#ysella

The pain isn’t that bad. Idle thoughts like that just cause a twinge, not even as bad as a muscle cramp. And he knows he can think it away. The pain is a trivial discomfort, really. It’s the fear that gets to him.

Always before, it’s been nice clear instructions. Stay with your handler, or perhaps alert your handlers to any psychic disturbance. Be quiet, perhaps, if stealth is going to be an issue. Sometimes the implant isn’t even active, as far as he can tell. Or it’s set to something so far outside the realm of what he’d consider that he doesn’t notice. Often it’s just if separated from your handlers, return to the Inquisition. Nice straightforward objectives that are in his own best interests anyway. He knows how to work with that, and he rarely sets off even the smallest of twinges.

But he doesn’t know how to cope with this. Because his instruction now is obey Ysella. And he is terrified. He doesn’t know her, he doesn’t know if he can trust her - of course he can trust her, she’s his handler, but... What if she gives him an order he can’t follow, just because she doesn’t think about it? What if she gives him contradictory orders? He could die just because she slips up. He thinks about it constantly... and that makes his head ache too, because it’s imagining himself disobeying. A vicious circle.

He puts his head down and sobs into his knees. She didn’t say don’t cry, just stay here. He doesn’t want her to come back, because that will mean more instructions, more chances for her to slip up and- no, no, stop thinking about it. Think pleasant thoughts. Good, obedient thoughts. He thinks of home, and the safety of his desk, and his cell. He thinks of how glad he is to have enough work to fill all his waking hours so he doesn’t have to think about anything else. He thinks of the Interrogator looking at him with approving eyes, like he’s something valuable, something she’s glad to own.

He jumps out of his skin when he hears the door. He gets his knees back under himself in a hurry, and watches Ysella with teary eyes. She looks surprised and concerned. “Hey,” she says, putting down her bag. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry.” And panic hits him like a truck. The pain is instantly blinding, because he’s already disobeying. And he doesn’t see how he can obey - another hike in intensity - I will, I have to - but the pain and the terror are causing fresh tears and the pain is still building - and she is shouting, raising her voice to make herself heard past his panic what is she saying he has to hear or he can’t obey-- “-- orders --” pain pain pain “-- you hear me? Do cry. Six-Eight! Disregard all previous orders! Clean slate, I’m starting over. You are free to do as you will! Disregard all previous orders!”

And as acute agony fades back into a dull throbbing headache, he realises he’s on the floor, curled up on his side, with his handler kneeling over him. “Six-Eight, can you hear me? I’m taking back all previous orders! I don’t have any instructions for you right now. Six-Eight?” “H-here,” he chokes out. “Are you alright? Has it stopped?” “Y-yes sir.” He’s panting for breath, shaking all over. His head still hurts, but it’s not the sharp implant pain any more. Just a lingering ache. “I, I, I’m s-s-sorry, I...” “You don’t have to talk,” she tells him carefully. “You may if you want, but you don’t have to.” So he just pants, and sobs, and hugs his arms weakly to his chest.

Dekkard, Ysella, and Obreduur’s kids: a KNIFE

Obreduur: