“ vivisection of the soul ” 𖹭 different yan! ex-pops reacting to their reagent darling
includes: berserker, big grunt, grunt, idle grunt, imposter, jaeger, night hunter, pitcher, pouncer, pusher, screamer, scapegoat
mdni‼️cw(s): yandere themes, canon typical themes (suffering and gore), light to mild nsfw, assumed nonconsensual touching (ex-pops to reagent), dubious consent, implied sexual assault, self-harm by hitting (grunts), drugging (pusher)
tag: @kat-stoopid
ʚ berserker ɞ
scared of a blind man? you ought to be ashamed. all the times he's grabbed you to get you out of danger, and you're still so apprehensive. you're downright unappreciative. it irks him greatly. your footsteps are so light he, on occasion, misses your presence when you're only a few feet away. that's when he gets really upset. he'll start shouting and thrashing, intent on killing whatever he comes in contact with (except you). he can't make any promises that any accidents wouldn't happen.
he can tell when it's you because of how you walk and the faint sound of your gear. everyone's gait is different, and he's memorized yours. if he were in a room full of people, he reckons that he'd still be able to recognize your steps.
when sitting idle in trials, anxiously waiting to hear if you're in one of them, he can't help but get self-concious. it's hard for him to think most of the time, but he pushes past it when worrying. do you truly look at him and just see a monster? the thing murkoff made to maim and kill? he knows he must not be the most attractive thing to look at. he also isn't an ideal partner. but he protects you. that's a lot more than anyone else in this facility has done for you. other reagents don't count! they'd stab you in the back if they got the chance. he knows it, so he doesn't listen to your pleas when you try to get him off of one of them.
he daydreams about what you look like. he hopes one day he can get you to describe yourself to him. whatever you look like, it's already perfect. the gauntlets on his arms make it hard for him to touch without hurting, but all he wants to do is touch. touch you, feel your body, and worship it.
when he manages to nab you, he drags you to a corner and leans over you, not executing a finishing move. he merely pants, chest heaving as he tries to think of what to do. if someone else gets close, he gets violent, even if it's a prime asset. he won't stand down. he'll proclaim that this is his kill. coyle pisses him off the most. he has several barely healed wounds from where he's been bashed by the prime asset's electric baton.
he gets greatly disgruntled if you attempt to use a rig or a throwable on him. he hates stun the most. it makes his ears ring so painfully that sometimes they begin to bleed. blind isn't too bad. he's already, well, blind, but it does mess with his sense of smell for a few hours after. he hardly feels bricks, but bottles are a pain. the glass always cuts into him, and he can never properly get it out. it leads to nasty infections, and some of the medical staff don't help him. they jeer and comment about how stupid he is in particular.
jealousy courses through him at the thoughts of your fellow reagents interacting with you, scientists or guards grabbing at you, and other ex-pops taking part in your pain or pleasure. the thought of one of the prime assets getting ahold of you makes him as angry as he is terrified of them.
when he hasn't heard you in a while, he becomes more violent, bashing reagents' heads in the first chance he gets. he works through rig effects quicker. the only thing he has on his mind is to kill everything that isn't you: hurt all the evil people that have hurt him and are keeping you away from him.
⛏ big grunt
they don't exactly work as a cohesive unit. they're petty, always threatening one another. one of them sees you, and suddenly you're the only thing in the trial. they lumber towards you. it isn't the lust of vengeance in their eyes but a need for care. they become panicked about your general status when you aren't in their line of sight, like when a child loses their comfort item.
they swing at you in an attempt to immobilize you. they don't care if you fail your trials or challenges. they're convinced if they show the sinyala facility workers how good they are at their jobs, that they'll get to keep you. maybe you'll even become one of them, and they can coo at your new body.
they despise your clothing. it's odd to them considering they either don't wear any or wear very little. the lack of wires around you is almost disturbing. your esop and night vision goggles make you different than them. they don't like that.
so they tear at you, not into your skin (on purpose), to make you like them. you're even smaller than a regular grunt in their eyes, so you're practically defenseless. you're something that needs to be sheltered and taught how to be a proper ex-pop.
they're easily aroused, so they assume you're the same. it isn't hard to hold you down, and it's even easier to touch you in spots that fluster you. they cum just from touching you and usually don't notice. if the discomfort in their bodies becomes too great, they'll palm at themselves while pawing at you. they expect you to help in some way. you must know what to do.
they back off when prime assets are around but not other ex-pop. they'll scare other ex-pop off. they stare at whichever prime asset is in the trial mournfully, like scolded children. they're disgruntled that the prime assets get to play with you and they don't! but if a prime asset says something, they reluctantly listen. the prime assets and facility workers shouldn't expect them to listen forever. they aren't patient.
