Still kill me

It's cold. Only a white cloth over the body. Is this even their vessel? They don't remember a thing. They can't tell.

Not a living soul around. But they're not alone. There are few others on similar metal trays. They don't seem conscious. So dead.

They're still work in progress. I'll probably change their design at least ten times. But that's what I came up with for now. They don't have names yet, I have only an outline of the lore in my head, and I'm not even sure what I'll do with them.

But they exist now. And I'm posting it. Fuck I'm scared.

Ok, so, imagine you took an already existing child or just created a new one by growing it in a lab tube or something.

If you don't give them a parent-like figure, someone to actually teach them stuff, when if they grow up as adults they won't match the typical schema of an adult.

And I'm not even talking about the 'general knowledge'. Whumpee that's kept in a lab all their life won't know what taxes are. Or shops, or cars, or math, whatever. We expect that.

But.

We expect adults to know about privacy. Whumpee doesn't have problems with removing their clothes. That's just a body, right? They usually walk in paper like hospital gowns anyway. (No, wait, this one actually is not a breakthrough, we expect that too)

We expect adults to know how to keep themselves alive. Whumpee might not even know they need to eat if their whole life they were hooked up to a feeding tube.

We expect adults to know how to communicate with people. Whumpee probably knows one language. The one scientists use. It'll lack common words. It'll be full of specialist lab words. Not ideal to use in a conversation. Whumpee might use more sounds. Whines, snarls, screams. That's the easiest way to communicate they're in pain or angry or scared.

And there's probably a lot more stuff like this.

That doesn't mean they're stupid. Hell, make them very intelligent. I'd love that. But because of the environment they've grown up in, their behaviour will be different from the regular people.

But I like it a lot more when everything actually hurts.

You're regrowing all the bones you lost. All the meat. All the tendons and nerves. The skin. It's supposed to hurt.

The skin comes last. Meaning for most of the time flesh is raw and exposed. That hurts even more.

When you are gutted you can put the organs back inside. That way you don't have to grow new ones, you can just wait until they integrate back into the body. But you would have to clean them off first, you wouldn't want any dirt on them.

And I imagine some wouldn't be able to bear that pain.

Either passing out and being on the mercy of however was around

Or laying on the ground in agony, screaming and convulsing while their spine is half out and about. Because they won't die. They'll live through it. And at some point they'll be as good as new.

They physically can't have scars. Looking at them nobody has any idea of the horrors they've been through.

Laying on their belly, hands around them like a hug and nails digging into their own back. Finding uneven skin and making sure to peel off the bits. Finding the scabs and opening the wounds again.

Sometimes doesn't even discard the skins, but eats them instead. It's their body, after all.

They can't stop. No matter what they try to do. No matter how disgusting they feel. The t-shirt they sleep in is stained with dots of blood.

Whumpee was laying on the soil, on their back. If they rolled on their side, more of their guts would spill. Their belly was slashed open. It hurt.

They stared at the night sky. So beautiful. Tall grass around them, warm wind, insects buzzing softly in the background.

But it wasn't time to rest. Not yet.

With a groan they slowly pushed themselves up on their elbows, getting even more lightheaded. Now where was.. yeah, here. They reached for the intestine that was halfway out and about, spilling blood on the blades of grass, and tucked it into its original place.

Now that'd require stitching, so nothing else comes out. But they didn't have the supplies to do so. Tying themself up with a bandage would have to suffice for the next few hours.

Fuck.. that was certainly not the best feeling, but it's best they could do at the moment. Since they didn't loose anything, their remaining energy could go fully to regenerating the broken tissue, and not regrowing anything vital.

Whumpee was laying in the tub.

Their stomach was cut wide open, their hands prodding around the insides. Red blood was mixing with blue fluid sipping from torn tubes tangled amongst organs. The few centimetres of shallow water stained dirty purple.

Each time their trembling fingers accidentally prodded the organic part of the body, they sucked in small breaths of pain. But they couldn't stop. Not until they find and replace the malfunctioning part.

It'd be easier to ask someone for help. Especially since their vision was glitching, and at this point all they did was by feel.

...they'd rather die than let someone mess with their wiring.

Now we can interpret this as they've been through so much that the current shell of their former self is haunting Caretaker. 

The way they look at them with those hollow eyes, how they stay so eerily silent and still at times, how when they sleep they look like a corpse. How their chest isn't visibility moving while breathing, how sad they look while they trace their scars, how Caretaker sometimes finds Whumpee just sitting on the floor and feeling up their body. Hands around the neck and tracing the spine at the back and larynx at the front. Or maybe the eyesockets, a bit stiff fingers prodding the skin under their eye. 

They forget to eat, they don't drink enough water, sleep comes rare, and Whumpee refuses to lay in bed, mostly hiding under it.

And the way they look at knifes in the kitchen. Caretaker isn't sure if Whumpee's being anxious about being hurt by them [knifes] or they plan on using them. And on who. Whumpee's terrifying, Caretaker starts walking on eggshells. 

Caretaker can't get a full night rest anymore. They're not only worried about Whumpee, they're worried about their own life. And they don't know why. It's not rational, but one of them will die. It's just a matter of time. Whumpee's danger to everyone around them. 

Or are they? So far they didn't show any destructive habits. They've just been different. Caretaker don't know what to think anymore. Presence of Whumpee alone makes them question everything. They knew Whumpee before, they know Whumpee's not violent. Never been. But after Whumper, everything is just.. wrong.