#aranka naumann

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 04: I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes

Shock + "You in there?"

3220 Words; Rewired AU

TW for isolation, memory loss, experimentation, electrical torture

AO3 ver

This sucks.

Dion glared at the locked door, arms crossed. All of his attempts to force it open had proven futile, leaving him nothing to do but lean against the wall and glare at it.

The room he was in—if it could even be called a room, when there was just barely enough space to lie down—was small, four plain stone walls with a single metal door. There was a single… cot was too generous a word, honestly. It was a slab of metal just barely big enough to lie on, held up by two diagonal metal struts braced against the wall underneath it. There was a drain in the center of the floor; Dion refused to touch it if he could help it. By bracing himself against the walls of the corner, he could climb up high enough to get at the ceiling. But the panel over the single small light refused to budge, no matter how hard Dion tried to pry it off. Spots still danced across his eyes from his efforts.

The only ventilation came in the form of four small slits in the door. There was a slot at the bottom of the door, as well, but the panel covering it wouldn’t budge. If Dion were more resourceful, if he had a better idea of what was going on—

But he wasn’t, and he had no idea. He’d been handling groceries out in town, on his way back to camp—

And then he was in here, in this barren room, with no way out. The jacket he’d gotten for his seventeenth birthday was missing, as was his wallet, pocket knife, and compact. Whoever had taken him and put him here had gone through his pockets, and the knowledge left Dion feeling violated.

But there was nothing he could do about it, and that, more than anything, crawled under his skin like so many wriggly spiders. The inaction grated against him, his leg bouncing in agitation. He needed to move, to get up and do something—

But he couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Not until the door opened, or he found out what the hell was going on, or—something, he didn’t know.

This sucked. Dion glared at the door from where he was sitting on the slab.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes, and his vision swam worse than it already was.. He didn’t recognize the voice speaking to him, the words spinning through his head uselessly. He swallowed, but the nausea remained.

Still, he spoke. “Dion Aquato.” Son of Donatella and Augustus Aquato. Eldest of five siblings. Dion Aquato. I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Meals came in through the slot at the bottom of the door—gross. Even if it was on a tray, it was still being slid along a floor that had been exposed to god knew what. Dion didn’t eat, the first few times, fear of poison and disdain for invisible concrete floor grime holding him back.

But the hunger pricked at his stomach. It was impossible to sleep well on the slab or the floor. He needed to keep his strength up however he could, if he ever wanted out of here.

The meals were simple. A plastic spork came on the equally plastic tray. Neither the utensil nor the tray could be used to escape, as far as Dion could tell, so he left them by the slot when he finished. The food was…

He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, but he was already homesick. Truth be told, he’d been homesick the moment he’d finished inspecting the room, but the feeling had only built over time. He missed his mother’s cooking. He missed cooking. He missed food that wasn’t bland unseasoned drivel. He’d had his fill of dry chicken and plain mashed potatoes and sad greens. He wanted to eat food, real food with actual flavor that he wasn’t shoving down his throat just for the nutritional value.

How many days had it been? Three? Four? Dion wondered if his birthday had passed already, if he had turned 18 in this cell, away from his friends and family. It had only been a week off, when he’d found himself in this tiny stone hell.

Ugh. This sucked. The food was awful. He had no idea what he was even here for, or where here even was. He wanted to go home. He wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to figure a way out of this cell.

Dion was clean, at least, his hair hanging loose around his face and on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember when the grease had been rinsed out—but he really didn’t want to think about that. So he didn’t.

“An explanation would be nice.” He grumbled. “Wouldn’t mind some fucking answers.”

The door had no answer for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up to a bright light right in his eyes. Where—

He was lying back on a hard surface, at an angle. There was pressure across his legs and chest. Attempts to move were thwarted—oh. He was strapped down.

Dion turned his head to the side to avoid the light shining down on him, cool metal pressing against his cheek. He scrunched his eyes shut, spots dancing across his vision. His head was pounding—probably because of the light.

He heard footsteps to his left. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

There was a woman standing there with a clipboard in hand, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Dion blinked.

Nope, she was still there, still regarding the clipboard in her hand through cat eye glasses. A pen floated over the clipboard.

Dion turned his head to look to the right. The room he was in had… six walls? No, wait, it was eight, wasn’t it? Yeah. Eight. Eight plain white walls that went up to… he couldn’t tell, with the bright light looming above him. He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his head back to his left, opening them as the woman walked over to a shelf taking up three of the walls.

The room gave him an uneasy feeling. The bright light reminded him of dentists; the lady’s labcoat and the sanitized room reminded him of hospitals. There was even a counter back to his right that took up three of the walls, with a sink and cabinets.

A binder floated off the shelf and opened in front of the woman. She flipped through the pages inside for a moment before the binder returned to the shelf.