⌖ grunt
they can never agree on anything except the fact that the reagents need to die. okay, well, not you. you were a facility worker that was too nice to them and now the scientists have tried to make you bad. you may be a reagent but you aren't actually one! they don't understand why the doctors suddenly want them to hurt you. they can't. they won't.
they follow you around or chase you screaming, "why!?" they still look to you for guidance, convinced this is all some cataclysmic mistake. they may stupidly ignore the directions of other staff or even the prime assets in favor of you. some of them know this may get you in trouble. that's why they keep telling all the staff that they'll be extra good at killing reagents if they're allowed to keep you around!
it's been so deeply ingrained into them to treat facility workers with reverence, to fear them because they hold all the power, that this sudden change doesn't make sense. it hurts their heads. they'll hit themselves to make it make sense. they'll yell till their voices give out for you.
you're the bait that easterman learns he can dangle over the grunts so they jump as high as he likes.
they are like cats. you fed them once, and now they won't leave you alone.
they cower in front of the prime assets but will whine if you are wounded. they will assault other ex-pops if they attempt to debase you.
you can't take care of them if you're battered!
they're like juveniles arguing over a toy. only you are the toy and the parent who has to calm them. they incessantly argue over who gets to touch and/or hold you. a schedule may have to be created. not that they want to follow it. it is so unfair! there are so many of them and only one of you.
it seems you are becoming less a reagent and more a luxury item.
speaking of reagents, your fellow ones are always left as bloody pulps of flesh when with you in trials. they are enraged that those disgusting, evil people dare to be near you! you could never stoop so low as to be a true reagent. and even if you do trials, it isn't your doing! someone is making you do them.
they have to do a good job to keep you, so for once they work together in murderous harmony. they're smiling and even laughing when they cut down another reagent. they're earning their time with you. whichever one finds you chases after you and won't slow. they'll drag you far away from any reagent help and cuddle with you.
maybe you have failed your trials, but you won the hearts of the grunts, and that's more than enough to keep you alive and in murkoff's midst.
ᨖ idle grunt
they aren't a threat; they're paralyzed by what they've gone through. they are in an impossible situation. they are useless elsewhere, so they will either be discarded in a day or further tortured so they evolve into something of use for the facility.
their eyes are always darting around them, categorizing danger even if there is minimal protection for them. they cower when anything gets near. they mutter to not throw things at them. they won't attack as long as you don't hurt them.
that's fair, isn't it? they haven't done anything wrong.
they stare at you like you're the only thing tethering them to this world.
word travels fast between ex-pops, especially idle grunts. since they aren't a threat, they get more free reign with each other. they are herded like cattle into one far too small cage. there's shaky mumbling about how you recognized one or two of them. how you shielded them when one of your teammates tried to hit them. the look of abject horror on your face when you saw them being abused by the other ex-pop changed their brain chemistry. you had to escape, so you couldn't do anything, but it still hurt that you left. your eyes witnessing their torture makes the sharp edges of their distress soft.
in the trials any idle grunts that have been put in there tend to follow you, freezing when you look in their direction. they avoid direct eye contact like it's the plague. if they manage to get close enough they grope you. any part of you they can touch. they want to be respectful, really, they do, but they're also so touch-starved.
just don't yell at them. please, please, please. they won't leave you be. they can't.
⚠︎ imposter
imitation is the sincerest form of flattery! some people even say that attempted murder is an invitation to fuck crazy style. haha.. ha, wonder who would say that.
to truly not only imitate someone but become them requires a certain dedication to the craft. a true love. an obsession with perfecting everything, down to the minute detail. the facial expressions, vocal inflections, speech patterns, and body movements must be eerily similar—if not identical. a poor imposter is a dead imposter so they make sure they are you.
and you will love yourself just as much as they love bloodying reagents with their knife. how could you not love yourself? you're so arduous to imitate. all the reagents are interchangeable, but you're so distinct. you're so you. they're so you.
they get access to limited knowledge from your files, and it drives them crazy not to have more. they have to know everything about you. what if the reagents have a security question and they can't answer it? it'll leave their imitation incomplete! they'll find a way to get more knowledge about you. they're clever. cleverer than you.
