#TW: Surgical malpractice

[bowlerhatwearer]

Surgical Interrogation

Warnings: TW: Suicide, TW: Medial malpractice, TW: Surgical malpractice, TW:Ableism, TW: Surgery

Characters: Carlos Rojas, Commander Grizzly, The Surgeon (Lis Polarny), Blaise Owens.

Originally Written: 26th February

~~

If he would have had any skin, he probably would shudder, or at least feel cold, but given that he was a robot this was not the case. The room he sat in was very simple, a metal table, and two chairs, with one of them being occupied by him, and the other by his opponent, who was still adjusting themselves to the uncomfortable metal chair. With that the only thing noteworthy, next to the door was the “mirror”, for him it was obvious that it was a window, and behind it were probably people observing both. Looking at the person on the other end of the table he adjusted his screen that was his face, the amplitudes raising as he began to say something.

“So tell, what brings me the honour, to have our session in this luxurious room you have chosen for the both of us.”

Maybe they didn’t expect that a robot was able to have a voice that was so full of, sarcasm and cynicism but for a moment they looked up from their notepad before they let out a resigned breath.

“It was not me who made the decision where we were going to talk.”

“Of course, it wasn’t, since when did you ever.”

“Doctor-“

“It’s Surgeon.”

“You are not obligated to talk with me you know.”

“I am aware of that, however, I do find that situation amusing, as amusing as one can, sitting in an obvious interrogation room, especially given that it’s from the very same base I am working at.”

Their opponent was tapping on the notepad, before laying down their pen, which was full of scratches and biting marks.

“How about we start with something simple, can you tell me, since when are you part of the Wrath?”

That question got his attention, standing up from the chair, the surgeon pulled on his coat to straighten the folds, before looking directly into his opponents face by bowing slightly into his direction, if he could have, at this point he would’ve made a smug expression.

“I have been in the past a dutiful member. Already shortly after the Wrath had been founded when some naysayers called them a “cobbled together mercenary group” in disrespectful and belittling voices, on my card ratifying my alliance to the Wrath my membership is a single figure number.”

Leaning more forward his opponent got the feeling his screen was about to squish into his face, wondering if he should back up, however the Surgeon stopped to move one inch away before touching him.

“My superior was acting commander Carlos Rojas, whose manes colour was similar to a strong and illuminating wildfire, his fur in its brightness incomparable to any sun or star, taller than a tank as well as a charisma not even outmatched by twenty A-list celebrities, and eyes greener than any piece of jade or emerald could ever shine.”

His computer-generated voice, broke, and for a moment he closed his eyes, or rather his motion sensors that made him see, thinking back, when everything was, when it was all ok.

<…>

Despite the door being closed, the slightly muffled voice could still be heard, every soldier knew that right now was not the best time to ask the commander a question or perhaps give him a message, the only person next with him in the room knew that.

“Absolutely unacceptable…”

The Surgeon looked at his left hand

“How could they just do that-“

Then to his right one, moving them slowly

“If I could, I would have personally-“

Maybe he needed some oil

“The worst of all-“

Or perhaps some of his pneumatic or hydraulic tubes needed to be replaced.

“Are you listening to me?!”

His commanders voice sounded infuriated with a hint of annoyance, but the robotic surgeon knew that his anger, was not directed at him.

“Commander, I can feel, that your emotions have been, deeply affected, by this sudden change of course, however I do believe it is my duty to remind you-“

Rising from the in dark blue fabric covered sofa where moments ago the commander sat as well, he looked up at his taller superior.

“-the occurring events we had just witnessed merely seconds ago, are nothing more than fictional happenings from a television show, a, to be honest, cheaply made soap opera.”

The Commander looked at his with sharp eyes, as if the lion tried to look trough his, non-existent soul before slightly wrinkling up his nose.

“It’s a telenovela, there is a great different Surgeon, I can’t believe they killed my favourite character off like that, Rosa how could they have done that to you?!”

Tapping on his left shoulder slightly, even if he didn’t understand the ruckus, the Surgeon did try to give the commander solace.

“Now, now commander, the chances that she might come back one day are nearly 25 percent.”

“You don’t know that…”

“Characters who usually die in such…unique ways like hers, tend to come back through either easily explainable, or complicated ways.”

“She was slain by a pineapple, what an absolute disgrace to her performance.”

If he could let out a sigh, he would do now, he respected his superior of course, but sometimes he was an enigma to him.

“Commander, I still fail to understand why you have such an, emotional response over the death of a character.”

That for a moment he considered to add “pointless” to the sentence was quickly suppressed, the last time Rojas did “enlighten” him about hundreds of reasons why one of the many side characters of this soap- telenovela were important. For now, his commander was going around him in circles, with a voice sounding like a teacher, who is putting their pupil right.

“Of course, you don’t Surgeon, after all you haven’t, like I did, watched the series from the very beginning.”

Why wasn’t he surprised.

“By all due respect commander but I need to protest, just because I haven’t watched the first hundred episodes from a show that by now has over 14000 doesn’t mean I have not followed the story, I have used, free time, to inform myself trough summaries and used up precious memory of my data storage. Memory I could have used to safe information on new surgical techniques, instead used to analyse this fictional production. There are the minds of a thousand doctors and a thousand more surgeons in my memory.”

Rojas was about to say something new, an objection he was sure would make the Surgeon see his way and how good this show really was, but just in that moment the alarm, in its loud and cracking tone like tactful thunder interrupted him. Souring the commanders mood even more who bit now on his lip.

“Of all the, it doesn’t take much to guess who dares to interrupt my marathon.”

Following the commander a few steps behind, they both went down the same corridor, however their way would split soon. The Surgeon observed his superior, his leader, the purple coat how it folded with every move, the boots making their typical clanking sound on the floor.

“I believe that will make the Racuchy I have prepared for you redundant commander.”

“Put them in the fridge, I will warm them up later, prepare yourself, who knows what he has planned this time.”

They have had fought each other lots of times, often with no clear winner, it was skirmishes at their finest, with him having to threat the injured in the aftermath of the battles, with how often by now he has witnessed them, the surgeon did call them from time to time “date”, as teasingly as his robotic voice allowed that.

“So what will it be this time commander, chocolate, roses or perhaps sitting with the dear general in a gondola under the shining moonlight whilst you listen to the wonderful voice of the gondolier?”

Hearing Rojas grunt in annoyance and frustration, was something the Surgeon appreciated only, when it was because he teased his commander a little. The lion squinted before rolling his eyes , then speaking to the robot again.

“I thought about ambushing and locking him up in a safe before dropping it down in a gorge never to be seen again, but no matter what I do, he always comes back!”

“As if he was from some sort of cartoon.”

With the last words being said, their ways split, Rojas, about to lead his troops into battle, the Surgeon preparing to take care for the soon to be injured.

<…>

“That was, what we usually did, if time allowed it of course, it was not often, but a nice change of the daily work…what.”

Opening his sensors again he could see their opponent, this old cat smiling before letting out a cough and their hoarse voice began to say something

“Nothing, really, it’s just, strange to hear that a robot is cooking, you said you prepared, Racuchy, right?”

“Correct, Rojas liked it too, as far as my memory goes, cooking here and there his own meals, if time allowed it. You wouldn’t believe the arguments he had with one of the cooks or when I attempted to make my fist Mousse of Chocolate and I put hotsauce in it because I believed it would “spice thinks up”, you should have seen Roj-

He stopped, from one moment to another all emotion that appeared in his voice, gone, all was back to normal. There was silence, neither of the two was moving, neither the Surgeon nor the person on the other end of the table.

“That, of course changed, when it happened, other would call it some name, give this date something to remember it, but what good does that do…”

“But if you remember it, then what do you call it?”

He looked distant, away from the old cat as if he was no longer here, but somewhere entirely else.

“Simple, ‘The Day’, nothing more.”

<…>

It was quiet, too quiet, not that he didn’t appreciate it, after all as a surgeon he needed his concentration, even if the robot only typed some data into a computer (which he thought was somehow ironic, a machine using another machine) but usually when it was this, calm, something was about to happen, usually something bad if it wasn’t the soldiers preparing some surprise party, which also, usually ended in disaster.

Next to him where two tickets, he knew that the chances that his superior, the commander had time was small, but he hoped that Rojas had a small window open to go see with him, for what the tickets where needed for, the surgeon was certain that his commander would appreciate the show. It had been too long that he had any entertainment, that was not his soa- telenovela Carlos Rojas watched in his free time and the Surgeon often accompanied on the couch. But right now, the commander was absent, on an important mission, away from the base, probably returning any second now and the Surgeon could ask him if he was interested in one of the tickets.

The moment the robot was about to type another word, an alarm went off, not the usual that with its loud ringing announced an enemy attack, but another, one that sounded more like wailing, lamenting in sadness and pain, the alarm that basically said that something really, serious had happened and the Surgeons assistance was required ASAP.

Quickly they hopped away from their chair and office table, and although running was not really something he was created for, he increased his walking speed as good as that was possible, following the corridor that would bring him to the entrance of the base, soldiers were running left and right around, confused, shocked, as if they all were trying to process some great calamity that had befallen them all. He didn’t like that; he didn’t like that at all. If he had a lip, he would have bitten on it, but all he could do was nervously clench his claws together.

When he reached the roomy lobby, it was stuffed with soldiers, who appeared even more anxious and perplexed than the ones before, something had worn down their moral hard. From left to right they talked and shouted as if the end of the world happened before their eyes, that someone had shot a nuclear warhead into their direction was an option the Surgeon discarded, that was very unlikely, a different alarm would have sounded for that and- argh, he couldn’t concentrate with everyone talking and their volume increasing due of their panic. Some of them shouting that they needed his help.

Raising their claw, so that everyone could see it, he decided to increase his volume.

“Would everyone in this room just calm down!”

That seems to have done the trick, it was quiet, awfully, and uncomfortable silent.

He didn’t like that; he didn’t like that at all.

“You- “he randomly pointed at one of the soldiers, who tried his best to stand at attention.

“- tell me the cause of this.” Waving his hand at the direction of the groups of soldiers.

Startled by being chosen they stuttered a few letters before the soldier calmed themself by taking a breath before looking down at the tiled floor.

“There, there was an attack the Commander led the counteroffensive when...he’s gone.”

Before the Surgeon could process the sentence completely his body had already moved forward, with his screen being bowed above the soldiers head aggressively.

“What? What do you mean with gone?”

“An explosion, there was an explosion I think and, there’s not much left of-“

No, this wasn’t true, there were, countless of other explanations, they must have been wrong.

They all, must have been wrong to think that Commander Carlos Rojas was-

One of the other soldiers tugged on his coat, faster than he should have he turned around.

By now the robotic surgeon had his claws pressed against each other, he was sure to soon have reached their breaking point and the metal of claws would snap like a toothpick.

The soldier held a jar, and for a moment the Surgeon thought that for some reason they offered him a condolence pickle.

But whatever was pickled into this glass, with its green liquid was no plant , vegetable or whatever in that range.

It was a brain, floating together in the glass with an eyeball, both without any sign of life.

He knew what this suggested, and despite the fact that a small part of his processor already began to scream, the Surgeon ignored it, letting out a hollow laugh.

“How foolish, of you all to think, this, is the Commander-“

Taking the jar from the Soldier he held it close to his mechanic body, raising the glass to the level of his screen.

“The chances are high, that those are merely the remains of some enemy soldier-“

Programming and tools implemented in him began to awake, activating different software to analyse the brain, but most importantly the eye, going through his database.

“-and surely, our Commander is alive and well, probably hidden in a trench, stained, perhaps injured and most likely his dignity getting a scratch, but there is no chance that THIS-“

The tools were finished doing their work, all software, all programming, and all data brought the same conclusion and displayed it in his electronic mind.

“Analysis concluded; visual organ matches to 99,9% that of Carlos Rojas.”

“- the Commander.”

How quiet his voice had turned, did the people surrounding him even hear what he had said?

The mighty lion, reduced to nothing more than a brain and one floating eyeball.

“What am I supposed to do?”

<…>

Wary did his claws tab on the surface of the table that reflected his face, as if it was glass instead of metal.

“Of course, the, the Eggheads began working on a plan to save him.”

The cat who set on the opposite had at this point lightened themself a cigar, the bluish-grey smoke rising into the air, before dissolving, after another puff they took the cigar out of their mouth.

“And you where, instantly on board, with, what they came up with?”

Like the smoke the questioned lingered for a while in the room and the cat wondered if they had to repeat themself.

The surgeon at first only shook his head.

“No-“it came after another short pause.

“-my duty is…was, as a surgeon to perform surgeries that safe lives, however, I am…I was equipped with moralistic and ethical boundaries, you know, to ensure that, what I was doing was to help people.”

“…did someone deactivate them so you could do the procedure, to safe the Commander?”

He looked down, at the table, he didn’t feel well, to speak out what he was thinking, but another part of him felt like it was important, to say it out loud, he could feel the voices starting to raise themselves, but for now they were still too quiet to affect him.

“No, I, deactivated them myself.”

<…>

He tries to ignore them, all of them, how they stood there, some walking with him, the voices, they were everywhere.

“You have to-“

“It’s our only chance-“

“Please we-“

Group dynamic at its finest, in this case, of panic and what a part of him would have liked to call hysteria by now, he just wanted them all to shut up. So many of them talking, their voices turning just into an entangled ball of words.