Dion opened his mouth. He was so done with his stupid little cell, with this bright light searing down into his eyes—but most of all, he was so done with not knowing what the hell was going on. He wanted answers, dammit, so he opened his mouth and spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

The woman’s head snapped around so fast that Dion almost thought it might fall off. She was regarding him, now, and Dion snapped his mouth shut. He felt like a bug under her gaze, like a number on her clipboard that wasn’t what she expected.

She walked over to him, lips pursed.

“At least say something!” His mouth moved before his brain could process what he was saying. Her brow furrowed, and Dion tensed.

“You,” she loomed over him, close enough that he could see the gold of her eyes, “should not be up.” She held something small in her hands, and Dion strained to make out what was surely going to be used to hurt him—

One click. Two clicks.

Dion never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

His head swam. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again. “Dion Aquato.” Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato I’m an acrobat I’m a brother I’m Dion Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

There were holes in his memory.

Dion almost didn’t notice them, at first. Day and night blurred together in his cell, with nothing to mark the passage of time. How long had he been here? How many days? Had he turned 18, here in this cell, away from his friends and family?

All of his street clothes had been missing when he’d woken up here—he was dressed in a simple shirt and pants made of a rough fabric he couldn’t identify, the light gray seeming to melt into the stone around him.

(But hadn’t he searched his pockets when he’d first woken up here? He remembered them being empty of his things—)

That was the first clue. The second was the collection of plastic sporks in the corner of his room—he was sure he’d put them there, but he couldn’t remember eating that many meals. The third clue was that he still didn’t know how he was clean, despite being in his cell long enough to start to smell.

There were holes in his memory. Once he finally realized this, he realized the danger he was in. Panic spiraled in his brain. What if he forgot everything? What if he forgot his family? His home?

But what could he do? He’d never even left this cell.

(Had he?)

Still, he needed to remember. He thought back to his life outside, to home—

He could remember his mother’s face, at least. Could still remember every member of his family, from his parents to his Nona to his siblings. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Raz. Tala. Queepie. Could remember the circus, the blue and green stripes of the Aquatodome.

He glared reproachfully at the door of his cell. His name was Dionysus Aquato. He was the eldest of five. He was 17—no, he was probably 18 already—and he refused to forget his home and family. He’d die before he let that happen.

“You’re not keeping me here forever.” He whispered. “I’ll get out eventually.”

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up strapped to a table.

There was a bright light overhead. His head swam, a pounding headache behind his eyes. His mouth had that awful taste that it always got when he overslept.

This wasn’t his tent or the caravan, though. This was an octagonal room, the ceiling obscured by the light bearing down on him. There was something familiar about the room, but he couldn’t fathom why.

He turned his head to his left. There was a woman standing there, regarding a binder floating in front of her through cat eye glasses, hair pulled back into a bun. There was someone next to her in… a pantsuit? The woman was wearing a lab coat, which some part of Dion felt was far more appropriate for the sterile setting.

Dion didn’t recognize her, though. But hadn’t he seen her before?

And the guy standing next to her—Dion had never seen them before. But he knew their face. Didn’t he? He didn’t know.

“Why is it conscious?” They asked. It took Dion a moment to realize that they were talking about him. That… that didn’t bode well.

Her lips pursed. “Because I’m investigating a problem.” She pressed something—

Pain! Dion yelped, his body jerking against the straps. It arced up his legs and arms, through his chest, into his head—

Just as quick as it came, it was gone. His shoulders heaved.

A problem. She’d called him a problem. That couldn’t be good.

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Something. He tried to remember, searching his mind—

Another scream was ripped from his throat as a fresh wave of electricity burst through him. He spasmed, the straps pinning him down. His wrists and ankles were starting to ache—were they going to bruise?

The pain left again. Dion’s thoughts chased each other in circles. His head spun. He needed to—he needed to—

Remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Aquato!

His name was Dion Aquato. He was the eldest of four—no, five. He came from the Aquato family circus.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona—

He screamed as another wave of pain rushed through him. The electricity didn’t stop, even as his voice cut out, even as he continued to spasm. His head swam, pain pounding his brain to bits—

All at once, the pain stopped. He shook, and turned towards the pair.

The woman’s binder had fallen to the ground. Her nose had bled, a red smear on her upper lip.

“Well.” She said, “That’s… interesting.”

Dion didn’t have the energy to question it. He needed to remember, anyway. Mom Dad Nona Frazie—

Something clicked. Once, twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

It sounded disappointed in him. He couldn’t fathom why.

“Dion Aquato.” He was answering the question, right? He was Dion Aquato. It was his name, his identity—he was Dion Aquato eldest son acrobat 17 years old Dion Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

The pile of sporks in the corner was gone. If it had ever been there at all—he had probably just imagined it.

He didn’t know when he’d gotten here. Didn’t know how long he’d been here. Had a week passed? Was he 18, now, had he missed his birthday in this stupid little cell?

His old clothes were gone, replaced with a dull blue shirt and pants the same gray as the stone around him. It was weird, to look down at his legs and see nothing but gray, gray like the walls, gray like he was just another fixture in the room, just another setpiece—

(Hadn’t his shirt been gray? Hadn’t he been wearing his street clothes when he first woke up in this cell?)

His head swam. Lights danced behind his vision.

His name was Dion Aquato. He had a family and a home. His name was Dion Aquato.

(Was it?)

He looked at the door. Metal, like the—well, cot was too generous. More like a slab, really—slab sticking out from the wall, held up by diagonal metal struts. Metal, like the ring around his neck.

(He couldn’t remember when it was put on. He couldn’t get it off. Maybe it had always been there.)

“How much longer?” He asked. How much longer would he be stuck in here? He wanted to go home. He wasn’t even sure where home was.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

He came to strapped to a chair. The room he was in was familiar, octagonal-shape tickling some corner of his brain. But every attempt to recall if he had been here before resulted in fog filling his head. But he needed to remember, right?

There was a woman standing at a control panel-like structure to his left, her mouth moving. He couldn’t hear what she was saying through the panel of glass between him and her. 

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion Aquato. He was 17 (18? 16?). He didn’t know where he was. Home was Mom Dad Nona Frazie Pooter Tala Queepie, it was blue and green tents and a towering caravan. He needed to remember.

He muttered their names under his breath, pushing at the straps wrapped around his arms and chest. As usual, they refused to yield.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie

Dion Dion Dion my name is Dion my name is Dion

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie—

Pain shot through him, electricity coursing through his body until his head spun. Even when it stopped, the room continued to spin, the bright light above him leaving spots in his vision.

He needed—he needed—

Remember!

His name was Dion Aquato. Home was green and blue and Mom and Dad and Nona and Raz and Queepie—

He was missing something. He needed to remember it.

“Shut up.”

Another bolt of electricity. Another scream that left his throat raw.

He didn’t even realize he’d been muttering. But he needed to remember, he couldn’t shut up, he needed to hold onto everything that he had for as long as he could, needed to hold himself together no matter what. He mumbled their names, his brain struggling through the haze of pain and light dancing behind his eyes. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Tala. Queepie. Mom. Dad. Raz. Tala. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Mom. Dad. Nona—

“I said shut up.” Something clicked—

Dion’s body convulsed against the straps again. His throat hurt too much to scream, the electricity seizing through him.

The electricity stopped. He twitched. The taste of copper filled his mouth.

Remember. He needed to remember. Mom. Dad. Frazie. Queepie. Mom. Nona. Raz. Queepie. Dad. Nona. Tala. Mom. Dad. Mom—

“Fine, then. If you can’t shut up, then you won’t speak at all.”

Something clicked. Once. Twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He wasn’t sure. “Dion.” That… sounded right.

“Who are you?”

They sounded frustrated. He wasn’t sure why.

“Dion.” He was Dion, wasn’t he?

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gray walls stared back at him. He tried to remember any place other than this, tried to remember being anywhere but these walls—

Nothing. Just gray.

He knew he had come from somewhere, though. He had a mother and a father out there, somewhere—somewhere that wasn’t here.

But what did his mother’s face even look like? How did her voice sound? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and she seemed all the less real because of it.

How many siblings did he have? Did he even have siblings at all?

His head hurt. Lights danced behind his eyes. He clutched his face in his hands, massaging his temples. Nausea threatened to spill out of his mouth and onto the floor below. He choked it down.

His name was Dion. He had a mother and a father. He couldn’t remember their faces. He needed to remember.

Did he? He couldn’t remember. His head swam.

He pitched forward, his hands hitting the concrete floor as he fell off the slab. His name was—he was—

He retched.

Shoulders shaking, he leaned back. He rubbed his mouth, not caring about the bile and spit on his arm. He looked at the door.

“I’m—” He needed to remember. His head was swimming. “Where am I?” Who am I?

The door had no answers for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Bright light loomed above him, searing his eyes.

Exhaustion weighed him down more than the straps holding him still. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat.

A woman’s voice floated over to him. “Shutdown, Test 24-2.” The light was blinding, he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from—

Pain arced through his limbs. Something in him clicked. His head pounded, pressure like a vice—

Something clattered on the floor.

“Stop now.” The pressure receded at the woman’s voice. He couldn’t fathom why. He was too exhausted to care, his eyes slipping closed. Light danced behind them.

Click.

Click.

Click.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He had no answer.

