Tich-writer

Even among defective there are one who are defective in other way

AU: Crosshair’s chip was no deleted Collab with @croissant-9904. TY. Love u. Painful ripple.

Blow after blow are piercing scull, flowing with tingling pain, literally splitting mind in two. Fingers are squeezing together on rifle’s handguard, tattered in blood knuckles are turning white under the tension and pressure. Crazy empty eyes are watching in one point with a blank look and mad notes in the sight. Crosshair is ready to bet that he can hear every heartbeat, ticking out its slow rhythm. Those ripples are piercing through him, echoing in his head and ears, almost drowning out this unsolicited voice.

Crack.

There is tinge of blood and wood on his tongue. Second half of toothpick is falling on the floor with a knock. And this knock sounds like it will rag, tear, rip Crosshair’s eardrums. It feels like sound of fall is reverberating in his ears for eternity like endless echo. But even this echo is dissolving in hated voice.

Good soldiers follow orders.

This phrase is repeating in Crosshair’s mind time by time with heaviness, migraine. His brain feels like stuck rusty creaky clockwork, maddening himself with its endless tic, with bloodcurdling voice.

Hit.

Drops of blood are slowly flowing along metal wall of his cage room. But Crosshair is keeping dead silence. Dewdrops of blood are dripping on the flow with pacific tingle. He broke again. He felt apart again. He became a monster. One more hit. And one more. And more, more, more… Pain is overflowing through his body, but he doesn’t feel it. He isn’t not afraid of the pain. He is not afraid of anything already. Only of himself. Only of something that hiding deep inside him, wishing to rag him. Of tormenting, piercing voice.

Inhale.

Crosshair is suffocating, he is feeling that he doesn’t have enough air. He cannot even shout. One more painful inhale. Nails are tearing his throat to bloody burning scorching scratches. He can’t find his breathe, can’t feel his body. He is shouting without sound. And again. And again. But there is only blanking off voice.

Monster. He is sneaking inside him, tearing his soul on small pieces. Crosshair is becoming monster by himself. He can see it in the mirror. Scare monster with crow wings, sharp fangs and snake empty eyes watching through him. He feels only its thirst. And hears only its clicking voice.