they get all your trial footage and even footage of you in your cell! hehe. you're so fucking cute. they just want to wrap their hands around your neck and watch you turn blue. you'd fight back fiercely, but they already know all of your moves. you'd be helpless, and they'd take full advantage of that.
since they have to watch you so much, they have plenty of material to masturbate to. they wished they had footage of you pleasuring yourself so they could really get it down. they chase their own release while scrutinizing their own performance. they map your body in their minds, making their best guesses as to where the spots you get the most pleasure from are. by the time they're done, they're entirely spent. still, they're happy, elated even.
they want to kill all your reagent "friends" so it's just you and them. then they can tackle you, strip you, and properly connect with you. you'll connect on such an intimate level with them that your bodies merge and become one. they're jealous of how close otto and arora are. they want to be that close with you one day.
they're as much of a nuisance in your trials as they are a pervert. who could blame them, though? you're their muse. they get a little distracted sometimes and end up harassing you more than doing their job of the stabbing and killing and blood and guts, oh, the horrors. they can't help but roll their eyes.
they push you into traps, lead enemies your way, and stick their hands in places on you that they shouldn't go. they look so much like you that it isn't really a violation of your boundaries. it's you touching you so naturally you consent to your own touch.
they're masterful too! if only you'd stay still. then they could show you that while they are a perfect imitation of you, they still have a few surprises up their sleeves, and orgasms ready.
𖦹 jaeger
she has survived more than she should with the single-minded mission of reuniting with dorris. nothing else mattered except her until you came along. you've made things, oh, so messy. she doesn't remember if she met you before or if her mind is simply telling her that she has had this deep connection with you in the past. her mind has become so muddled that you are dorris to her. she simply misremembered the name. the finer details don't matter because she's finally found you!
you thought you were about to die when you were caught by her. you've managed to avoid her thus far, but helping a new reagent led to you being grabbed and hoisted into the air. only to then be cradled against her chest and listening to her beg to not have to hurt you. the metal encaging her body has a habit of digging into you but she doesn't notice unless you begin throwing a fit about it. she's confused when you're scared of her. she's hurt, really hurt, but she still can't bare to harm you.
the staff don't want to lose such a valuable asset, so they don't make her kill you. how kind of them. instead, she drags you around the trial while she works on ending the lives of your fellow reagents. don't cry when the new reagent gets their neck snapped. aren't you happy about seeing her? why are you giving someone else attention? why would you want to give someone else attention? it solidifies in her mind that all things that take up your time must be eliminated, especially other reagents.
you have to understand (how much she loves you). she's gone through so much to get back to you.
she's territorial and has killed multiple ex-pops in previous trials because they dared to touch you.
she wants to hold you close and never let you go! so why do the cruel people take you away from her? they tell her that she didn't do a good enough job. they make her wait and suffer, but she's grown excellent at being patient. she imagines you're still in her arms, and it brings her peace. she thinks of all the things she could do with you one day. one day you two will be able to settle down and have a good life away from all the bad people. she just has to listen and do her job, then she'll get her happily-ever-after with you.
and speaking of happily ever after, congratulations! you are now a more protected victim in the trials! how better could the jaeger be twisted to murkoff's whims than by telling her that the reagents turned on you and are now seeking to kill you? so you sit as the prime victim in the trials she is sent into. of course, you are never actually supposed to be entirely killed. the stakes are truly only you coming upon the edge of death, losing a few limbs or brain functions, nothing major. being mutilated does make you more compliant so it's a win-win for murkoff.
it makes her believe that your very life is at stake. if she does so very good then she gets to hold you for a little while. then you're ripped away from her again. they tell her that the reagents have captured you again. the cycle continues, but as long as she can go to the happy place in her mind everything's alright.
how does it feel being truly isolated now? thrown into a cell and stripped of your purpose, only to be programmed with a new one. maybe you and the jaeger have more in common than you first thought.
✦ night hunter
oh, his dear glowworm. he's a nasty man with nasty thoughts and even nastier actions. don't think he won't hurt you if you've been bad. you're supposed to out mauver him. you're supposed to hide and run and escape his grasp. yet you don't. it's almost like you're begging to be punished by him.
there's no better experience than hunting you. you try to silence your own whimpers, but he still hears you. he drags you from your hiding spot and looms over you, drooling. he chastises you. truly, how have you survived this far? you're such a stupid little reagent. it's a good thing you're so goddamn sexy or he would've ended you already like he's done to so many others.
he's a biter, chewer, and scratcher. anything to mark you as his. he's determined to get you to have more scars that are attributed to him than anyone else. he's gotten his fingernails stuck in you multiple times. and he always licks your wounds, intent on getting them to stay open longer so they don't heal properly. they should be visible and ugly to look at.
he has a paradoxical obsession with your face. he craves to destroy it and make it into an image just like this, but also to preserve it as the one pretty thing he gets to look at in this hellish place. he leans towards preserving it, because he knows once he damages it he can never go back, but he'll bruise your face up real good, especially your neck. two black eyes so you can't see him coming, or much of anything really. it's payback. now you understand how he feels when he has to chase you into the wretched light.
he gets extra rough when you decide to lurk in the light, so rudely ignoring him while he is waiting to latch onto you in the dark. if you get an inch closer to a shadowed part of the trials than you should, he snatches you up and throws you around, scolding you for being such a bad reagent. you aren't even willing to come see your old friend, night hunter. maybe he has to teach you a lesson in manners. a lesson you won't ever forget.
he always has a boner when you're around. so don't look below his waist unless you want to see it. he'll relentlessly tease you about it.
"oh, you dirty little thing. here I am doing my job, and you're concoting degenerate sexual fantasies about me."
"my eyes are up here, glowworm."
"you made this problem, so now you gotta fix it."
"hiding, are you? want me to trap you in a nice tight place so I can slip my aching cock into that nice tight hole of yours?"
"open wide. I got a nice, big treat for you."
he enjoys stealing whatever he can from you to get you even more vulnerable and pissed off at him. uh oh, he pounced on you and took your night vision goggles. you'll have to bargain to get them back to even have a chance at completing this trial. if you give him your undergarments, there's a chance he'll give the goggles back. don't worry about what he's going to do with them. you already know.
✸ pitcher
unlike most classes of ex-pop, the pitchers work together as a cohesive unit while all maintaining some form of identity. they are all each devotees that have their own ways of boasting their veneration to the flame. they all worship the same god of fire, and when you come along, their faith and sibling bond grow even stronger. you are clearly the gift their god has bestowed upon them for their vigilant worshipping. they must earn you by participating in the sacrifices and performing well.
you resisting them is because the world has perverted your mind into believing that they are the monsters you must flee from. they are your protectors. they are your lovers. they are the flame that keeps you warm in the cold nights and guides you through the darkness.
you are a thing that was made to be admired, not forced through tribulation after tribulation. it brings them a great sense of sadness and righteous fury when you're injured by virtue of the trials' cruelty. watching you suffer is a punishment from their god. a sign that they have not been doing enough.
they see the other ex-pop as heretics. that same line of thinking extends to many of the facility workers (who now argue over who is to do pitcher maintenance because they don't want to be sacrificed for not pulling you out of the trials). they're putting something so vestal in an incinerator instead of a kiln. it becomes abundantly clear that if the pitchers are out while you are around, other ex-pops should steer clear. even the prime assets aren't necessarily safe from their wrath. anyone can be corrupted in this world. only they see the truth. their mortal allegiances lie with each other and you. everyone else is a spark that may turn into smothering rain.
they make a show out of lighting your fellow reagents aflame. a well-crafted presentation is love. it shows not only their skill but also their loyalty. the flame never licks your skin unless you invite it (accidentally run into one of the pitchers' molotovs or burn yourself trying to put out another reagent). they are torn between seeing you burned as a fundamental failure of their protection and being entranced that the marks bring you closer to their god.
they're shaking when they reach out to grab you. they never hold you in a position to hurt you, but if you thrash, you may hurt yourself. they don't speak. they stare and pet you, hands ghosting along your skin as they wonder if they press down harder if you'll disappear. if they displease their god, they may lose you. if they don't treat you like fine pottery, then they're spitting in the face of everything they believe in.
that doesn't stop them from having desires. they want to nestle their cocks so deeply in your heat that they can feel the tepidness of your soul.
they later regroup and mutter amongst themselves feverishly. any encounter with you must lead to the entire group being informed. they are practically shaking when they speak of you. the ache in their scarred bodies intensifies after one of these meetings. it's a frenzied hysteria. on multiple occasions, several pitchers have passed out. their lungs were rejecting the very air they needed because the fire—their passion—inside them was burning so hot.
they have an altar within their space for their god, and they have collected anything they are able to from you to add: a strand of hair, a piece of your clothing, a brick you threw—nothing is waste; everything is sacred. once they managed to snag a picture of you from a file. that is now the cornerstone of their altar. they will kneel at it and sing raspy, unintelligible praises. some go as far as to kiss your items. although that is a sparse occurrence. it walks the fine line between reverence and desecration.