“Who are you?”

Why were they asking? He wasn’t anybody.

“Who are you?”

The voice was starting to grate against his head. Nausea danced in his throat.

“Who are you?”

“I—” Who was he? Was he anything?

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes. At once, the answer came to him.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“Yes, you are.”

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 20: people don't change people, time does

Found Family

4390 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for child abuse, attempted murder, unethical experimentation, blood mention

AO3 ver

“Gisu!”

Gisu looked up at the sound of the door slamming open. Dion let his leg fall back to the floor, his arms securely wrapped around the book he was carrying. Gisu felt a trickle of amusement as Dion stalked over to her, slamming the book on the desk.

It had only been two days since Raz ran off. Dion had come to surprisingly quickly after being thrown like that—maybe it was an acrobat thing. But he had had the worst headache, so it was nice to see him moving with his usual energy, again.

It’d be even nicer if Raz hadn’t run off, but still.

“I know where Raz went!” Dion exclaimed. “Is trying to go. Whatever. But I know where it is!” He flipped the book open, revealing it to be a photo album. Gisu got only a moment to glance at what she assumed were Dion’s baby pictures before he flipped to the page he wanted. “There.” He pointed at the picture of the family all assembled before the Aquatodome—it must have been a few years old, because Gisu couldn’t see Queepie anywhere, but she could see a much younger Mirtala held aloft in Donatella’s arms.

“Cute photo.” Gisu commented, totally not focusing on the massive grin on younger-photo-Dion’s face. “What makes you think Raz is going there?”

Dion pointed at the photo—at the background of the photo, Gisu realized, his finger tapping the mountain dominating the landscape. “When Raz hit me with his… psychic thingy, I think…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Psychic bullshit involves mind stuff, right? Like thoughts and feelings.”

“Yeah…” Gisu nodded.

“And I’ve been seeing the same fucking mountain since he hit me,” Dion continued, “Which means it’s probably, like, an afterthought of it.”

“After-effect,” Gisu corrected.

“Yeah, that.” Dion agreed. His hands moved as he spoke and paced around, and it was utterly fascinating, even as his words kept coming out stream-of-consciousness style. “So I keep seeing this mountain, and it’s so familiar, like an itch in the back of my mind, yanno? So I start digging through our old albums, because I swear I’ve seen this mountain somewhere before, and I know it’s important, so I kept searching and—”

“And then you found it?” Gisu asked, trying not to let too much fondness creep into her voice. A little bit is okay, but it’s too early to be getting sappy.

“Yeah!” Dion nodded emphatically, once again by the desk and tapping the photo. “It doesn’t look exactly the same but I know that that’s the one. That’s the mountain that Raz is going to.” He looked at Gisu with so much intensity that she thought he might burst, and said, “I keep feeling like I need to go there.”

Gisu leaned back in her chair. “Do you?”

“Yes!” Dion threw his hands in the air. “No? I don’t know!” He paced a small half-circle, “But that’s where Raz is. Is going. I’m sure of it!” He turned to Gisu once again. “I don’t know what to do about this.” He admitted. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to tell.”

“Well, I think—” Gisu stretched, getting out of her chair. “—that what happens next is obvious.”

“Really?’ Dion lit up. “I knew you’d know what to do! You’re really smart like that.” His face flushed, and Gisu had to take a moment to fight off the butterflies in her stomach and the heat on her own face.

“Yeah.” She smirked, grabbing Dion’s wrist. She started pulling him back towards the door.

“We’re going on a field trip!”

+=+=+=+=+

Three huffed as he leaped up over a boulder, his levball making the jump easier than climbing up by hand. Even still, this was exhausting.

But it needed to be done. He only had a little bit further to go, anyway—it had taken him a week just to get this far, and the sun had long set behind him, and he couldn’t waste anymore time.

Really, though, did Ms. Naumann have to build her lab halfway up a mountain? Three had his levball to help, but this was ridiculous.

Still, there was nothing Three could do. He just had to get there, and make everything right. So he’d do it, even if it was tiring.

He had to.

+=+=+=+=+

“I think we made pretty good time!’ Gisu chirped. And really, they kind of did. Five days to make a trip spanning across a few states—thank god for comprehensive bus routes. And her levboard. Couldn’t forget how important her baby was to this whole operation.

“I’m still not sure how you convinced me to go along with this.” Dion muttered, staring up at the mountain looming before them, the sunlight behind him casting his face in shadow. “Or why we’re doing this alone.”

“Because it’s faster that way.” Gisu offered, already setting up her board. Sure, they could have a nice little hike up the trails, but they were here on a mission. Raz had a two-day headstart—they couldn’t waste time. “C’mon.” She held out her hand, and Dion took it. Grumbling under his breath but joining her on the levboard regardless. “Let’s go find Pooter.”

