Title: The Human Machine
Author: Ivnwrites
Artist: Jainas
Rating: M
Warnings:
Tags: Â Sci-fi AU, Cyberpunk AU (sort of), surgery, mild body horror, Will has nightmares, Hannibal lies about everything, PTSD, hurt/comfort, heavy angst
Posting date: November 8
Summary: In a future where most people are fitted with noninvasive brain implants tailored to their job, Hannibal quickly grew frustrated with the almost stagnated pace of development and decided to start his own experiments. Building on hardware already in an individualâs head was easy in theory, but in practice it was proving more complicated than he thought. Six years ago, Will became the latest victim of the Ripper, waking up in the hospital with his head cut open again and had to relearn how to control his own brain. He was allowed to join the investigation four years later on the condition that he meet with a psychiatrist. It had helped him deal with the psychological trauma from his abduction, but it wasnât helping the glitches and malfunctions that were starting to become worryingly frequent.
Preview: Hannibal watched as the clock at the corner of his screen flickered past midnight and looked up at the dark sky, his fingertips hovering over the keys as he considered his words. Heâd periodically contacted Will throughout the years, sending direct messages to him in the middle of the night, knowing they would be relayed no matter what state of consciousness he was in. Â
[Six years, Will. Well done.]
Miles away, Willâs eyes snapped open, his - for once peaceful - sleep completely shattered as he lurched violently awake. The words didnât show up in the text his implants usually displayed when he received outside messages, plain font that adapted to be readable no matter what was behind the words. It was less like reading text, and much more akin to having someone suddenly try to start a conversation after sneaking up behind him. Half the time he could feel the connection being made with the same sensation of his ears popping in an airplane, but the other half, he was either asleep or distracted, and the words came as an unwelcome surprise.
âAs you can tell, Iâm hardly as thrilled by the anniversary as you are.â
He rolled out of bed with a heavy sigh, padding over to the window to rest his forehead against the cool glass. He looked out over the field surrounding his home as he settled onto the wide window sill, knees held to his chest. âWhere are you?â He asked out loud, knowing that he would be heard.
[I assume you already know I wonât answer that question.]
Will scoffed. âNo, of course not.â If their previous conversations were anything to go on, his attacker was practically a contortionist when it came to twisting his way out of Willâs questions. The cryptic hints peppered throughout their frequent conversations had resulted in one of the investigators nicknaming Willâs attacker âThe Ripperâ after the originalâs habit of taunting Whitechapel police. So far, the only concrete facts Will had been able to pry loose over the years were that the Ripper was a man, he lived in the city, and he had some sort of connection into the FBI, regularly commenting on the cases Will was given. âYou said yourself though, itâs been six years. Thatâs longer than any of your other victims. Surviving that long surely that entitles me to one honest, straightforward answer.â
[By whose standards?]
âMine. It is my brain, after all.â
Ridiculous as it was, Hannibal couldnât fault his reasoning. [Very well then.]
âHow do you chose your victims? Thereâs no real pattern with regard to age or sex or occupation, and you and I have already discussed how all the previous theories were wrong, so I want to know why you chose us.â