The surgeon understood them of course, this was a heavy blow for them, a part of his mind felt sympathy for the soldiers who tried to tell him to do it.

But no, no matter what, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t do it, it would go against everything he was created for.

The voices, those forces on the outside trying to make him reconsider, it was too much.

“Be silent!”

His own voice, overpowering the many

Finally.

Grabbing the handle to the door that leads to his office he puts his screen on the surface.

“I need-“

It’s quiet, he doesn’t know if that’s any better than when there was noise.

“-I need time to think.”

With that he opens the door, and as quickly closes it as soon as he’s in, locking it up so that he really would be unbothered.

As soon as he sat into his chair the first thought began to float into his mind.

What was he going to do?

There was of course his medical expertise, which told him the facts plainly.

All hope was lost, Commander Rojas was death.

However, there were other considerations as well.

The eggheads came quicker than he would have expected, would have liked, to a solution for the problem the Wrath faces.

And for that they needed his help.

Which he couldn’t do.

It was not possible.

For the only way to save the Commander, was to sacrifice another persons life.

And that was not an option.

Literally, his programming wouldn’t allow it.

In an act of self-initiative, the Wrath soldiers were able to captured someone, they talked about him.

Something, something involved in the whole thing that resulted in the commander being nothing more than a brain and one eye.

Which was now sitting on his desk, in a jar, pickled in some green fluid for it to be preserved.

The Surgeon, if he could, and really wished right now to do so, would have let out a sigh.

He went through his mind and processing, calculating what now would happen now that Rojas would be no more.

His central processing unit was not really designed for him to be some kind of supercomputer that could predict and solve some complex questions, but he was certain that the hardware of his would be able to solve this.

With Rojas gone, another commander would be needed to replace him, however, there was the problem, whilst there had been subordinates, the Commander never had chosen a clear successor, or at least none the Surgeon was aware of.

That alone might already cause the problem that a vacuum of power could happen, which could lead to infighting in the Wrath, ergo the soldiers and other staff would split apart because they all have different preferences in who should be their new leader. This again would result in the Wrath either way splitting apart, causing a civil war OR with the Wrath being dissolved.

All three of the options would lead to the same, the Wrath never again reaching the strength to be the organization it is right now or becoming even stronger in the future.

It was a horrid thought, and not an option for the Surgeon.

Maybe he should try becoming the leader, the thought was immediately deleted from his database as soon as it came up.

Not a valid option either.

Looking at the jar with the commanders remains in his, he carefully touched it with one of his claws.

What would be the commanders wish? What would he want?

The surgeon cursed himself, for having neglected to talk with the Commander about this.

His body was important for him, and now most of it was gone.

Would he accept a new one would-

He stopped himself, he was really considering it, was he not?

1999 voices in his database and memory storage told him that it was against every information they have been spliced with, to do it.

And one, a whisper, telling him it was the only option they had left.

But, the limitations, the boundaries, the restrictions he was made for, to ensure to safe peoples lives, not to take them, one must not take a persons life, to safe another in a surgery. He was programmed to view all life equally. Ally and enemy alike. Operating on them first who had more sever, life threatening injuries. But one life must not be taken, to safe another in such instances.

He saw it before his inner eyes, tree switches, each one of them labelled differently.

“Ethics”, “Morals”, “Emotions”

The first one that was switched off was the one holding the ethical boundaries.

For the first time, the Surgeon believed to have felt something that when going through his knowledge, could only be described as pain.

Pressing his claws together he hit his screen in the shock on the office table, not hard but enough to make a sound.

So that was gone, the question about ethics was now out of the picture, he didn’t had to worry about this anymore. Two more to go.

The next switch that got pulled down before his internal view was the one responsible for his moral boundaries. All the restrictions that came with it, what he never was allowed to do to a pati- a subject, were now gone.

All that was left now where his emotions, and those where in total chaos in what just had happened.

One part wanted to desperately laugh about the weight of this situation, another cry with how far they have taken it, there was anger about himself and the others, happiness that they were one step closer in saving their commander and lastly emptiness, a void that began to spread over slowly, taking with it all the other emotions.

He stood up, not giving the jar another glance for now but he did take it with him when opening the door again, meeting the soldiers and others who were still gathered around his office, he believed their numbers might have increased, but wasn’t sure, as soon as he stepped out, they all went quiet, as if it was some sort of news conference.

Well, in some way it was.

They all looked, concerned, was it because of suspense, what he was about to say?

Was it how he looked, has he changed by taking down two of the three levers already?

“I have made a decision-“

This voice, it sounded so hollow to him now, was it even his own anymore?

“-the surgical procedure will be executed.”

There were a few whispers, they sounded, positive, but grew quiet when he made claw that there was still something else, he had to say.

"All ethical and moralistic boundaries have been deactivated for this one surgery, what happens after it is on you, you will bear the consequences of my actions."

With that being said, the lever of his emotions got pulled down as well, it felt like as if a thunderbolt struck into his head, directly into his mind, shattering the firmly collected mind into a thousand shards and pieces, all going quiet, leaving behind only the surgical and medical information that was in his storage medias and databases.

What he once thought and felt, it was all gone.

Only logic and knowledge remained.

The surgeon left the group behind with what he has just said, already walking towards the operating room with the jar in his claws.

When he opened the door, all was nearly dark, so he turned the light switch on so his visual sensors could see.

There was one subject on the operating table, tied down to prevent redundant movement or attempts of escape.

The subject, Ursidae, did say something, but there was no reason to listen to any of the words he spoke out in increased volume.

They were unimportant for the surgery.

Irrelevant for what was about to happen.

Trivial

As a robotic surgeon he was also equipped with the information needed to properly reassure patients before the surgery.

An anaesthetist was not required.

Taking the gas bottle with the narcotics he opened the valve generously.

Enough to neutralise a horse.

Without a thought, re-examination, or anything else he put the mask that emitted the gas on the bears muzzle who attempted to protest and fight in vain.

Picking up the increasing violent movement, that could do nothing to break the belts that hold the patient on the table, the surgeons protocol set in. With the free claw he pressed the bear firmly on the table before a robotic, emotionless, and recorded voice started to appear.

“Do not resist.”

The movement of the subject grew more frantic.

“Do not resist.”

More desperate, his eyes looking for any compassion in the robot

“Do not resist.”

There were none

“Do not resist”

The bears movement grew slower, then it finally stopped.

“Anaesthesia was successfully applied, starting now with surgery.”

It was near silent now, only a single sound echoed through the room.

A sound of danger, one where there was no reversal from.

The screech of a quickly activated bone saw, moving closer to the bears head.

<…>

His opposite judged him; he knew that there was no reason to look up. The cat was now by his fourth cigar since this “interview” had started, the cigar was nearly depleted, they didn’t say anything for a while, just writing down on their notepad, the robot thought that perhaps now this, session, was over, but then they dropped the pen on the table, looking directly at his screen.

“You said, if I get this right, that you deactivated those, restrictions, yourself, so I wonder-“

They, take a long pull from the cigar, before filling the room with more smoke

“-couldn’t you just have, simply reactivated them?”

Of course, he should have known that this question would come.

All he can do is let out a chuckle, as good as a robot can do, as he can do, bitter and sarcastic.

“It was the very first thing I tried to do after it was over but-“

His claws cramp on the tabletop and the Surgeon is sure that there is a small dent in there now.

“-it just wouldn’t work, it was like a-“

Yeah, what was it like?

“- a light switch, that when I tried to turn in on again, it would, but only for a short moment, I mean not even in the range of seconds more like-“

There was another pause, the best he could do to imitate a breath, or perhaps a sigh.

“-picoseconds…it would always go dark again, it always does.”

He couldn’t sit any longer, he needed to move, more than just his claws, this constant sitting did no good to his inner workings.

Slowly he rose, walking away from his chair, and then slowly around the table, thinking.

“Only later, I don’t know when, did I inform myself about who I just…robbed from their life.”

“You mean, the bear, Jude Valentine?”

His legs froze, not by his command, they just did.

It was strange, to hear the name spoken out by someone else.

“Affirmative, a soldier, enemy soldier, from the rank of a private. The details are lost to me, but our soldiers captured him, shortly after Commander Rojas…loss of mass.”

The last word lingers for a while, then it is calm again, they are now writing on their notebook, just sitting there, thinking.

It makes the Surgeon nervous, the more there is silence, there more he knows that this cats mind is ticking and clicking, their brain cells connection, working on something, it makes him twitchy.

“Was it so easy, to deactivate those restrictions because it was an emergency, Surgeon, or was it so easy because the person you, connected Carlos Rojas brain with, was an enemy soldier, a normal cadet. Can you answer me that?”

He thinks for a while, and the more the robot thinks, the more he concludes that this is a stupid question, and it makes him not unsettling, no something else, he turns around, his monitor flashing, as if he tries to give an angry glare.

“What sort of question is this supposed to be, I think I know when or why I deactivate my restrictions and emotions!”

They don’t give him time to retort, no, there are too many, strings of data flooding up that need to be processed now. There is something that greatly, disturbs him by this specific question and how it is worded, but he doesn’t know why, neither does he know what he is going to answer.

“Jude Valentine was an enemy soldier, no matter what rank or position, he was one of many, he was meant, from the moment he enlisted or was drafted or whatever, to be replaceable- “

He considers flipping the table.

“You want to know who the real victims are in war, how about some enlightenment, feline.”

They don’t respond, so he takes that as a yes, a silent approval.

“It’s the civilians, those who have to flee where they once lived because bombs and grenades are about to hit them, who have to sleep, always in the fear to be hit by mortal shelling, who have to accommodate and assimilate to the new place where they are going to live, now that their country is no longer theirs, who get stabbed in the back by those they called friends in this new lands, for daring to question their system!”

Despite the outburst, the table remains unmoved, so does the cat, they just sit there, interesting, he really thought they would call for some guards. But all they do is taking another pull from their cigar. He wonders if they even listened to him.

They take a breath, then the cat sits back in the chair, appearing, calm.

“What happened after the surgery?”

He concluded that asking them if they did listen what he just said did not matter, he said what he had to say and his opposite did acknowledge it, probably. So, he sat down again, this time looking at the cat who took out another cigar.

“What you already know. Commander Grizzly came into charge. General Cottontail joined the Wrath. New recruits joined; some others left. The telenovela got cancelled, the Racuchy, rotted away, long forgotten and untouched in the fridge and the tickets expired. Everything turned back to normal-“

He looks at the lightbulb, the light is yellow, it should be warm, most of the energy of a lamp was wasted on heat energy, instead of illumination, yet, he still felt cold, he shouldn’t feel like that, the temperature it shouldn’t be possible.”

“-everyone except, me of course. Focusing now mostly on my work, except for some light maintenance I secluded myself from the rest of the base, if I was not in my office, I was in the operation room and vice versa. I did as I was instructed, I did was I was constructed for I did as I was intended to work.”

His claws do not move.

“I more and more succumbed to madness on the inside, on the outside I was what I was always intended to be, a robotic surgeon. With Carlos Rojas gone, there was no real reason to have emotions anymore.”

He nudged his head, looking back at the table that reflected his face, it was a bit blurry.

“Excuse me but Carlos Rojas is here, he is C-“

Bitterness collects itself in his throat

“No he isn’t, at least, not as he was before.”

The next words, he wants to say, feel like corrosive bile to him.

“I was no longer able to recognize the Commander, who was once the reason I joined these forces, the one I used to work with, the one I used to take orders from, the one I used to talk and banter with.”

His opposite takes the cigar out, allowing the ash to fall on the floor, using the silence to speak.

“And it continued like this?”

“Of course, people started to notice that something has changed with me, however I negated these questions, later I didn’t respond to them anymore and started to avoid any approaches from, anyone. I got memos from different parts of the Wrath, wanting to talk, the personnel department for example, I, ignored all of them. Only responding to Emergencies anymore.”

He scratches on the table with his claws, more and more of his reflection disappearing under the now fresh scratches on the metal.

“When I was not operating I tried to use my time to look back on former surgeries, re-evaluating them, searching for ways to improve, then I also began to sort my folders, to archive them more efficient, sweeping my office and cleaning the mirror, when I was finished with that I began to do things that one might see as trivial, Sorting my pens from the largest to the smallest, counting how many staples I had left in my stapler, making airplanes out of printer paper, bending a straightened paper clip to its original form.”

He had to look at them, to see what they were thinking, right now, their expression surprised them, they didn’t look bored, but interested, in what he had said, and wanting him to continue.

“I did all of this so I didn’t have had to, power myself off, from time to time I had to do that to clean the cache, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t function properly…however, I didn’t want to go into Stand-by-mode because, every time I did, I saw…him.”

“Commander Rojas?”

He shakes his head.

“No, the bear, Jude Valentine, judging me.”

Using his claws he adjusts his monitor, before looking at the cat again.

“But it didn’t help, this, problem, this glitch grew worse, I began to see him not only when I was in sleep mode, but also when I was activated, noise, voices began to appear too, not the bears, one that came from my own memory storage. Until a day would where I would reach my breaking point. And that day came.”

Looking at them began to hurt, so it was the table surface again.