ﾒ pouncer
why can't you all leave her alone? well, everyone except you. she waits to pounce on you specifically. unlike her bludgeoning other reagents, she clings to you. she begins crying as she nuzzles into your neck. she mutters about mount massive and how everyone is out to get her.
she asks if she's your favorite pouncer—the only pouncer you love.
as a temporary measure, there are no more than one pouncer in a trial you partake in. they'll start beating each other to death, fighting over who gets the better spot to pounce on you.
you quickly learn their personalities and the fact that many of them have adopted the same one. they merely go by "she."
she is your lover, your family, your everything. she'll stop at nothing to find you, but she's so frightened of everything. you remind each of them of someone from their past life. she can't quite pinpoint why it's you, but she's convinced you're a reincarnation or someone that was meant to find her.
she hisses, hoots, and hollers at the other ex-pops, clambering onto you as if you are something she could hide in. she's aware that she isn't the strongest or fastest, but she is the sneakiest, even better than that perverted night hunter. she's seen how he jerks off to you in the dark. she's angrily pounced on him before and beaten him till he managed to knock her off.
they're all against her! everyone wants you, and that's not fair! why can't they see you belong to her and her only?
she wishes she were stronger so she could go against the prime assets. instead, she has to hide and watch as they chase you—attack you. she grows distressed when learning that you've been injured. she's inconsolable.
the sinyala facility would've gotten rid of the pouncer if it were a specific one, but it's all of them. it's like a virus. the facility workers are urgently searching your trial documents to learn who could've been the first pouncer that fell for you (romantically).
she became extremely aggressive towards reagents, which made easterman pleased, until she began attacking the staff and demanding to know where you were. so you're stuck in trials with more pouncers, and now you have the eye of certain facility members as they study what's so special about you as opposed to the other reagents.
☣︎ pusher
oh, baby, you aren't ever going to escape the high he's gonna give you. you're the drug he lives on. the reason he enters the trials. he isn't sure why. he can't remember. it doesn't really matter, though. he has something to cling onto in this crummy place that isn't his gas or asphyxiation kink. hopefully you like masks and spooky skeleton dudes cause you'll be seeing a lot of those when he's around.
the pushers have lost any identity but a single mishmashed gestalt mindset. they are all the pusher, and they'll have you as theirs.
as soon as he sees you, your sanity will be no more. it's become a running joke among the reagents: the pushers babe. you get that sweet fix while some of the others have to beg the pusher to gas them. you may not find it particularly amusing, but it's low on your list of priorities.
he used to clamber up to you like he did with all the others. now he's gotten smarter, which is the scary part. he doesn't barge in anymore. he lurks, grabbing you from behind and spraying you. maybe he gets a handful of your ass or chest in the process; it's a perk of the shitty gig.
maybe—definitely—murkoff adds a new variator that allows multiple pushers in a single trial. you aren't getting out of there without being thoroughly fucked by the lot of them. they'll soothe your anxiety with their sweet gas and massage you until you can think of nothing but them.
he struggles with thinking he's being selfish by giving in to his desires. he's risking your well-being by making you less useful to murkoff.
the more attractive thought is that he's saving you. he's making you see things you'll see no other time. he's making all those walls of yours crash down.
it makes you need him.
he gets a certain amount of respect from the others. not a lot, but he can make their lives a lot more fun with a spritz of his happy gas. so he gets to have his way with you when he can. don't worry, honey. it isn't anything you won't like. in fact, you're always happy after you've been forced to choke down some green. those screams are actually from elation.
yeah, he may not be the prettiest to look at, but he is good with his fingers. he also knows the best hiding spots to keep the pervs and those other reagent assholes away. he gets such a small amount of time with you. he has to make it good and fast. thankfully he's good at cumming fast and making you cum even faster.
come on, man! women, maybe. what were those other things? whatever the hell any of em' identify as. they're a problem that needs to be taken care of. a problem he's more than content with letting the other ex-pop deal with. you always seem to be in some sort of group. you don't want to leave them now since you've gotten wise to his attraction to you. isolating you becomes the only awnser. it isn't easy by any means. if only he had learned that before being pelted with multiple projectiles and stuns.
he's by no means an artist, but he's managed to scrounge together some stray pieces of paper and mostly empty fountain pens to make some drawings based off you. he used to write down old formulas or draw humiliating cartoons of the workers he absolutely despises in this place: he even has one drawn of dr. easterman blowing him. now all his scribbles and sketches are of you. he's even made some notes about you: your looks, habits in the trials, and loadout. they all have a sort of scrapbook of their drawings. even though they all maintain the notion that they aren't artists, some of the pieces are incredibly detailed, clearly done by someone who has an art background.
he really, really, really loves watching you through the cameras when he's able. like right before he enters the insertion gate, and he can get a peek at them, seeing you in all your glory. he managed to haggle to get a shitty screen that he can hook up to watch you in either your sleep room or trials. they all crowd around to watch it. he knows it's just someone—some sinyala facility worker—wanting to placate him. he almost wants to know why, but he's more focused on you.
their lot in life is to stay at the bottom of everything, man, but at the very least they can get on top of you.
𖡎 screamer
getting soothed by a reagent was the last thing he imagined would happen. he was about to shriek after getting hit by a brick, only to feel a heavy weight set against him and begin to rub his back. he still screamed, but you held on tighter, whispering such sweet things to him. you were quaking. he could tell you were petrified of the other ex-pops or a prime asset being attracted to the location and finding you. for once he didn't run off. he merely stood there, paralyzed by indecision.
once you began humming, he relaxed. he sank to the ground and leaned against your stomach purring. it's the first time you've heard one of them purr. you didn't even know they could do that. you almost fell asleep if not for the fact an enemy came in and attempted to murder you.
he let you go, knowing the inevitable, and yelled again to buy you a few seconds. he then ran off. he didn't dare to look and see who he pissed off by letting their prey get away from them.
he's enamored with the couple of minutes he spent with you. it becomes the only thing he thinks about when he has enough clarity to. he yearns to find you but doesn't dare to. if any of the other screamers have had such an encounter with you—they'll try to steal you from him! he doesn't ask any of them. it would be a first if he had talked to any of them. he can't even produce a coherent word.
he can't calm his paranoia. at least one of the others has encountered you. he could tell by the way they were acting. that means they most likely would've screamed or bumped into you. perhaps they've damaged your hearing. oh, no. what if you can't hear? you wouldn't know if he was near. you'd be weaker in the trials, and you could fail and be gotten rid of.
he crouches more in the trials, curling up and waiting for any sign of your presence. he goes mad while imagining your humming but not being able to hear it.
he does something bold, and it makes his fear of punishment almost as bad as his fear of never seeing you again. he screams so loud it short-circuits his attachments, and he attacks a facility member that wanted to get trial cleanup done a bit early. he steals their credentials and doesn't get far in the facility before being spotted. he continues, frantically searching for a place you may be. he continues to meltdown, leaving eardrums popped and workers in a daze.
he yanks a messy set of files out of some scientists' hands and discards them until he manages to find something pertaining to you. he carries the torn papers with him, and he stumbles into your assigned sleep room, curling up outside of your door after you slam it in fear. he waits for them to take him away and do unspeakable things to him as he scratches at your door, attempting to mimic your hum.
› scapegoat
they collectively know you by now. the one reagent who dared to show them kindness and almost became one of them. since then they haven't run when they encounter you in trials. they accept their fate, stumbling towards you and wrapping their arms around you, just wanting to be comforted—maybe, they dare to fantasize, be kissed—before their heads are blown off.
they beg in their muffled way, on their knees with tears streaming down their scarred faces. they know it's a fruitless endeavor, but their survival instinct makes them try. if they're pathetic enough, maybe they'll earn a coveted place in your memory. the thought makes their hearts swell before their craniums splatter everywhere.
they aren't immune from tactless thoughts permeating in their minds. if they run, they get to live another day, but what about you? if you don't successfully complete the trial, then you're at risk of becoming another ex-pop, perhaps even a trial victim. or worse, you could be killed off or isolated. they wouldn't be able to see you for a long, long time! they agree that this is bigger than them.
any selfishness, trying to run away from you or hide, within their ranks is punished with ostracizization from the other scapegoats. that's a death sentence in itself. other ex-pops enjoy beating down on them. franco in particular loves taunting them, threatening to "shoot their shit clean off." that's why they congregate in groups.
they have to share you, and it's hard, but dying at your hands is a far better fate than what they have come to expect in this facility.