+=+=+=+=+

Three crawled through the vents as quietly as he could. Benefit of the lab being half-underground, he supposed—the vents themselves were surrounded by solid rock, making them more than capable of supporting his weight.

So he crawled along, his mental link with Four helping him navigate to the bunks without issue. It took a while, and he had to wiggle a bit to get through some of the tighter turns, but he made it.

The room the clones all slept in was halfway into a natural cavern, of sorts, with a large open space above the beams holding up the lights. Three telekinetically undid the screws on the vent cover, and quietly removed the panel, holding it in the air to keep it from clattering on the ground. He crawled out onto the bunk bed directly below it, the top cot softening the impact. Once he was clear, he replaced the vent cover, but set the screws to the side—this would be his exit.

“Three?” Four’s voice cut through the room—the lights were off, right now, but Three could already feel his brother’s mental presence beginning to surge.

“Four!” Three practically lunged for his brother, his arms wrapping around Four’s shoulders with all the strength he had. I missed you I’m so happy to see you again I missed you I missed you I missed you

“Three!” Four returned the hug, pulses of missed-you and ribbons of golden elation flowing through their connection. I missed you I’m so glad you’re safe I missed you I missed you I missed you

Eventually, Three pulled back. His face crumpled, his eyes stung, and he slammed his face back into the crook of his brother’s neck. “I missed you.” He murmured, his thoughts echoing the notion.

“I missed you too.” Four returned, echoing back the same. He pulled back. “You gotta be quick,” he started. “Ms. Naumann’s been acting really weird lately.”

Three took a breath. Right. No more tears—mission now, sad later. “Weird how?”

Four winced. “Like she’s scared of something.” He mumbled. “I think…” He tried again, “She told me to call you back in a few days. I think… I think she’s going to terminate us.”

Three’s blood ran cold. The world pressed in on him, crushing weight squeezing all the air from his lungs—

Three scowled. “That’s not going to happen.” He declared. “We’re going to get Six and Raz and we’re going to get out of here.” He was done being scared of Ms. Naumann. She was wrong. She was wrong and Three felt none of the respect he’d had for her. She was wrong.

Four nodded. “It’s this way—” he started—

Something fell from the beams above to the floor beside them with a thud and a grunt, making Three and Four flinch back in surprise. The figure uncurled, groaning as it stood—

“Wh—how did you get here?” Three whisper-shouted. “Why are you here?!” Of all the—for the sake of—really? Of all the people who could have somehow followed him, it was Dion?

“Raz.” Dion started, “You have ten seconds to explain—” He stopped short, his eyes darting between Three and Four.

“Why are there two of you?” Dion’s voice went up a few notches, grating against Three’s ears. He was looking back and forth between the two of them, confusion leaching off of him in waves.

Three put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Look, Dion, I promise I’ll explain everything later.” He said, trying to ignore the way Four was starting to vibrate next to him. “When we have time.” He promised. “But I need you to not mess everything up right now—”

“Uh uh.” Dion interrupted, hands on his hips. “No way. I’m not doing anything until you explain yourself.”

“We don’t have time—” Three insisted, gritting his teeth. Why couldn’t he have been followed by someone with sense, like Frazie? Frazie was cool.

“I’m not hearing an explanation.” Dion hissed. “So I’ll ask again: What the fuck is going on here?!” he demanded—

“I find myself wondering the exact same thing.”

Three froze. Dion’s eyes were wide as he stared at the doorway behind Three. Oh no. Oh no.

Three turned around slowly, like the air around him was suddenly full of glue. Oh no no no.

None other than Ms. Naumann stood there, her lips pressed into a thin line. All of Three’s resolve dissolved under her gaze, like a wadded up napkin being tossed into the trash. Oh no.

“And who are you?” Ms. Naumann turned her attention to Dion, who looked as much like a deer in headlights as Three and Four felt.

“...very confused.” Dion admitted.

Ms. Naumann raised a hand to the bridge of her nose. “Right.” She sighed. Her hand moved to her temple, her look of resignation turning to one of concentration.

Three yelped in surprise as an arm wrapped around him, lifting into the air in a single burst of motion. Ms. Naumann shot a psi-blast, and Dion ducked under it to slide out the open door behind her, not once losing momentum even as he leapt up into a run, Three and Four tucked against his sides.

“Which way do I go?” Dion demanded, as Ms. Naumann’s footsteps echoed behind them.

“Left!” Four shouted, even as Three’s head spun trying to remember the layout. Dion skidded to a near-halt at the next intersection, deftly using his shed momentum to pivot into a turn to the left. “I still want an explanation!” He nearly screeched, following Four’s directions to duck to the right.

“Later!” Three reminded him. He squirmed in Dion’s arm until he was facing backwards, watching as Ms. Naumann came up behind them. “She’s gaining!” He shouted, and Dion picked up the pace.

“Do something then!” Dion made another turn, his grip on Three and Four tightening to keep them from slipping free.

Right! Three concentrated, lining up his shot—

Ms. Naumann’s eyes widened in surprise as Three fired. She ducked to the side, and the shot only grazed her—but she ended up stopping entirely, so Three still allowed himself a moment of silent victory. He was useful! Another shot brought down a light fixture, blocking her path. Even more useful!

Dion slid to a halt, the sudden stop jarring to Three. He squirmed, trying to see what had brought them to a halt—

“How do I open this?” Dion demanded, and Three managed to turn around entirely. They were blocked by a door—the playroom door, it looked like.

“Get me to that keypad.” Four said, and Dion moved to hold him up in front of it. Four tapped in the code—

Four hissed and pulled back his hand. “Dammit.” He muttered. “She changed it again.”

“Language.” Dion snapped. Three stuck out his tongue. Who was Dion to decide if his brother could swear? “Hurry up,” Dion added. “I don’t like how quiet it is right now.”

“I’m trying.” Four shot back, trying another code. Another angry beep as the pad flashed red. “Ugh, she changes them way too often.” He grumbled, moving to try another one.

Probably because someone’s just a little too clever. Three suggested, trying to squirm out of Dion’s grip. Four ignored his comment in favor of focusing on the keypad.

“Uh uh.” Dion adjusted his hold on Three. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re out of this mess.”

Three crossed him arms. He really wished it was Frazie who had followed him. How did Dion even find him?

“How did you even find me? You were out on the floor when I left.” Three poked Dion’s side.

“You’re the one who practically showed me where you were going.” Dion muttered, like it was somehow Three’s fault that he’d shown up to mess everything up.

Which… maybe it was, now that Three thought about it. He hadn’t even touched Dion when he’d sent him flying—if it was a burst of unfocused psychic power, then it probably ended up pushing Three’s thoughts into Dion’s head. Whoops.

Four hissed at another failed attempt. Dion tapped his foot against the floor impatiently. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Three gasped. “Ms. Naumann!”

“Okay, time to go!” Dion decided, pulling away from the door.

“Wh—no!” Four shouted. “Six is in there!”

“We’re not leaving him behind!” Three added, “Him or Raz!”

Dion froze. “What—”

The world tilted, and Three fell to the floor. He had only a moment to catch his breath before a telekinetic grasp grabbed ahold of him, too, lifting him up into the air to join a struggling Dion and Four.

“That’s enough of that.” Ms. Naumann declared, already turning on her heel. The hands followed after her, dragging the three of them along through the air.

“Well.” Four muttered, “shit.”

+=+=+=+=+

Well, shit. Gisu scooted further into the shadows. She and Dion had only found Raz—though apparently he was going by Three?—by chance, and then Dion had fallen down into the room the moment he spotted his brother. Who was greeting a second Raz.

And now this lady had showed up, and Dion had grabbed both Razzes and ran. Gisu had no idea how far he’d get, but she didn’t want to get caught, either.

Something that the Not-Razzes had mentioned caught in her mind, and she regarded the door carefully. Six and Raz? Did that mean that there were more Pooters here?

Well, it was as good a lead as any. Gisu levitated down to the floor, and poked her head out the still-open door.

The hallway was empty. Probably.

Carefully, Gisu crept out, holding her board tight against her side. If she concentrated, she could faintly feel Dion’s mind a ways away, frustration ebbing in and out of his mental signal. She wasn’t good enough with telepathy to hold a full conversation with him, though—she was too used to the person on the other end being psychic. Adam could probably hold a connection with seven people all on his own, and Morris was also pretty good at long-range communication—

But Adam and Morris weren’t here. Just Gisu and Dion.

Gisu huffed, casting her mind out further. She didn’t want to alert the scientist lady to her presence, but there had to be something she could use—

Aha! Her mind caught on something. On another mind—

…which reached back. Who are you? They demanded, their presence like waves crashing against Gisu’s mind.

Trying to help. Gisu responded, raising a hand to her temple to track down the other mind.

Like you could help me, the voice scoffed. Okay, rude. You just want Raz, anyway.

Yeah, that was what Gisu was confused about. Why are there so many of you?

The other end was quiet, for a moment, then—there used to be one more. But he’s gone now. A deep sense of melancholy washed over Gisu like waves washing over the sand. For a moment, she almost felt like sand, slowly being pulled into the depths of the anguish bit by bit.

Gisu shook her head to snap herself out of it. I’m sorry. She responded, that sucks.

Tell me something I don’t know. The other mind snarked. But really, why are you here?

Gisu concentrated on everything that had happened in the past several days. The birthday, the breakdown, Not-Raz running off, her and Dion’s chase to reach the mountain before him… as far as explanations went, it was probably really cluttered, a mix of feelings and memories and desires all packaged up into a bundle, with a lot of the needed context missing. But it was what Gisu had to work with.

… The other end was silent for a moment. Then—

A schematic—no, a layout appeared in Gisu’s mind, with a path highlighted in bright blue. Go here, it seemed to say, without saying anything at all.

Gisu followed the path, keeping an eye out for any wandering scientists. How she managed to get around without getting caught, she had no idea—

But she was doing it, which was good. She could worry about the potential implications of being able to seemingly run rampant later.

She came up on a metal door with a keypad to the side. It was flashing, the tiny screen above it saying something about failed attempts. But Gisu only grinned and pulled out her mini-screwdrivers—time to get to work. Pry off the cover, then the pad itself to get at the wires… snip those two wires and join them together…

The door slid open a few moments later. “Ha!” Gisu put away her tools, “Am I good, or am I good?” That was easy. Almost too easy, but Gisu was too busy riding the high of her success to care.

The room she stepped into was larger than the first one, with a small swingset installed at the other end. Mats covered the floor, there was a balance beam—

And there, sitting next to a slide and curled up under the steps, were two more Razzes, regarding Gisu with mild suspicion.

“Okay, which one of you is Pooter?” Gisu twirled her board in her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The Raz under the slide pointed at himself. “I’m the original.” He said, his voice scratchy and tired-sounding.

“Six.” The other said, leaning against the red plastic.

“Right.” Gisu nodded. She had no idea what that meant—she could guess, though—but that wasn’t important. What was important was getting Dion and the other two and getting out of here. She slapped her palms together. “Time for us to blow this joint!” She declared.

“You mean it?” Raz asked, staring at Gisu with wide eyes. “We’re getting out of here?”

Gisu nodded. “Yeah!” She frowned. “Well, not without Dion,” She amended, “Or the other two.”

Raz blinked. “Dion’s here?” He stood up. “He’s not—he’s not still mad at me for running away, right? I can kind of see what the other mes see, but…” He trailed off, staring at the floor.

“He asked me to help troubleshoot his apology.” Gisu said flatly. “And I’m still missing a lot of the context here, by the way.”

“Oh.” Raz’ mouth worked, for a moment, as he looked for the words. “I ran away,” he started, “And I made it to Whispering Rock…” He contemplated, for a moment, before skipping ahead, “The other me and me swapped places at the Rhombus of Ruin.” He said.

“Oh.” Gisu clutched her board a little tighter. That was—oh. Suddenly, the exhaustion smeared under his eyes looked even more sad and pathetic, like a wet kitten alone in a box after all of the other kittens had been taken. Oh, this poor kid.

These poor kids, Gisu realized, looking at Six. She had heard Not-Raz respond to Three, and he’d called the other Four…

She had never heard anything about a One, Two, or Five.

“Well, this is your lucky day,” she decided, “Because you’re getting out of here. All of you.” Raz perked up at her statement. Good.

“It’s too late.” Six stated. “Three and Four got caught. They’re probably already on their way to being terminated.” He scoffed. “I’ll probably be next.”

Gisu swallowed. That… didn’t sound good. “We’ve still got to do something,” She urged.

Raz nodded, turning to Six. “Don’t you want to see the ocean?” He asked, “Because this might be your one chance.”

Six stared at Raz for a long moment. He scowled. “That’s not fair.” He muttered, standing up to join Gisu and Raz. “You can’t just use my weakness against me.” Still, he was no longer sitting next to the slide, so Gisu counted that as a win.

“C’mon,” She urged. “Let’s go kick that lady’s—”

“Ms. Naumann.” Six interjected.

“Okay.” Gisu started again. “Let’s go kick Ms. Naumann’s butt!”

+=+=+=+=+

Three had never been in this room before. There was a large glass tube—that Three and Four were immediately dumped into—and a control panel that took up most of the space, making the whole place feel cramped. Dion was set down in the only open space on the floor, hands cuffed behind him, and the door wasn’t able to slide shut with him sitting so close to it. He wasn’t conscious—Ms. Naumann had used a burst of mental pressure to knock him out when she drew blood. Three looked away from the bandage in the crook of his arm.

Three had never been in this room before. He could guess at what it was, though. His hands pressed against the glass while his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest—

Twin screams lighting up the shared headspace, hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt HURT—

“Please.” Three tried. Four leaned against him, his weight and his mind a steadying presence, but he may as well have been trying to steady a wobbling tower of cards on a rocking boat in the middle of a storm.

Okay, so that metaphor was wordy. Three was allowed to be wordy, he felt, when there was death looming over him.