“Commander…Grizzly, at one point had the idea to award me a medal, for, saving “his” life, I think he did it because he knew I couldn’t refuse this honour, so that I HAD to talk with him and also, maybe to raise my “mood”. However, with this approaching date, things went worse. And then the day was here, sooner than I had hoped for.”

<…>

That was not how it should be, all of this was so sudden.

All of this was wrong.

Looking at the clock in his office, he just grew more tense.

In 30 minutes the “Commander”, would personally come for him.

Going together to the ceremony where he “Commander Grizzly” as he was called, would award him personally a medal.

For “saving” his life.

It made him sick.

He didn’t want this, he never asked for this.

In the corner of his sensors, he could see him, this shadow, at this point the robot could no longer say when they started to appear, that bear, the one he used to safe his former commander.

All in vain, a life destroyed for nothing, Commander Rojas was gone, there was only this “Commander Grizzly” now.

Was this a joke, no, it was torture, it was his own personal punishment, for going against everything he was created for.

And the little bear he used for that, knew that.

That is why he was here, watching, observing him.

But always staying mute.

Why should he talk, the Surgeons inner voices of his programming already did their part to destroy him.

“Your fault.” “Going against the principles.” “An act of blasphemy against all doctors and surgeons.”

This and many more, was what quietly began to creep into his inner parts of his processors, starting to take over ever command and query. Only with great difficulty was he still able to continue his work.

He didn’t notice how he stood up, slowly walking towards the mirror of his office, even slower looking into it.

It wasn’t his “face”, his monitor that has been always there since the day he was activated.

No, it was a bear that looked back at him, the one he knew too well.

With no eyes, and blood everywhere and the mouth wide open for a muted scream.

At him, against him, always his fault.

He just wanted it to be gone, all gone.

In his frustration, his left claw clenched, before striking against the mirror, smashing it to a thousand pieces.

Even himself, he wanted to be gone.

It was not the first time the thought had come into his mind, to initiate a self-inflicted, forced shut down.

But not it felt the strongest and with the nearing ceremony, no way to turn back.

It was the only way, the only solution, to end it all, to have peace and silence.

Never to be confronted by this shadow, or his voices ever again.

It would all be over soon.

The scalpel on the office table was useless, protocols and implemented rules prevented him to use medical tools against himself, was whoever wrote those lines, aware that this scenario might happen?

However, a foreign sharp object, that certainly was not implemented, a loophole, one to free him from his misery once and for all.

Carefully, yet still with haste he analysed all the glass shards until he found a sufficient one, that was still stuck in the frame of the mirror. He took it out, making sure not to break it any further, before with a simple pull, it was in his possession. For a moment he examined the shard, so that would be the tool, the corpus delicti of his own action and decision.

He was a machine now, he was replaceable.

No one would miss him.

And with one strong and violent movement, he felt the shard penetrating the weak sheet metal, that protected his inner cables and tubes from being twisted or damaged, compared to a person, it was his “throat” he had just stabbed.

Like clockwork it continued from him then on, there was not much thought except the commands that made him move his claw that held the shard, like a can opener around his throat, cutting and separating more and more the connection between his body and monitor.

All of this would be over soon, how strange, it felt, as if there was a hint of euphoria in his thoughts, as if he was, happy, that this was going to be the end of his existence. Certainly, a few months ago he thought his end would be that he simply would, case to function, or to be outdated, but deactivating himself in such a way, that would have sounded, illogical back then.

Now it was reality, as he cut against one of the pneumatic tubes, feeling and hearing the hiss the compressed air made as it escaped. A pop-up on his inner screen gave him the warning that the air pressure of the pneumatic systems was lowering to a small degree for reasons the programming couldn’t understand.

He ignored that message.

How would it be, once he shuts down, after all he was a machine, a robot, with the memories of a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons. Would it be like shutting down a computer, after its work was finished? Well, even if it was only a secondary idea, in some, cruel way his forced shut down was also an experiment, was it not?

By now he was more than halfway through, cutting his “throat”, some of the cables were also damaged due of how crude he was cutting, it was after all no scalpel or surgical knife he used, but that was not the goal of this “self-operation”. All those other voices could scream whatever they wanted, now they didn’t matter, and soon, they would never again. Not even the pop-ups who begged for maintenance, that someone would check upon the robot, could do anything to stop him from what he was doing to himself. Messages about how power was slowly lost, the water dripping from the hydraulic tubes into the cables, chips, and boards. It mattered not, it mattered nothing.

The sudden knocking at the door made him come to an abrupt halt.

“Surgeon? Surgeon are you here?”

It was the sound of the one who called himself “Commander”.

Oh no, NO!

With difficulty he moved his head to look at the clock in his room.

A Quarter, there was still a quarter of an hour left!

The monitor that was his face flickered.

“I know we have still fifteen minutes, but I thought why not set ahead the ceremony?”

The shock together with the software and programs thinking set too deep than to answer, the conclusion was made to cast aside all remaining rational and logical thinking.

Both claws jammed on each end of the monitor, pushing upwards with all the power, energy, and strength this robot was created to eject if necessary.

“Surgeon? Is everything alright? Surgeon??!”

This voice, of a man that should no longer exist, who DID no longer exist, grew concerned. The knob of the door was twisted each time with more strength and impatiently. The foresight to lock the door, was now a blessing, or so a few rushed thoughts that escaped the panic mode he was in told him. Not that it mattered in any way anymore.

It must end, all of it, the voices inside of him, the sounds from the outside, the vision, all, had to stop.

The mechanical arms begged him to stop, it felt like as if the tubes where about to burst, working on overdrive to pump more water and air through the system. More and more messages appeared on his internal systems, Warnings and Errors, flooding the inner screen. Telling him that everything was in some way damaged and had to be repaired immediately if a system crash and a Random-Access Memory loss should be prevented. There was no guarantee that his system, with each pull getting more desperate, could access the backup drives in time. There was no assurance that the RAID systems could do their work, should one of the drives in his systems get damaged beyond repair.

One last sound of creaking metal, then a short snap, and he could feel how he had separated his head from the body, now only a few cables and tubes held him together, it was time to change that.

“Don’t worry Surgeon, I’m, I’m getting you out of there!”

An interesting thought, that an enigma like that, would try to help him, but help from what, his decision was clear, there was no need to aid in preventing the now inevitable.

No, all that he could feel now was hate, self-loathing and disgust with what HE had done, to go completely against and violate every ethical and moralistic rule, to have shut-off his emotions he no longer could feel. He, he was to blame. No one else. This was his doing, and only his, and it was HIS to end it all, here and there.

Metallic laughter, hollow and without emotion echoed from the cracking and glitching screen, that with each passing one, grew more louder and with static.

“This, is what I deserve, ruining one person’s whole LIFE, it only equals to ruin MINE.”

His own voice echoed through the room, as if others were repeating it, with each echo it sounded different, maybe it where the other voices, repeating, agreeing to what he was doing.

He could hear stomping, running, towards the door of his office.

“This is what I deserve��-

With all his might that remained in the robotic body, the surgeon pulled on his head, the cables began started to snap, the tubes couldn’t hold any longer on their connections and releases themselves from the monitor, snapping back to the rest other part of the body, releasing the rest of their air and spluttering water as if it was blood.

At about the same time, when head and body got separated, the door to the Surgeons office was smashed open, with no tool, or help from others, but solely by the force of Commander Grizzly, who ran into the door with all his strength after taking a run up. With his face slightly bruised and a few splinters, he looked up, to see the end.

“-this is what YOU deserve!”

With the energy that remained in the head used up, it went dark quickly, all that remained was a near silent sound of whirring of the ventilators whose rotors were still moving. Slowly the claws released themselves from the monitor, letting it fall on the cold and unmoving floor, where the screen cracked because the glass fell directly on the concrete.

Almost as gallant as a ballerina did the rest of the body shut down, the legs kneeled, before the balance was lost and it fell on its side, laying there without any motion before the last ventilator stopped propelling. The glass shard still grasped in the Surgeons motionless claw.

For the moment, all was quiet.

<…>

The air is so, oppressive, as if causing a knot in his throat. Which by all means didn’t make any sense, he couldn’t even breath! Before he can realize it himself his own claws are there, scratching around the connection that has been put together again with a weld seam. All those memories flooding, overloading his central processing unit.

The Surgeon does not notice it, but his opposite does, the one who leads the whole interview, the screen of the robot flickers, there are some, clearly not normal spasm as more and more violently the claws appear to, trying to rip away the welding seam. As the cat opens their mouth, the cigar falls out, the smoke that was inside of them did not. In their attempt to call out to the Surgeon, all the journalist manages to do is accidently inhaling the smoke again, resulting in an aggressive and heavy coughing fit. For a moment they wonder if that’s going to be the end, seeing already stars when their lung starts to calm down. Not the only things as the cat notices, when one of the claws is placed gently on his shoulders.

“I have to say Owens, if you continue with this habit, you might see the radishes from below sooner than you wish for. But I appreciate for snapping me out from my thoughts.”

Taking a few more breaths, arms stretched on the edges of the tables as they inhaled the air deeply into their body, they look up to the Monitor of the robot, that by now has returned to normal. A new question formed in Blaise Owens mind.

“What?”

“Seeing the radishes from below? Ah you know, an old saying like being six feet underground or pushing up the daisy and so on.”

The pleasure of smoking had vanished like its smoke, allowing the cigar to glimmer on the metal table, they decided to continue with their interview.

“Moving on, so after your, suici-“

“Deactivation, one who kills themselves, does not return.”

“I disagree, but anyways, after your deactivation, what happened then?”

“Well, nothing, really, apparently, they moved my body in the cellar, until I got repaired and reactivated.”

“And why did they put you in commission again?”

The Surgeons robotic body slumped slightly, one of his claws stretching out whilst the monitor looked to the left.

“Eh, apparently the Commander needed a capable Surgeon, for a rather, in my opinion, trivial and unimportant surgery. And for some reason he trusted me more than any other capable Surgeon.”

For a short moment Blaise Owens knocked with their pen on the table, when it stopped, they asked a question, hoping to get an answer from the Surgeon from.

“But wouldn’t you say that this is proof that Commander Grizzly IS Carlos Rojas, if he could have asked a random surgeon but chose you, is that not a sign that he is still the Commander you knew?”

The old journalist had closed his eyes when finishing the sentence, worrying that the robot who sat on the opposite of him, would perhaps get angry, instead he sat still. As if he is waiting for the question to settle.

“Have you ever heard of the Ship of Theseus; it is a thought experiment.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“For simplicity let me explain it this way. You have a ship on a journey, that over the time needs its parts replaced, when the journey is over, every part of the Ship has been replaced, not one original part remained.”

“I-I think I know what you mean but I am-“

“Commander Carlos Rojas body has been, replaced to a major part with that of someone else, so can this, new Commander, still be called Carlos Rojas, however, should they be called Commander Grizzly, given that it is Rojas mind that is active. Is it the Ship? Is it not? Are they some sort of Hybrid?”

Blaise had to admit, that he didn’t have an answer to that question, but the Surgeon never awaited one in the first place.

“I regret it, I really do. If I somehow could, change my actions, I wouldn’t hesitate to do so.”

“So you feel guilty about your actions?”

Throwing his claws up into the air the voice of the surgeon grew full with static, however, the increase of volume was not meant to be taken, that he was angry at Blaise Owens, but rather a release, to say what has been on his mind.

“YES! I feel deep remorse for what I did…sometimes I wonder If it was all worth it.”

He falls back into the metal chair, that makes a quiet groan of protest in response.

“Will I ever be able to make it up to him, change what my surgery has caused. Will he ever forgive me for what I have done to him and his body?”

For some reason, it felt for Blaise as if the look was now more, sad, despite having remained completely the same.

“Any more questions?”

“Yes- there is something else I have been wondering about through our interview.”

It was now Blaise who stood up, walking around the table, more in thought than before.

“You see, you have talked now about feeling guilty and remorse of your actions. You told me how you were able to, deactivate your emotional, moralistic, and ethical boundaries all by yourself. And that example, about having gotten stabbed by someone close to you, sounded rather personal.”

They stand before the robot, who still has not said anything, just waiting, for Blaise Owens to finish they were talking about.

“So, I was wondering Surgeon, if there is more than just a robot on the screen.”

<…>

The pillow is comfy, it is white, with a simple cloth as it was expected in every hospital bed. There were no colours or pattern on it. All it was, was a pillow, like hundreds, no, thousands of pillows as they existed on the whole wide world. Perhaps tens of thousands would be a better number.

The pillow was the only thing he could feel, for the rest of his body no longer listened to any command his brain ordered or would have loved to command.

One violent movement, a stab between the last cervical, and the first thoracic vertebra, a precise stab that every physician would have been proud of, if it would have been for a surgical procedure and not to injure someone out of spite, especially if the attacker was someone you trusted.

He never would have thought that this would be his end, being in the prime with his career, bound for the rest of his life to a bed, unable to move anything except his head with great effort. Well, if he was lucky, maybe some hospital bug would put him out of his forced existence of doing nothing and put in involuntary early retirement from his profession.

A renowned Neurosurgeon, damned to this state.

What an absolute disgrace.

There was at least one positive outlook from this, his “dear” colleague who had put him to involuntary bed rest, would for the rest of his life stay in a madhouse.

Eh, he was gaining nothing from it, it wouldn’t magically heal him after all, so maybe that wasn’t so positive as he thought it was.

