“No, I want to sit closer!” Saoirse, the younger one, bleated as she shoved her elder sister. “You sat there last time, bampot!” Raghnaid, the elder sister, shot back, kicking her hoof. “You kicked me!”

Their father, Kester watched his girls tumble like starving wolf pups. He leaned forward in his chair, he didn’t raise his voice, he never did. “Enough you two. Is this the way warriors behave?” The two girls quieted immediately at their father’s stern words. They shoved each other one last time before shifting on the warm pelts. He gave an impeccable nod, a faint twitch at his weathered lips before his eyes rolled over their nubby horns at you. It was like he always knew where you were.

You always stayed a bit back, close enough to hear but far enough to not intrude, sitting on the hard wooden floor instead of the thick pelts. You hugged your knees tighter, hoping to disappear into the shadows but the father’s gaze didn’t move from you. His yellow eyes caught the firelight - and held you there. “Why is my littlest kid so far from the hearth?” Kester asks, his eyes flicking to his girls. It wasn’t a question but a summon. The girls’ necks instantly snapped towards you, before Raghnaid shot up towards you. It wasn’t hostile but loud, in the way the whole tribe behaved.

“Come sit with us. You’ll catch the chill, and then Ma will make you eat her bitter herbs,” she laughed as her hand clamps around your wrist. It wasn’t threatening, just firm like escape wasn’t possible. You stumbled as you were dragged away from the shadows between them on the warm pelt. Your back stiffened as Saoirse shifted against you, making room for you before pressing against your side like it had always been that way. 

You felt her nose tickle the side of your neck. A surprised “Bah!” escaped you. Your cheeks burned and you silently pray they didn’t hear you. “You smell like us now,” she remarks as she buries her face into your wool, a content bleat escaping her. “Don’t be weird,” you mutter, pushing her face away half-heartedly. Kester's - who had been watching the whole thing - eyes softened with something close to adoration. A shiver ran down your spine at his intense look, how he seemed to be cataloging every twitch and hitch of breath.

He reaches his hand to pat your head. A soft gasp escaping you as his weathered hand rests atop your head for a moment.  “Good,” he mutters, his fingers running through the curls. You glance up at him, your heart tightening at the certainty in his voice. The girls on either side of you, turning to look at you and their yellow eyes matching Kester’s slitted pupils. “You are one of us now.”