It was the sound of the doors handle being pressed, that caught his attention, it was either way a nurse with a bedpan, a doctor looking for his wellbeing or-

“Ah, this looks like to be the correct room.”

“Sure, as you have said the last two times.”

“Oh hush.”

A visitor, or rather two given the short exchange of words, whilst the first one, had a more positive sounding voice, the other sounded rather flat, neutral, or perhaps more down to earth, however both of them sounded rather masculine.

“First of all, who are you and second, leave.”

He was not interested to have some company, especially from some people whose voices he couldn’t recognize, he really hoped it where not some journalists, trying to ask him about the accident aka murder attempt on him.

“Looks like we can go.”

“Not so fast, maybe this fella might reconsider his stance when we tell him why we are here.”

“If you say so.”

“I say you move your legs here so I can see you two!”

Not a moment later, two figures were standing in front of his bed, bowing down slightly so that he could see them better. Both wore dark formal suits, as if coming from an opera play or awarding ceremony, with the difference than one wore a green tie, and the other a red one. Their faces where hidden behind masks, the material was or at least looked like porcelain, with one mask having a smile drawn on it, and the other a frown. It was not hard for him to determine whose voice belonged to who anymore.

“So, what do you two want? Are you two a bunch of clowns, ordered to entertain me. If yes, then get lost.”

“Oh no, no and no. We are, representatives, dear Mr. Neurosurgeon, and we got a proposition for you.”

“A chance, to continue with your profession, if you are ready, to pay the price.”

For a moment he said nothing, but then decided to response to those two jesters.

“Gentleman, I am not sure if today is the day where they allow the insane to roam free on the streets. But I am afraid I must burst your bubble of illusion. My body cannot be helped! This is permanent! Now-”

“Who was saying we talked about your body?”

That question, got him and his attention, even if they where probably messing with him, he could at least listen to their crazy offer before screaming for someone to throw them out of the hospital.

“Continue.”

“Thank you for allowing us to explain. See, the institution we represent believes that it would be a waste, a shame, an absolute injustice If such a grand mind like yours, would go to waste.”

“We have searched and collected the experience and knowledge of a thousand Doctors and a thousand more Surgeons, for the purpose in creating a machine that can utilize this knowledge.”

“A robotic surgeon to be specific, who is able to work independently, without the supervision of anyone.”

Pah, that was never going to work, what the heck where they even talking about, robotics, robots, where merely some gimmicks some inventors made because they had too much free time, or who appeared in those dreaded sci-fi comics or films!

“I admit that I don’t know much about Robots, but even I know that this is insanity you are speaking. And even if, who would control this “Surgeon robot” of yours, a computer, as far as I am aware gentleman, those still fill a whole room, sometimes a whole building, and your computer would need a telephone to fit in a construct, that would be mobile enough to conduct surgery. No computer can replace a mind like ours!”

“A great statement, and good proof that your head has not been injured due of the unfortunate events that have happened towards you Mr.Neurosurgeon”

“That’s not my-“

The one with the smiling face was taking out a piece of blue paper from their suit, as they unfolded it he could see the blueprint for a machine, that despite its angular appearance, looked a bit similar to a person, in the corner was a description

“Prototype: Independent robotic Surgeon MK V”

“You stand correct, a computer as you know it would not be sufficient. However, what if we told you, it would not be a programmed intelligence that would apply all the knowledge and memories we have collected, but rather, a biological one, mirrored into a machine, a system, compact enough to be put into a robot surgeon.”

“My colleague is correct. Unfortunately, we have yet not found a participant in the procedure, to be the mind, the link, the, if I may say, face and voice of the construct we intend to create. The other doctors and surgeons where willing to offer their memories, knowledge, and expertise, but were not interested to be put inside a machine.”

“And so you come to me, who is bedbound for the rest of his life, if they would like to participate in an experiment, that could give them the opportunity to preform surgeries again, or the attempt might kill me.”

“No Sir, we have run the tests and simulations, there should be nothing to fear.”

“Probably.”

“Yes, so, what do you say to our offer, Mr.Neurosurgeon?”

The other one, with the frowning looking mask was now taking the turn, revealing a paper that appeared to be a contract, putting it in front of his face, he began to read.

He had to think, those two, there was neither anything trustworthy, but also not untrustworthy on them, if that was their plan, if they could make it work. All the doctors told him the truth; he would never move again. Which meant he would be wasting away in bed, forced to an existence of doing nothing and being a burden! It was there, in his mind, a voice that told him, that even if this was outright careless, he should, no he must take that opportunity.

“Do you have a pen?”

“Uhm yes wh-“

“Put it in my mouth.”

“I beg you pardon.”

“Put the end of the pen in my mouth and show me where to sign boy!”

As he commanded one of them put the pen into his mouth, whilst the other held the contract firmly in their hands, both waited patiently as he signed the contract.”

“Give me one week to put my affairs in order, then I’m ready.”

“Ah, wonderful. Don’t worry, you won’t regret it, you can always decline if you want.”

“Interesting decision. We will prepare for you to be extracted from this facility; in a week we will come for you.”

As they both began to remove themself from his view, his mind worked, his mouth near silently repeating.

“The minds of a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons…fascinating.”

<…>

“Uhm, Surgeon, sir, are you still here?”

“Ah, yes, yes, I was lost in some thoughts.”

“I was asking-“

“I know Owens…I think it is the best, if some parts of my past remain as they are, hidden, and perhaps, forgotten by the public, honestly, I see no reason why to reveal who the part of me is, that does mostly the talking and thinking. It’s the best, to be, just a Surgeon.”

“Hmm, there is one more thing I would like to know. About you, joining the Wrath.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you join the Wrath, I mean, it was your personal decision, right?”

Ah, that one caught him off guard to be honest, it had been so long since someone had asked him that. Yet, there was also something, uplifting in getting asked that.

“I have to say Blaise, you are the first person who has asked me this, in a long, long time.”

<…>

They may have shaped him, they may have given him this chance and they made him to the construct he is now, but he always knew that it would be his decision, what to do after all the tests, and experiments to see how well they built him, would be finished, it took them long enough. All the considerations have led him to this place, this base, that was still under construction.

At least, the gate looked nice, it even had an intercom.

It still felt somewhat strange, to move what were basically his hands now, metal claws, that functioned precise and without any time delay. By all means, such technology shouldn’t have existed when they put him in charge of this body, but well, here he was, pressing the button.

For a while there was static before a voice emerged.

“Yes?”

“Greetings I-“

“-we don’t want anything, so go sell your products somewhere else.”

“- you seem mistaken, I am Mr…a medical professional who would like to offer his services to this organization.”

When he released the button he waited for a response, but there was nothing, well, maybe if Plan B would work.”

“I also work for free, all I need is just an office, a surgical room, a power so-“

Before he could finish the rest of his sentence, the gate in front of him opened with a large metallic sound, a part of the voices with who he shared this robotic body, advised him to take cover, or to run, but he stayed there, awaiting whatever was to come for him. His white coat fluttered a bit because of the wind, all he had with him was a medium-sized suitcase with a few belongings and tools. He had thought about it for days and concluded that this was the right decision to make.

The gate was now open, and he waited, when suddenly he could hear, at first faint, then closer, footsteps from three different people. Two, that where clearly guards or soldiers, keeping their rifles locked and loaded, but he ignored them, for his whole attention was directed at the one in the middle.

A lion, taller than anyone he had seen before, the fur, so bright, shining in the light of the evening sun, and the mane, it appeared to glitter, similar to a strong and illuminating wildfire. The eyes of the man, it felt like as if they stared into his processor, with their strong shade of green, like emeralds or jade perhaps, maybe even stronger.

“I see, it is you want to join into our ranks? Then tell me, why should I let you in? What can you offer to me robot?”

For a moment he did not dare to say anything, that charisma he radiated, and that voice, every A-list celebrity would feel jealous. His uniform with its shoulder pats and purple cape, only solidify his status, that yes, this was the Commander he had heard about.

“Because, commander Rojas, I am a surgeon, with the expertise of a thousand doctors, and even a thousand more surgeons. Who would like to offer his services to aid you.”

He pressed one of his arms close to his chest, before giving a respectful bow to the commander, he would have loved to kneel down, but wasn’t sure if he would be able to get up again.

At the edges of his sensors that made him see, he could see how a pleased smile was appearing on the Commanders face.

“You have heard about me, good. Tell me, tell me one last thing before I make my decision, why do you want to joint me?”

He straightened himself up, looking directly into the face of the lion, who awaited, no, expected him to answer.

“Why? Because commander Rojas, I believe your faction, your group, your military is the key, the only way, to unite this world to one, sir. The Wrath must rule, and I will support this cause, forever.”

<…>

“Forever…”

He repeated, yet, unlike in his memories, this time it sounded hoarse and uncertain, more like a question, than a statement.

Standing up from the chair, he saw how Blaise Owens still scribbled some words on the notepad, should he take it, destroy it, maybe even k-

No, all the voices agreed, this was history, it all happened, no need to hide the truth.

“We’re finished here.”

Walking to the door, they had it already open, when looking back one last time to the cat.

“I hope you got what you need, I hope General Cottontail got his answers.”

Shock and surprise, he could hear it clearly in their voice, breathing sharply from being caught.

“What? How? When?”

Coughing from the sudden revelation, the Surgeon used the opportunity, letting out a static laugh, that washed up war journalist wasn’t bad, but he was better.

“Oh Blaise, do I have to remind you, a thousand doctors, and a thousand more surgeons in my head. I knew from the very beginning, that you were doing a favour for the General.”

He could inform the Commander, that certainly would be interesting to see if Blaise and the General would get punished.

No, he decided against it, the journalists company was, appreciated.

Whatever would happen with all the information, it did not matter to him, he had to prepare himself and the operation room.

There was always work to do now that he was back online.

[loonybun]

Surgical whump prompts!

(req by @i-eat-worlds)

warning some of these will not be medically accurate or possible without an immortal whumpee so ignore that 💖 also sort of more intense gore stuff/me going on several tangents about my favorite pieces of unethical medical history. specific warnings for lobotomies, manipulation, infection, and dismemberment.

- i’ve kind of loved the idea of implanting something silver underneath the skin of a creature that’s weak to it. Every movement causes it to shift and itch and burn even after the skin has healed over

- amputation :) one too many escape attempts? why not make that a little harder? nab a limb every time they try running off. Maybe just start with the fingers or toes and work your way up from there.

- you know what i see a surprising lack of in whump? lobotomies. seriously where are the lobotomies. the lobotomies with long term effects. the lobotomies which a magical regenerative or immortal whumpee could recover from but leaves them scarred for life. In case you’re unaware of what lobotomies actually do to the brain, they essentially shut off your ability to think for yourself. You may still be responsive and you can still follow instructions, but they have to be very specific and step-by-step. (specifically referencing transorbital. there are different kinds with different ranges of damage potential but the transorbital is the most well known. fun fact the guy who invented the transorbital lobotomy rode around in a car he called the lobotomobile. you can’t make this shit up.)

- my love for victorian medical practices is seeping in here but perform a surgery with dull and dirty tools! The crusted blood on the scalpel adds to the effect. Bonus points if it causes a nasty infection

- Circling back to lobotomy-adjacent stuff, have your whumper fuck around with removing non-essential parts of the brain. Get an H.M. situation where you remove their ability to move short-term memories to their long-term bank. Maybe remove the amygdala, too. Or parts of the cerebellum so that they’re all uncoordinated. Not sure just how effective that would be though since I’m pretty sure the cerebellum controls other stuff too.

- leather straps securing them to the table. must i say more.

- also seriously implant devices into them. explosives, a little thing that releases drugs, something that taps into their nerves, etc…

- organ harvesting. classic but hey. i’m a simple man.

- maybe the whumper is a respected surgeon. whumpee goes to whumper for help with a rare medical condition that could maybe be solved through surgery, and instead of immediately helping them whumper keeps them to document their condition, subjecting them to various treatments and vivisections in order to find some way to “help” them. whumpee case studies, folks!

- sorry this is absolutely me sneaking my personal favorite tropes into this post but please dismember your whumpees n put them back together ball jointed doll style. surprise you can’t move on your own anymore but you can still hold a pose! loser.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories: Not the Same

Yandere Surgeon x Ex-Fiancée Fem Reader

TW: medical malpractice, horror, obsession, yanderre themes, unhealthy behaviors, blood, gore, murder, etc.

A loud, frustrated scream ripped through Darius’s throat before various surgical instruments clattered to the floor. This experiment had been yet another failure…

“You’re supposed to sweetly ask me how my day is!” Darius screamed at his patient who held their arms over their head in a fetal position.

“I-I didn’t know-“ The patient screamed when Darius stomped his foot into their back side over the fresh incisions. Loud, pained wails left the patient’s throat as they crumbled to the floor. Apologies bubbled through their throat.

“She would have never made such a mistake…” Darius sighed as he turned to his scalpel. That’s right, his darling fiancée would have gave him a big smile and rushed into his arms… she’d never be so uncouth.

Darius grasped a scalpel from off the floor, his gray eyes reflected off the shiny surface. There was only one way to fix such a grave mistake he’s made…

Darius swung his fist into the patient, the scalpel now deeply imbedded into their eye socket. One last, pathetic wail left their lips before they laid in a pool of their own blood on the once pristine floor in a grotesque halo.

Darius rubbed the small bit of blood that splattered on his face with disgust. This wasn’t the same… it wasn’t her. This failure of an experiment could never compare to his perfect fiancée… his (your name).

“I wonder when you’ll come back to me…” Darius softly whispered to himself, his eyes studied the pool of blood in disinterest. “How many more of your little dates do I have to mutilate and dispose of until you become mine again?”

Darius thought for a moment before he studied the corpse’s ears in interest. Maybe he should send his beloved a little present? That should get the ball rolling.

Darius yanked the scalpel out of the patient’s eye before he sucked in a breath. This was all for her own good… he’d make her see that he was the best choice. By force.

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pairing: Yandere!Ieiri Shoko x Reader (JJK).

Runtime: 3.2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con (False Pretenses), Mentions of Pregnancy, Cheating (Reader is in an Established Relationship With Gojo), Fingering, Medical Malpractice, Manipulation, and Overstimulation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

The examination table was cold as ice against your back.

She’d been nice enough to put down a sheet of sterilizing parchment, but not much more. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as you waited, too nervous to check your phone and risk seeing the newest addition to Satoru’s never-ending barrage of texts, too obedient to do anything other than stay where you were and stare blankly at the chipped, white tiles of her ceiling. That was what she told you to do – or, at least, what you thought she’d told you to do. It’d been difficult to understand her through her surgical mask, only pulled down slightly to accommodate the cigarette she was holding up to her lips, and come to think if it, she might’ve just meant to wait near the table, not strictly on—

The door opened, creating a break in the silence just long enough for you to pull yourself back together, and you bolted upright before your thoughts could start to slip, again – the stiff parchment crackling in protest underneath you. Your eyes found Shoko just as she slipped inside, letting the door fall shut on its own behind her.

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Shoko had always been your favorite. There was obviously the gender bias (you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t have gravitated towards any woman in Satoru’s overall civil, but absolutely male-dominated social sphere), but even if that hadn’t been the case, you liked to think that you would’ve gotten along with Shoko, regardless. She was always so calm, always so level-headed, rarely smiling but slow to lose her temper, too. Being around her made you feel a little less like the awkward, oblivious non-sorcerer who’d stumbled into a world you still didn’t completely understand and a little more like someone who knew what they’d gotten into and who to rely on, when your own limited abilities fell short. You trusted Shoko, even if you’d only talked to her alone a handful of times. If you didn’t, you never would’ve come to her for something like this.

She stopped at the nearest counter, retrieving a pair of latex gloves from a nearly empty container, before coming to stand next to your table. You knew she’d been smoking, but the heavy scent of disinfect and rubbing alcohol smothered any traces of lingering smoke there might’ve been. You were thankful. You’d been sick with nerves for the better part of the past week, and you didn’t need another reason to feel like you were on the verge of throwing up.

(In the back of your skull, something cruel and vile whispered that there might be another explanation for your sudden bouts of nausea – something less ignorable than pure, ungrounded anxiety. You drowned it out before it could reach your conscious mind.)

Shoko broke the silence without prompting. You were grateful for that, too – you really didn’t have the courage to speak up first. “So,” she started, leaning on the edge of your metal slab. “You wanted to see me because of a… late period?”

Her mask hid most her expression, but you could make out the faint hint of a chuckle underneath her bedside manner. Your eyes fell into your lap. “A missed period,” you corrected. “I haven’t gotten it this month, either.”

She hummed, but didn’t respond. You sighed. Shoko was grounded, but she wasn’t kind. You should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy for you.

“I’m worried I might be pregnant.”

To her credit, if she was surprised, it was impossible to tell. “Have you been taking your birth control?”

“Yeah, obviously, but I’m terrible about remembering condoms and Satoru never manages to pull out.” It felt strange to describe your sex life to your boyfriend’s closest friend, but you soldiered on. She was a medical professional, a doctor. Your preferred methods of protection (or lack thereof) couldn’t have been the worst thing she’d heard that day. “I’ve already taken a test, but I just want to make sure. Cursed energy is already so complicated, and I know Satoru exceeds a lot of expectations. I don’t know if he, like, has—”

This time, she cut you off with an airy, but blatant laugh. “You think he’s got magic sperm?”

“He fights invisible monsters and teleports,” you snapped, your anxiety turning into irritation in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think ‘magic sperm’ is that unrealistic!”

For a moment, she seemed to regard you – her dark eyes boring into your wrinkled clothes, your disheveled hair, the bags under your eyes nearly deep enough to match her own. Even if she didn’t understand why you were worried, she’d have to recognize that you were, in fact, worried. And, if she really was your friend, she’d at least offer to help.

You held your breath until finally, she cracked, straightening her back with and audible sigh. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you go to a standard obstetrician about this?”

“Because you’re the best doctor I know and I’d trust you with my life?”

“Try again.”

“Because I can’t afford the co-pay and if I use Satoru’s card, he’ll find out.” You deflated after finishing, crossing your arms over your chest. “I… I really just want to know. If it turns out I did have a reason to worry, I’ll figure out what to do next, but—” This time, your voice cut out all on its own. You forced yourself to swallow before going on. “I just want to know, first. Satoru doesn’t have to be involved.”

It was an awful position to put her in, you knew. For as much as you trusted her, she’d known Satoru for years. She had every right to go to him about this, even if you really, really wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t owe you anything, much less her help. Much less her silence.

But there was a reason you trusted Shoko, that you felt as unreasonable close to her as you did. Above her mask, you saw her eyes soften before they flickered away from you, landing on the counter she’d already visited. “Lay down and take off what you need to,” she said, her gruff professionalism back in full force. “It might not be conclusive, but the most I can do is a physical examination. It’s not much, but if you don’t trust a real test, it’s the best thing I can offer you.”

You couldn’t help yourself – nearly falling off the table as you pulled her into a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug. “Ieiri, you’re the best,” you nearly shouted, your voice bouncing off the blank walls of her office. You moved to thank her again, and again, and again, but she pried you off of her before you had the chance, muttering a curt ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away to make her preparations and escape your unwanted gratitude. You managed to stop yourself from chasing after her, and yet, you were still smiling as you settled back onto the table.

Still, embarrassment quickly dampened the brighter edges of your relief as Shoko glanced over her shoulder. “Are you comfortable with undressing here, or would you rather leave the room?”

You blanched, and Shoko was kind enough not to laugh before going on. “You did know you were basically coming to be for a gynecological exam, right?”

“I mean, yes, but—” You hadn’t, but then again, you weren’t sure what else you’d expected. This made sense, even if it was leagues beyond anything you thought to brace yourself for. If Shoko thought it would help, then it’d help. “Do I get a gown, or…?”

Her eyes fell to your skirt, long enough to fall just an inch or so above your knee. “That won’t be necessary. Take off your panties and lay down – I’ll be over in a second.”

Your face burnt, but you nodded, and she turned away. Biting your inner cheek, you swung your legs over the side of the table and kicked off your shoes. Shoko pretended to be preoccupied while you shrugged your panties down your legs and, with no other option, stuffed them into the pocket of your jacket. It was awkward – lying down and spreading your legs with Shoko less than a full ten feet away. It was one thing to ask your acquaintance for medical advice, and another to let your boyfriend’s friend act as your pro-bono gynecologist.

You heard a few tools clatter onto a metal tray, the padded feet of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, and wordlessly, Shoko positioned herself at the foot of the examination table. “This should only take a few minutes,” she said, as her gloved fingers skirted along the inside of your knee, then your thigh, before reaching your pussy. Your labia, you corrected, internally. If she could be a professional about this, so could you. “Let me know if you feel any pain.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes focused intently on the ceiling above you. Even if you had looked down, your skirt would’ve blocked most of your view, which was how you preferred it. You couldn’t see Shoko, and hopefully, she couldn’t see the way you flinched as she spread a cold, pricking sort of lubricant over your entrance, as she eased two fingers into your otherwise dry cunt. You’d assumed she would use a tool, but then again, you couldn’t imagine what kind. And besides, you really shouldn’t have been questioning a doctor.

Shoko’s voice was gruff, distracted. “How’s that?”

“F-Fine,” you squeaked. “Please, do whatever you need to.”

“Satoru’s got you that worn down, huh?” She let out a breath of a laugh, but leaned in, easing her digits into until she was knuckle deep. Her fingers were thin, but long and graceful in a way that made them difficult to ignore when paired with the strange tactility of her gloves. Her free hand curled around your ankle, as if to hold you in place. “I’m going start the test. It might feel a little strange, so try not to move.”

She gave you a moment to brace yourself before spreading her fingers apart, inadvertently pressing against the sensitive walls of your pussy. On reflex, you snapped your thighs shut, but Shoko caught you by the knee before you could attempt to break her arm. “Easy there.” And then, as her thumb pushed slow circles into your skin, “Think you can hold these open for me?”

You didn’t try to say anything, but with more than a little effort, you spread your legs – planting your feet more firmly on either corner of the table. “Thatta girl,” Shoko muttered, seemingly more used to comforting scared pets than nervous patients. “Remember – we’re here because you wanted to be. If you want to back out, just say the word.”

You shook your head furiously, instinctually. You’d never do that to Shoko, and she seemed to know that – not waiting for verbal confirmation before starting to move. She seemed to need to stretch you open, judging by the repetitive, scissor-like motions of her fingers, the way she huffed in irritation as she slipped yet another digit inside of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but it would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from heating up, from squirming, from dampening around her in a way that you couldn’t entirely separate from arousal. You kept your hips still and dug your teeth into your bottom lip with enough force to break the skin (you would’ve rather died than moaned during a medical exam), but your cunt wasn’t as easily reigned in. It wasn’t long before a sickeningly slick clicking-type noise accompanied every little movement of her fingers. Hopefully, she’d just assume she’d used more lube than she’d meant to. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself, if she didn’t.

“Like I said – it’s a quick procedure, not a comfortable one. Most patients have a difficult time staying still.” It was humiliating – how steady her voice was while you were falling apart, fighting just to keep yourself from bucking into a medical professional’s hand. It took everything you had not to whimper when the scissoring slowed, then stopped altogether, only to be immediately replaced by the awful, terrible, embarrassingly wonderful feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, grinding against the most vulnerable part of your cunt. “It’s important to be thorough, though. I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.”

She couldn’t have done it on purpose. Nothing about this could’ve ever been intentional, and yet, when her wrist slipped, the heel of her palm seemed to land perfectly onto your neglected clit. It wasn’t much, just the hint of stimulation, but it was enough for you to seize-up – your nails scrambling helplessly over smooth titanium as you came, silently, around her fingers. Shoko, ever the professional, didn’t so much as slow down.

She only hummed, keeping her hand where it was – her palm now grinding broad, harsh patterns into your clit. “Are you usually this easily stimulated?”

You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to choke out was a single, jagged whimper. Shoko clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased that in a way you’d understand.” And then, as she spread her fingers apart cruelly, “Do you normally cum in less than a minute with Satoru?”

This time, a strangled cry was as much of an answer as you could’ve possibly given. You weren’t sure why she was asking, but… this wasn’t normal for you, was it? And now that she mentioned it, you did feel more stimulated than you should’ve during anything remotely medical. Your skin felt hotter, more sensitive where it’d come into contact with her lubricant, and it was getting hard to think, hard to justify not grinding into her hand as she curled and twisted her fingers inside of you. God. You knew you’d been a wreck, lately, but you never would’ve thought that it gotten this bad.

The nails of Shoko’s free hand bit into your ankle, and too strung-out to stop yourself, you let out a whine by way of protest. She chuckled, and suddenly, you were empty, left bucking your hips into vacant air as she drew back. “Poor thing,” she muttered, her sympathy tinged with a sardonic sort of condescension. “I’ve got one last test. Think you can bear with me?”

“Ye—Yes,” you chirped. At that point, it was meaningless – you would’ve agreed to anything so long as she was the one suggesting it. You’d shut your eyes at some point, but you could still hear Shoko’s footsteps, feel her standing above you as she positioned herself at your side. One gloved hand cupped your cheek while the other pressed something blunt and thick against your cunt and, with no warning other than a mumbled reminder to ‘breathe, pretty girl, breathe’, thrust it inside of you.

Her reminder, sadly, proved useless. The air hitched in your lungs as a ribbed shaft filled your overeager pussy, the object curved in a way that made it feel like it was pressing into every fucking part of you at the exact same fucking time. Your hands shot to Shoko’s wrist, searching for something more forgiving than cold metal to ground yourself with. You tried to pull yourself together, and you might’ve been able to if two distinct, silicone-wrapped prongs hadn’t slotted against your clit or, even more damningly, if whatever tool Shoko was using hadn’t started to shake.

Saying you came embarrassingly quickly would’ve been an understatement. There was no pretense of dignity, this time; just grit teeth and twitching legs and one long, miserable sob. Shoko nursed you through it, rocking her vibrating tool inside of you gently until your climax had died into total limpness and the occasional, unsteady gasp. The tool was drawn back, but Shoko’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing patterns into your cheek. “Such a good girl,” she mumbled, and you melted into her touch. “Feeling a little tired?”

It was sickeningly guilt-inducing, just how nice she was being to you after you’d done nothing but humiliate yourself in front of her. “A little,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Shoko smiled back. You couldn’t remember when she’d taken off her mask.

“Close your eyes and catch your breath. I’ll finish up while you get a little rest.”

It was all you could do to nod before slumping into yourself, your body going slack despite your best attempts to hold yourself up. Her reassurance was nice, but unnecessary.

In less than a full second, you were out like a light.

~

In Shoko’s defense, she did actually take the time to check. After you passed out, as delicate as Satoru had always bragged you were, she tested the blood sample taken prior to your “exam”. It took a total of three minutes, and left her with good news and bad news to deliver when you woke up.

The good news was, predictably, that you’d been right. You were pregnant. About a month along, in fact. Congratulations, mazel tov, etc.

The bad news was, of course, that you were pregnant, and that Satoru had finally managed to knock you up. Thoughts and prayers, get well soon, etc.

 From her make-shift desk on the far side of the room, she spared a glance to where you were still sleeping on her autopsy table. You’d rolled onto your side since she last checked on you, your pleated shirt bunching at your waist as you used your arms as a rudimentary pillow. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t understand why Satoru had gone so crazy about you so quickly. What you were – an ordinary human with enough cursed energy to see, but not act – was rare, your continuous ability to gloss over the uglier parts of their world in favor of perpetual, delusional optimism even more so. It’d be impressive, if she didn’t know it was going to get you fucked over eventually.

You were cute. It’s surprised her when she first met you in-person, when she first realized that.

It’d surprised her a little less when she realized that you even cuter mumbling gibberish as you came around her fingers.

Her eyes fell back to the phone in her hand. Her messages with Satoru were already open, what she’d been deliberating on telling him already typed out. She sighed, checked the picture she’d taken of you sprawled out on her table, three of her fingers buried in your cunt, and hit send.

[1 attachment]

your girlfriend has something to tell you.

sending a bill for my time btw.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling that Satoru was typing a response, before disappearing just as quickly. He tried calling her a second later, and she muted her phone before tossing it half-heartedly in the nearest drawer and turning back to you. Judging by your durability (or lack thereof), she’d have a few more minutes before you woke up, and another half an hour before the aphrodisiac gel she’d used on you started to wear off. You’d likely want to rush home to Satoru, when you finally got your hard-earned results.

Again, Shoko sighed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’d just be a waste not to have a little fun while she could, right?

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 1 : Red Tainted Walls

Summary for the Stories and chapters going forward :33:

They Found Out... His Parents found out.. And Worst Case Scenario Happened.. Heh— I guess I spooked them too much with my new identity. They opened him up as if he was already dead and Jazz ran to Get Help from Dan. But it hurt so much.. Please Arrive Quickly.. Please save me... Just like before. Or This is a story about how Danny gets De-aged because of Jack and Maddie's doing, Dan and Danny are basically twins but Danny just got De-aged and now Dan needs to be the adult after They killed jazz. Vlad then sends them to Gotham to apparently find their Biological Father. Dan also experiences Teenage Social Anxiety and totally losing his shit about it!

TW : Graphic Depictions of Vivisection, Violence, Child Abuse, Child Murder, possible Descriptions of Gore and Medical Malpractices.

Happy Reading!

[𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲-𝐅𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫]

[𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 21𝚜𝚝, 8:35 𝙰𝙼, 𝙵𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢]

"Dad Please— Listen! It's still me! I'm still Danny! Mom!" Danny cried out as tears roll down his cheeks overflowing from his eyes as he Watches in horror.

"Shut it Ecto-Scum! How dare you use our Precious Son's Body to Deceive us!" Maddie Yelled and continues to point her gun at Danny, Danny was Horrified, He was scared of how they'd reacted, He only wanted to be honest with his parents thinking that maybe... Maybe they'll accept him..

"Mom! Dad! Please! That's still Danny!! Listen to me!!" Jazz cried out in the other side of the room as Jack restrained her, rendering her unable to get close to protect Danny from their Mother.

"Please.. I'm Danny... I'm still your Son..." He sniffled, tears flowing out even more as Maddie looked at him as if he was nothing more than... A monster...

"Shut it! You will pay the price of messing with the Fentons and Deceiving Us!" Maddie grit her teeth and furrowed her brows as she aggresively yanked and dragged Danny who was still sitting on the floor, she was dragging him down to the Laboratory.

Danny cried out to Jazz and Jack, Jazz called back.. "Jazz... Look.. that's not Danny anymore.. Danny is Dead." Jack tries to convince Jazz but Jazz Wasn't budging. "I KNOW MY BROTHER JACK! GIVE HIM BACK!" She cried out sobbing uncontrollably.

Maddie shut the door to the laboratory and Jazz could no longer hear Danny. Neither could Danny Hear her. He kept crying out but then Maddie put a tight collar on his throat and it send waves of electric shocks throughout his body making him scream out in pain.

It reminded him of his death and it made his body spasm the way when he became a Halfa. It terrified him even more, Maddie then forcibly put a Muzzle on him to "keep him quiet" she says. Danny tried to reason with Maddie but everytime he tries to she sends another wave of electrical Shocks through his body and so he just fell silent.

Maddie threw him in a cage like some sort of Injured Monster that needed containment at once.

His tears wouldn't stop flowing, they kept falling and thus he sobbed uncontrollably in the Containment Cell, Danny saw the Ghost Blobs staring at him with worry, they're buzzing with sadness and grief over what's happening to him, his heart aches as he tries to reach for them but couldn't...

His core ached and wrenched at the thought of what Jack and Maddie are about to do to him and it's like he can already see that Maddie was preparing surgical equipment... He felt like an innocent frog Infront of high school students ready to study his Innards..

Jack and Maddie are the Highschoolers. The only difference is he's already dead in the first place... And they can do anything they want with him because of the Laws.

May God be his only hope now.

Ancients Save the Ghost Prince.

[9:00 𝙰𝙼, 𝙰𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔]

The Guys In White/Ghost Investigation Ward has arrived. They have higher advanced technology now, it seems as though when they were gone they were advancing their technology to find ghosts more accurately.

They put the Whole Town in Lockdown claiming that there's people that's Ecto-Contaminated and needed to be terminated before they become a threat...

But..

Those are children.

They've killed nearly everyone, some has already tried to call the Justice League again in desperation but they ignored their pleas thinking that this was a Prank Call.

It was just like before, they kept thinking they were prank calls after A child tried to ask for help because the whole town was sucked into the afterlife.

Jazz ran through the streets evading the Ghost Investigation Ward and heading to Vlad Masters. She needed to tell Dan, Knowing Vlad he won't be able to help because this is probably all Clockwork's Scheme for "Danny's Future Betterment", Jazz couldn't stop the tears forming from her eyes as she kept running.

The GIW has already terminated the children in cold blood.

Some younger than 10. Some teens. And 2 of those teens were Sam Manson, one of Danny's best friends as they have concluded that because of how long they've been around Danny that Danny had contaminated them and that they're no longer safe for everyone around them and themselves as well.

The Mansons tried to stop The GIW from shooting their beloved daughter but the GIW unfairly concluded that they were being overshadowed by their daughter thus they killed the Mansons in Cold Blood.

How unfair must this world be that even the so called Justice League wouldn't even hear their calls of help. They needed help from the heroes but it seems they're always too focused on other Matters... And that the safety of some Somewhere Middle of Nowhere Illinois Amity Park was not deemed "important" enough to be saved. It made Jazz's Heart Clench at the thought of how Danny was right.

The heroes didn't care. She kept running nontheless through the crowd of horrified people trying to stop the GIW from killing more of the Amity Parkers.

Eventually she reached Vlad's Mansion, she busted in through the door taking Dan Aback. "Jazz? Why are you crying? What's happening?" Dan asks immediately and getting closer to Jazz as soon as he saw her.

"Jasmine? Is everything alright dear?" Vlad asks as well in worry. Upon seeing them Jazz just Broke Down in overwhelming tears, "Oh G-god.... Hic.. they have Danny Vlad!" She utters as Vlad tries to put his hands on her shoulders trying to console her... "who has Danny? The GIW?" Vlad asks and hugs Jasmine who couldn't stop crying.

"Jack and Maddie! Jack and Maddie has Jack has Danny Vlad! They have my baby brother! My precious baby brother! They said they're going to o-pen him up! And that they'll torture him if he doesn't bring back Danny they say but that's already Danny and they won't listen, they said I must have been under control— and—AND THEY HAVE MY BABY BROTHER!" She yelled out sputtering words of panic as her breathing quickens and Vlad shushing her calming her down first before she has a panic attack.

"The Guys In White... They've killed people Vlad. Innocent People. They've claimed they're Ecto-Contaminated! And— and— Danny's friends are dead... Only a few aren't... Well I guess they're more of bullies than friends except Wes I guess but—" Jazz still sputtering words in a panic. "Jasmine! Dear.... Calm down alright?" Vlad calms her down and she slowly breathes slower in a normal pace before wiping away her unstoppable tears.

"What..." Vlad was flabbergasted and horrified to say the least and Dan looked Livid. "Please... Please Vlad... Help me... Help Danny.. P-Please..." She sobs in Vlad's Arms. "Okay... Okay okay— i— I will help." Vlad says stuttering and looked at Dan. "Dante... Will help...." Vlad says again and Dan just nods.

Jazz nods and embraced Vlad tightly, Vlad was distraught. Maddie? His Maddie? What... His Maddie had— she had... She wanted... She wanted to kill her son? Her precious son? Daniel? Danny? What...

His core ached in pain and suppressing these emotions of horror and Fear inside him that's slowly stirring up anger. Slowly his.. Obsession towards Maddie weakened because of this realization that she is more of a monster than him.

[3 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝]

"I'm sorry I can't... Come with you two..." Vlad says his core aching in regret. "It's alright Vlad... Please... We both know that... That their work.. their weapons will immediately turn on you even if you are their friend... Dan can atleast hide his.... Ecto-stuff somehow... But not you.. thank you nontheless..." Jazz says, her eyes with a soft gentle gaze as Vlad nodded, Ellie was by Vlad's Feet and smiling happily at Jazz and Dan.

"I'll be going with Jazz Now Vlad. I'll see you later once we get Danny." Dante reassures Vlad which made Vlad sigh and nodded in silence again. Jazz and Dante walked off into back into the main city of Amity Park. What they saw was heartbreaking..

Those who were killed were left on the park itself and the people of the town is burying them In tears... Why must they suffer like this? Why the children? Why? Dan asks himself, He knows.. he's killed... But... That's something else because he was under control sort but these..

These humans, they killed their kind in cold blood just because they were slightly different. "Danny?" The two hears a saddened female voice behind them. "It's Dante. Not Danny." Dante looked Back behind him. "Dash Baxter... You survived huh.." Dante says bluntly with a cold tone.

"Yeah I guess... Where's... Where's Danny?" Dash asks nervously and averted his gaze.. "They Killed... Uhm... Kwan... Star barely survived... Paulina is not fine tho..." Dash says following the two." Dante pulls him closer and hugs him to comfort the poor teenager. Dash just broke down, "They... They killed my friends... I—..." He sobbed, his jacket was still tainted with blood from his friend Kwan.

"I know... I'm sorry... Look... Danny is in danger.... Do you think you can help us?" Dante asks and Dash nodded.. "yk what... I'm tired of... Being me... So... I will help... That's the only thing I can do." Dash nods and the three ran towards Fenton works but as they do so they encounter Valerie Gray, Red Huntress.

"Where's Phantom." She asks bluntly without greetings, her voice hoarse and Rough presumably from crying. "Fenton Laboratory... They Have Danny." Jazz says and walks past her.

"Let me come with you .. I want to Save him too." Val says from behind Jazz. "Do what you want to do Valerie... The longer we pause the longer he suffers. Valerie nods and ran with them with her board.

[𝙵𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 , 6:35 𝙿𝙼]

Dash tackled open the door, "God that's one tough door you have—" he says as he pats his numbing shoulder. And they all went inside, "I'll get the metal Door." Dante says and slams it open with force.

They saw Danny in ghost form strapped on the table bleeding out unconscious. "oh my god.." dash looked away unable to look at what the Fenton's did to Danny.

They weren't home which was good but also bad at the same time as that meant they're probably somewhere with the GIW. Valerie and Jazz rushed to Danny's Side. Dante found a stitch. "Let me." Dante says as Valerie kept Danny pumped to a new bag of Pure Ectoplasm as Dante quickly stitched his Wounds with Ecto Fishing Lines. Although a bit rough to the sides he didn't care right now. What we cares about is Danny's Livelihood.

Dante was holding back his tears and Valeria Checked the Collar on Danny's neck. "I can take off the muzzle but I don't know about the collar..." She says "take off the Muzzle.. Quickly Val..." Jazz says as she held onto the IV bag of Pure Ectoplasm that's keeping Danny Alive.

Dash was guarding by the door of the basement making sure the Fenton's aren't home yet. He was scared, nervous even, regretful as well.. Amity Park is no longer a safe place to live. It's no longer a home.

Val quickly removed the Collar with Utmost Care and Tossed it away, She Frantically looked at Dan who was finishing up the last stitches.

"... Done. Let's scram!" Dante carried Danny gently and Ran up the stairs and Dash followed the 3, running out the door and into the street far from FentonWorks they hope. "Oh my Danny... Finally... We're finally getting Danny out.... Finally he's Saf—" they heard a gunshot and Jazz Fell to the ground. The other 3 froze. "JAS—" Valerie pushed Dash away and he barely dodged another Bullet.

They saw the Fenton's and GIW Behind them. Dash was terrified but Urged Dante to keep running. "JASMINE!" Valerie yelled out as she shielded herself from the gunshots.

"Go.... Just....G-go... Please... Keep Danny sa—" she was shot another time and this time it hit her head. She bled out on the side walk and Valerie was in utter shock, the Fenton's just killed their daughter... Oh my god... Her heart was racing and she flew away with her board and shield still covering her.

Dante had made themselves Invisible and Running into the Forest. Valerie had a tracker on them to make sure he can keep up on them. Why must them, children be the only logical people in this town. Why must the adults be the one to be the monsters... Valerie did not know... But at the moment she couldn't care. What cared for more is what's gonna happen in the future.

What will be the future for them?

"𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕋𝕖𝕝𝕝"

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

Do you have any kinks that you like to write about? Any that you don't like?

Ooh. Anon that’s a wonderful question.

Many of my kinks don’t get brought up when it comes to my requests, and generally I feel like my audience wouldn’t prefer the way I go about portraying characters when I write them.

There’s a lot, a lot more dark then the rest be ready.

Tw: Discussion of kinks further on, dark themes.

Like: Bondage (light and heavy), body worship, oral, yandere, impact, pegging, sounding, roleplay, breath and temp play, dom/sub, light marking.Heavy verbal degradation, sensory deprivation. Cucking, voyerism, threesomes, Medical malpractice adj. (Ie. Inappropriate use of medication, medical equipment, or medical profession.) Body mods, robotics, monsters. Water sports, spit, Heavy physical violence, Heavy knife play, Burning, Marking (permanent), CNC, Dubious consent, NonConsent. Mindbreak, Captivity. Primal, aphrodisiacs, Blood, blood consumption and other gore. Amputation. Anything relating to Catholic trauma.

Refuses; Forced detransition, sissification, sensual genital mutilation, general filth, puss, dirt, necrophillia, beastiality, gang, feet, socks.

When it comes to my lighter works I don’t like to include kinks so much as experience. Light bondage maybe, as more of a trust factor in these.

I get requests for softer things sometimes, and it does give me a chance to write fluffier work surrounding the characters. Many of the people I like are older men, so softer works give me an opportunity to write about their body. And their age. A huge component in these is body worship. I feel like it’s a component focused primarily on the reader most times, when in fan fiction not directed at cannon characters.

In short meaning I like to draw focus away from the readers body so they can feel attracted to the characters in the story. A lot of that is told through foreplay. I personally like oral in these cases, as I feel it adds a need of tact to an act otherwise kinda messy, lol.

In my darker works I feel a bit more liberties but I try and keep it more tame for my audience. When I want to go dark I want to make it really dark but I’m afraid I might accidentally trigger someone in my work, even unintentionally. A lot of dialogue in my darker yandere fics are based of my own and my close friends experiences, and it’s realistic. But it’s also a release of trauma and anxiety related.

Many of my kinks on this end are kind of embarrassing so please-please don’t judge me too harshly. I’m gonna go from most ‘acceptable’ to lesser. I just feel like thats a good way to go about it.

Heavy bondage, light impact, pegging, and roleplay. I like these generally, they’re on the lighter end and generally will have a softer underlying tone coming from me. Spattered about will be bits of humor and a less heavy tone.

Breath, temperature, dom/sub, light scratching, marking as in hickies. I like these, they’re pretty base but they’re good for setting the mood in stories.

I feel bad because I’m blanking on what’s more socially acceptable or not so I’m going to move onto ones I’ve been side eyed for liking to write.

Heavier verbal degradation: I enjoy this specifically in context. Usually it’s for a darker or more yandere story and plays into another element which I’ll go into more context over later.

Sounding: Like the idea of a hole that’s ‘not supposed to be used’ being used. Really enjoy that.

This one’s specific and I don’t know the name for it, so I’ll explain but I think it goes hand n hand with my medical kink.

Person a) dommed by person b. Person b) Out of control given some sort of control mech by person c. Person c) initiated it all so they could record findings.

Medical kink, needles, surgical play, medical malpractice but sexy?? Gaslighting kinda. I’m scared of the doctors but fear can be a huge motivator and I feel the sterile atmosphere of a hospital or the creepy attitudes of a doctor can set a great mood.

Body mods, robotic parts, things not considered human on a human being, plays into monsterfucking.

God I’m going to get killed for this.

Piss. Piss and spit, I find them hot, but a lot of people don’t so I never get the chance.

Physical violence to the point of pain.

Deep stabs, cuts, burns, or marking.

CNC, Dubious consent, NonConsent

Mind break, gaslighting. Heavy bondage and captivity. Again yandere themes and heavy subject matter, a lot of which has to do with subdoing the s/o of the yandere.

Primal, this one allows me to run and convey the fear I have without actually being in danger!

Drugs and aphrodisiacs.

Blood, and other gore. I don’t know what fucked me up in such a capacity to like this. I’ve never actually done this and don’t plan to.

Blood sucking came from vampires but as I grew out of vampirism It grew from there, and now I have a much worse kink that people will certainly judge me for.

Amputation, especially when it’s not needed and as a form of possession. It sends shivers down my spine. The pain plays a heavy role. It’s also about writing dacryphillia.

A lot a lot a lot of religious trauma went into my preist kink. Think of anything that can be related to blasphemy and I most likely want to fuck with it.

I don’t like forced detransiton, or other things about gender such as sissification as a trans man. Generally it makes me cry trying to write it so I just don’t.

Anything dealing with dirt, puss, other insertion I can’t deal. Genital mutilation, scat and farting are off the table.

Scent kinks are ok so long as the above aren’t mentioned.

Nothing to do with feet or socks or relating to feet or socks I will cry my eyes out.

I don’t Like Gang scenes because they’re hard. I refuse to write necrophillia or Beastiality.

Thank your for asking ive left a tldr at the top.

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

My Gender-Affirming Hysterectomy Journey

��️❗️❗️Tldr: I wanted to write about my experience and feelings on getting a hysterectomy for both gender affirming reasons and as a medical emergency. There is a tw for suicidal ideation and organ photos are at the bottom. This does not cover everything in my journey of course, and I may write more on my experiences sometime. But this was just a very emotional write-up for me during my recovery s few days ago. ❗️❗️❗️

The lifelong journey to getting my hysterectomy was hard. As of right now, a hysto was the only gender affirming surgery I was interested in--I do experience dysphoria, but am uninterested in surgery. A hysterectomy held a lot of weight for me even before I knew I was transgender. The earliest moment I can recall dysphoria and pain over the ability to become pregnant/expectations of motherhood as an inevitability was in kindergarten. In fact, as someone with CPTSD, it is an astonishingly clear childhood memory. As I got older, the dysphoria and eventual phobia got worse and worse, no matter how hard I tried to stuff myself into a box. My dysphoria began to make my psychosis worse starting I'm high school, it affected my self esteem and bodily insecurities, it affected by sex life and relationships. Within the past four years, the dysphoria and phobia relating to having a female reproductive system began taking over my life and making me so genuinely miserable and honestly delusional over my own body.

All I wanted was a male body. And it felt like the most female and painful part of me was in a place I could never touch, but controlling everything bodily, sexually and mentally about me. Since childhood I was haunted by this and in an indescribable amount of pain. My first puberty hit and I had extreme reproductive problems--less than 15 or 20 periods in my entire life. Extreme pain. Then, starting in mid December symptoms started happening, and in January I started heavy bleeding for 80 days straight. I lost weight uncontrollably (I choose to be fat on purpose and weight loss or gain out of my control is a trigger for ED for me), I was in constant severe pain, I had cramps my doctor compared to birthing cramps, I could barely walk anymore. I fought with our healthcare system as a poor person who's trans wife was recently fired due to gender discrimination and has STILL not found justice to try and get emergency healthcare. I was told how sick I was, and that it was obvious I was at least in precancer stages, and that my entire reproductive system was basically a minefield. It was almost funny that the thing in my body that had caused me the most suffering in my life could be what killed me. My testosterone was also tanking during this time, slowing my transition and causing my estrogen to be higher than I would obviously want. It felt like my reproductive system was destroying me, and honestly it had been for a long time.

As I prepared for surgery and went to appointment after appointment, I had to keep returning to the maternity ward and gynecologist office. I was repeatedly misgendered in person and in documents and even told by an ultrasound specialist that my uterus looked fine and "there's no reason for her to have this surgery". I came out of most of my appointments crying and just wishing I had been born a man, or not at all. My mental health plummeted because I was convinced the surgery would not be successful, and overall my dysphoria was at an all time high. I never told anyone because I was ashamed, but the first gynecologist from my usual community clinic who referred me to a wider network basically walked into the room and told me I had cancer because I was fat and misgendered me the whole time. I did not tell anyone because I was ashamed and embarrassed, but my surgical team and other doctors have been amazing and let me know this was astounding medical malpractice. Still... all of these appointments really drilled into me and just hurt. It got very bad for me and I was unsure how to reach out. I felt like I was so wrong and bad inside and out, and that even my sickness was a burden. I was not sure how to go to anyone, but my suicidal ideation had gotten worse and worse since December and was beginning to peak to something that felt out of my control. It was terrifying, and at my breaking point I scheduled therapy and made the decision to go back on antipsychotics.

The day of the surgery, I felt resigned. I had hope, but I was also scared of what might happen. I have a notoriously frail body and was scared I would not make it through surgery. Or that it would be unsuccessful and... then what? I just held hands with my wife and sang to her in the car on the way there and let her love just sit with me. I hadn't slept a wink the night before and it felt like I was in a state of floating. As I was being prepped for surgery, I felt still. Somewhere in between. I got to be held by Millie one last time and I said a prayer to the diety who has walked beside me since childhood. As I was put under, all I could think about was going home and playing some video games and cuddling with my wife. Being peaceful. Being loved. Nothing wild or crazy or outlandish. Just peace.

Maybe being free of this burden.

When I woke up from surgery, the first thing I did was look around then down at my hands. My first thought was "I'm alive". After struggling so much with being suicidal, it felt so happy and real and I felt so happy to be here. I leaned my head back on the pillow and swam in and out of sleep for some time. I had no idea if my surgery was successful for an hour or so, but I was in pain and somehow felt at peace, like I knew. I finally felt like I was resting for the first time in a long time. The surgeon came to my bedside and told me that the surgery was a complete success--not only that, but it was astonishingly smooth and easy, one of the best surgeries she had ever done. I smiled and just thanked her and told her this was all I've ever wanted since I was a child. She almost cried and told me she was so happy she could help me.

Millie hugged me so tight when she could see me. We were both so relieved and so happy and I just got to tell her how happy I was. It was just tear filled joy and peace and the feeling of finally everything is okay. Finally something has went right. I will never forget how happy I was to see her and tell her it was successful (even though she knew before I did) and the feeling of wholeness I felt. Coming home really felt like coming home--plus, I had my amazing friends Nathan and Suyin there to help care for both of us and make an amazing dinner. I felt so warm and so loved and so OKAY. I'm learning to let people in and it is such a warming feeling, especially during recovery.

It's been a little over a week since my surgery and my recovery is going smoothly. My body is a lot stronger than I thought. I started my new medications yesterday, and while this isn't suddenly a cure all for my mental health, it genuinely feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. My gender affirming healthcare is inspiring me to keep going. It saved my life in more ways than one. This dysphoria is no longer active--it is now a past trauma I can healthily process. I can now feel right in my body, right in my sex life, right in my gender identity in a way I never have before. Despite the mood swings that come with menopause and despite the pains of recovering from surgery, I feel more happy and whole and not-in-pain than I ever have in my whole life. I have never experienced gender and body euphoria like this before! I just feel...complete.

I am really happy I held on and had hope. I am really happy I fought my way through the medical system to get this surgery. I am happy I get to live my life with this healthcare. I look at the little boy me still deep inside my heart and hug him so tightly because WE DID IT! This feels like a new chapter to my life that I am incredibly happy to get to be here for. It's honestly difficult to put the gravity of all of this, both the euphoria, dysphoria and pain, into words. But I wanted to try.

I am unsteady, but I am okay. I am happy. I am free.

I AM NEUTERED BAAAAABY

[0xo]

tw: non-graphic surgery talk, malpractice, child death, ableism

as a disabled trans person who has experienced extreme medical trauma and surgical malpractice, i have a really complicated relationship with wanting to undergo surgery to relieve dysphoria.

on one hand, i am like... not scared of surgery itself. the last one i had, i was ecstatic about, as it was a colostomy takedown. my colostomy was a surprise emergency addition, and a major source of stress and dysphoria for me. (i recognize colostomies can be life-saving, and are not a bad or gross thing! i fully encourage ostomate positivity. however, i am allergic to adhesive, which is necessary to keep a colostomy bag on! so that obviously caused a lot of distress and frustration. i am glad to not deal with that particular problem anymore.)

i am scared of incompetent surgeons, malpractice, and surprise emergency additions. i have experienced that before and it gives me great hesitancy to engage with the medical world in general.

to this day and forevermore, i am disturbed by the way i was treated when i was dying, and by how willing particular people were to just let me die. i know, without a shadow of a doubt, i would've died nine years ago if my parents had not been fiercely and constantly fighting for my life. and i am deeply, intrinsically haunted by the thought of what happened to other children who's parents couldn't be there every second of every day. you should theoretically be able to trust that a "world-class" hospital won't murder your child, but i do not. not even a little bit.

so yes, i am scared of all the things around surgery. the table and recovery don't scare me, the fucking people do. how much is my life worth to someone who sees me as a file and a paycheck? how careful will they be with a body that's already "broken" by their standards? how can i trust that someone will listen when i am screaming that something is wrong, when i have been ignored before and it nearly cost me my life.

i am disabled. i am happy, and i have a life worth living - but more than one medical professional didn't think that was enough. their carelessness accelerated the progression of my disability. i died, i actually died on that hospital's watch, three times. how do you trust anyone after that? awards mean nothing when you kill children through ignorance and incompetence and sheer fucking ableism. i was fourteen, i was a kid, i didn't deserve any of that.

and yet... i still want surgery, more than one even. how do you balance that. how do you steel yourself for being in that environment again, to jump through those hoops and advocate for yourself. it's so... frustrating. because i know now, what it's like to have a dysphoric thing and then get it fixed, how much better that feels even if there's scarring. even if it's a long recovery. i know, i know i would feel better if i could do this. but there's still a child in my mind, scared shitless and begging not to go anywhere near those people. what do i do to calm that kid down? because that kid, fourteen, wanted exactly what i want now - they're just freshly fucked-up and so, so terrified. they grew a shell and made jokes and never actually dealt with the pain and now i'm here, trying to take care of them.

i don't think most people understand how traumatic it is. or how it sticks with you. or how whole seasons get ruined because the air is just right to remind you of months stuck inside, begging for your life or to die or for someone to just make it stop. one wrong sensation and i am trapped there again. and i'm trapped here now - there's a clear solution to my problems and yet, and yet, i cannot trust anyone to do it right. and if i want anything to change, i have to trust someone to do it right.

i want my life, and i want to improve my life by making these changes. i know i could. i know i can. but it is absolutely hell trying to negotiate with my past self about this. about if it's safe or right or going to turn out well. if i can even do it because of my health - i can't bind, even, instant pneumonia. so will i be able to bind post-surgery?

all this to say, fucking leave people alone if they can't or won't get the surgeries you "think" go with their transition. or if they don't bind or whatever. no matter how well you think you know someone. you most likely have no idea what someone has been through, or what their health is like, or what it means to them to trust a medical professional. you don't know and it's frankly not your business. and if you have any qualms about this, you personally can give me ten thousand dollars to go see the singular surgeon i think i'd be okay with. otherwise, shut up and fuck off.

[pythonmelon]

Well time for a VERY upsetting Loboto's Arm headcanon with a CLEAR tw RIGHT HERE for real world medical malpractice.

Rosemary Kennedy, the Kennedy daughter who was lobotomized at 23 by her father's order for mood swings and seizures before being shuttered away from the family for decades, suffered from Erb's Palsy after her Lobotomy, which is a condition that can be among other things caused by head/brain injury, where the nerves in one arm begin to tear or bruise and cease functioning without therapeutic and/or surgical intervention, meaning the arm ceases function and can shrivel up.

Meaning that very well could be what had happened to Loboto and either he lost his right arm to it or he/someone else without his input elected to amputate it.

[gottawhump]

Surgery

932

CW/TW: lady whump, pet whump, medical/surgical whump, BBU/WRU. For @febuwhump Day 8: No Anesthesia

Bright light, almost blinding. She can’t close her eyes, can’t turn her head away.

“Pretty.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Her head hurts. Blood trickles down her neck and face, warm as tears. Her head hurts, first a steady ache, then slicing pain.

They are peeling her skin off her skull.

“Too bad the owners wouldn’t let us shave all this hair.”

“Well, they won’t, so be careful.”

“Don’t jostle my arms. I don’t want to give her brains a stir.”

Laughter. “Romantics don’t need brains, do they?”

“She’s a Combination. Are you going to pay the malpractice indemnity if we mess up two years of expensive training?”

“No, no.”

Behind their masks, they’re smiling but not at her. Her eyes burn. She can’t blink.

“How are the connections?”

“Looks good so far. Don’t forget the download port.”

“Mind your stitches.”

They clicked something back into place in her head, then there’s pulling, pulling the skin back on, and tiny repetitive stitching, pinpricks of pain.

They turn her, and she’s grateful not to be staring directly into the bright lights. There’s more slicing at the back of her head, clean sharp pain. They dig into her, agony exploding into her head. More blood runs down her back.

They shove something hard into the back of her head, where neck and head meet. Splitting pain, then sprinkled with the pain pricks of stitching. Then cold stringing.

“Everything looks good. Send this one on to Observation and Recovery.”

Taglist: @canniboylism @simplygrimly @justplainwhump @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds

[bloodsoakedheretic]

Grip My Throat and Rip Out My Lungs

TW: Medical Malpractice, Gore, creepy organ stroking? yep we got that too.

Mob AU!

While the higher ups of the underground were so busy fighting and screaming at eachother, loose cannons flying off the handle, the underground moved as if it was business as usual, the death and chaos just another stain on the already blackened streets. Henrik, a prominent underground organ seller and black market doctor to the mobs was preparing for yet another dramatic day at work. While most of the underground was used to the insane chaos, Henrik wasn’t. He liked his practice to be quiet, gut cadavers, sell organs, keep his head down, keep his shit silent, stay out of the limelight.

But that would just be a little too much, a little too easy. Henrik was just as shocked as most would be when he opened his door and saw a writhing Anti, one eye severely burned and a fresh slice in his neck with a lovely pink balloon tied to his wrist. Wilford apparently had gotten pissed off once again, the Mob boss being a victim for once.

“What the fuck.” Henrik asked, moving to apply pressure and seeing that Anti barely seemed lucid enough to hang on much more than growl out a half-assed ‘Fix me up you fucked up doc’ and then promptly wail and choke on his own blood.

Honestly, these fucks couldn’t let Henrik just have a normal day in the office could they? He had just started to clean him up when he had a rather… dangerous idea. Sure, his corner in the Mob Empire was a faithful doctor, his mob all had rather well science and other credentials, all of which included genetic modifications. He did need to run some tests and all, considering Wilford dropped him here, no one knew where he was either…

That made him the perfect little test bunny.

“Well, since no one knows where you are.. I think it’s time you repay me for all those bodies I’ve gutted dear one. I warned you, you would always need to pay the piper.” He crooned, pulling away from the dressing he was doing to the wound to slowly fill a needle on the tray with a new sedative, a morphine cocktail really. “Good night, Anti.” he crooned before he injected the cocktail of drugs into his system. He had already started to hold him down when he started thrashing, but with how weak he was it was all too easy. The big man himself was passed out on the table, a table he wouldn’t be leaving until after the experiments were completed. Once that was done Henrik wheeled the unconscious man to the operating room to prep him by taking a biopsy and seeing what information he could draw from him, the nursing staff already setting up the surgical wards encrypted servers so they could ensure the top secret information couldn’t be found unless they wanted it to, simply booking him in under M,A and tagging his file as John Doe, all normal protocol.

“Nurse 0890, please prep him for a biopsy, he currently has morphine cocktail AN09-E in his system. Nurse 0933, get me the new power saw, we’ll need to take a bit of his lung.” Henrik said, tone rather empty as he put on the white gloves that would soon be changed into such a pretty shade of crimson as he made the man below him more beautiful with the help of his tools. He watched as the nurses got the dirtied and tarnished tools that he so loved out of fondness that he couldn’t just throw it away. Once he saw the staff had backed off and he was prepped for surgery Henrik began, a smile on his lips behind his mask.

He started by making the cut, a large ‘Y’ shape that started with the right clavicle and slowly went diagonally to the sternum  and the down to the pelvis, the nurse opposite to him making the cut for the left one, so the could peel it back and easily expose his insides. The soft flesh of his intestines and the sounds of his beating heart, it was such a beautiful and taboo thing to behold. To see one’s body in such a vulgar and beautiful display was something he enjoyed on a daily basis, but he soon went to work. Instead of worrying over how pretty he could make him he was focusing on taking samples, removing worthless things he wouldn’t need such as his gallbladder and appendix. The red that was soon painting the whites of his gloves and scrubs was a welcome sight to behold.

The procedure was rather routine, the rusted clamps being placed on the areas around the two organs he would be removing and causing the deep red blood to bubble and erupt with every little movement. The dirty scalpels gliding through the soft flesh of the organs, carving out the gallbladder and any unsightly fatty areas slowly, like he was savoring the feel of the organs and flesh falling apart under his hands. The fats fell to the floor at his and the nurses feet as he worked on making him pretty on the inside. The comforting sounds of the internal movements of his little test animal more than enough to relax him as he worked.

The Nurses were moving around, encrypting his files as they followed Henrik’s orders, though once he hit a pause, a large smile curled at his lips. “Bring in the serums, I think he is ready.” With that, the nurses wheeled in a refrigerated cart, the white bright in the room as it was now the only clean object in the makeshift operating room in their dirty underworld job.

“Now, darling Anti. It’s time to repay your debts to me.” Henrik crooned, a hand pressing down as his nurses had exposed his lungs, which he decided to stroke gently as he watched them prepare for the next part. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a single thing.” as he said that, he heart the man’s heart pick up, knowing he had woken but was still unable to move.

“An eye for an eye, a lung for a lung, a lab rat for a lab rat. All is fair, no?”

[apotychies-blog]

⋆ ◦ ° ☾ hugh dancy + cismale + he/his — have you seen gabriel abernathy? they sure have been hanging out at the moon motel a lot recently. they are a thirty seven year old known as the todesengel, and they currently work for the savages as a medic, which they’ve been doing for five years. a heterosexual capricorn, they are phlegmatic + amiable, as well as detached + inhuman. cold metal edges. single sided smirk. pressed plain shirts.

tw: mentions of medical malpractice with allusions to murder and torture through medical means.

Originally from Cheshire, England, Gabriel grew up rather average. His childhood wasn’t anything really of note, only that he excelled in his studies in comparison to classmates and his elder brother, otherwise nothing eventful. 

Only, perhaps, that he always wanted to be a doctor. Even as a boy, Gabriel was fascinated by the human anatomy that posters lined his bedroom walls, books of historical and new age practices line his shelves. If anything, his parents were proud once that their son was striving for a good career with a very capable mind carving his path. They were proud once.

He even graduated and earned his full certification a few years ahead of most to which he delve right in. New age medicine was his focus, the possibilities of the human body and its capabilities, and the prospects of what trying outside standard protocol would provide. New age medicine that was unorthodox, if not plainly unreasonable and cruel to try such as chemicals in open wounds or insufficient medication administered through incorrect methods. 

Gabriel’s practice and trials jeopardized his patients more than aid their ailments. In addition, he would induce or create more injury in secret to further his research as he cured the problems he invoked. And sometimes... he just wanted to see people’s insides while still thriving-- cadavers just couldn’t hold his interest. 

Some deaths were marked as accidental or due to the patient’s medical conditions as authorities couldn’t pin an exact crime with proper evidence or argument that he wasn’t try to help them. Regardless, three years after earning his medical license he was asked to leave the hospital, or more accurately he was fired.

Unfortunately his paper trail haunted him to whichever practice, general or surgical, he applied. Each turned him down, worried they would cost them and their patients.

That was when Gabriel moved to the States, or more importantly he found Valdez and its underbelly. The Savages were in need of a medic and Gabriel was in need of a place of practice. (His initiation party was mostly everyone else celebrating the new recruit. Gabriel completed his task quickly, got his brand and left the celebration shortly for the Moon Motel.)

When he’s not working for the gang, he’s working a solo practice with a handful of patients he visits privately or personally at their homes.

And if he’s not at the Caito Mansion, you might find him in his apartment, or more likely the Moon Motel. However, he’s not there for the pleasure or physical entertainment. He rents his room for the night and shuts himself in until the morning.

No reason to question if he’s a reliable doctor, though. Gabriel keeps up with the most updated legal practices with any of the gang members who require his expertise. His curiosities are on his own time, or for when the Savages need a medic available for more questionable reasons. He’s eager for subjects, whether they are willing or unwilling to try.

Other Fun Facts: 

Josef Mengele is somewhat of an idol to Gabriel, though Mengele was faulty in his understanding of genetics in comparison to Gabriel’s work (or so he believes). Gabriel isn’t interested in genetics, though, but rather the progressive and invasive uses of practice to cure or improve the health of his patients.

Despite his insistence to continue with his methods, Gabriel has learned from his mistakes. A patient’s death will appear to be due to their own health complications, exempt from any of his involvement. Minding that this is not his goal, he prefers the living to the dead but he’s not allowing the dead to whisper further rumors about him.

Wanted Connections:

Doctor/Nurse Buddies. Enough said.

Anyone at the Moon Motel: Gabriel is a frequent visitor though he never pays for more than a room. He’s there for his own reasons but he’s available if anyone gets roughed up, worker or otherwise. You could be suspicious of him or amused by his presence, let’s talk it out.

Patients! Maybe he’s trying a new drug on them, maybe he’s their general physician and strolls along for check ups, nothing too serious. 

Drinking Buddies. He’d like having a drinking buddy or two.

Need him for a plot or have an idea for him? here is my message box xD

to be updated...