“I can see this project isn’t working out.” Ms. Naumann muttered. “Perhaps I’ll have to put it on pause… or maybe taking up a second project will give me some much-needed variety.” She regarded Three and Four for a long moment, her cool gaze betraying not even a hint of the anger that Three could feel leaching off of her.

“You did well.” She said, reaching for the panel. “But I see you’ve been let loose for too long.” Her words sounded too practiced to be sincere, even though she would have only had to say anything. “I will make this as painless as possi—”

“Hey.”

As one, Three, Four, and Ms. Naumann turned their attention to the open doorway, where Dion was still unconscious to the side. Standing next to him was none other than Six, regarding Ms. Naumann with a blank expression.

Ms. Naumann returned to the control panel. “Return to the playroom, Subject Six.” She ordered. “This isn’t a place for clones.”

“No.” Six said, staring her down.

Ms. Naumann paused, turning to look at Six directly. “No?”

“No.” Six repeated, raising his hands.

Ms. Naumann’s voice cut off with a gasp as she fell to the floor, her whole body trembling. Six’ brow furrowed as he stepped forwards, his hands outstretched. “You’re an awful mother.” He declared. “And we don’t like you!” He swept his arms to the side, and Ms. Naumann slammed against the wall with a wheeze. Six’ arms dropped. Ms. Naumann fell to the floor.

“Dion!” And then Raz was in the room, standing next to Dion and fussing—

“Let’s get you out of there.” And there was Gisu, since when was Gisu here, staring at the control panel for a moment before slamming her fist down on one of the buttons.

Three flinched—

The tube opened up. Oh. Oh, thank god.

Three and Four wasted no time in making their way out of there, standing next to Gisu. The room was getting really crowded, now, there was barely any room for anyone to move around—

“You.” Ms. Naumann was already pushing herself up. “You insolen—”

A pair of shiny metal handcuffs thwacked off of her head, clattering to the floor. Three turned back to see Dion standing, muttering curses under his breath as he rubbed at the base of his thumb. “And stay down.” He added.

Ms. Naumann did not stay down. She hissed, and before Gisu or Six could do anything to stop her, she spoke. “Initiate System Shutdown, voice code 4-18-4-25-4.”

Alarms started blaring. Ms. Naumann disappeared with a pop, leaving them all crowded in that tiny room.

“Time to get out of here!” Gisu declared. Raz launched himself at Dion, who scooped up Four and Three in his arms once again. Gisu threw down her board, grabbed Six, and hopped on—Dion hopped on next. “Which way?”

“Down that hall, then take a right!” Four instructed, as Gisu’s levboard rocketed off down the halls. “Now left!” Three had to grab Dion’s vest to avoid falling off as Gisu turned—this was so much worse than when Dion had been running. But with the countdown blaring over their heads, Three didn’t have it in himself to say anything.

“And out that door!” Four pointed. But the door was closed!

Gisu raised her hand and pointed with two fingers. Lightning blasted out down the hall, hitting the door just moments before her levboard got there—

Her board flew out into open air, leaving the smoke from the blasted door behind them. The hidden lab rumbled, the whole mountain seeming to shake—

The whole world spun, Three tumbling right out of Dion’s grip as the board was flung forwards. He tumbled through the air and into the undergrowth, rolling across the ground before coming to a stop.

The sky was a brilliant shade of orange above him. Morning already?

Fuck, he was exhausted. The world was still spinning, a bit, and he could hear everyone shouting or groaning as they picked themselves up. Four was okay, though, and Raz was out—that was all that mattered.

With a tired groan, Three let his eyes slip closed.

[razzle-zazzle]

How did Dion end up a cyborg in your Rewired au

451 Words

"'The Humanity Project'?" Aranka tapped her nails against the file in front of her, looking at the person across the table.

They chuckled. "What, you don't like it?" They moved to adjust their tie.

Aranka's lips pursed. "Surely you couldn't have chosen something more... fitting?"

"Yeah right." They scoffed. "I might not work directly with the PR team, but even I can tell you how stupid that'd be." They shrugged. "And it's not like I can ask marketing for help on this one, given—well." They nodded their head towards the file.

Aranka considered the reasoning. It did make sense...

"Why 'The Humanity Project' in particular? If you don't mind my curiosity." She'd worked with multiple people like them in the past; more than one had held the opinion that Aranka should do the job they paid her for instead of asking questions. More than one of her former employers had been fools.

The person before her inclined their head. "The simplicity, mostly." They responded. "Generic enough to be looked over, innocent enough to avoid investigation. So even if some newshound sniffs it out, it won't look like anything worth reporting on."

"I see." Aranka flipped through the file again, skimming the project details. "And you'll provide the subjects?"

"And any other resources or funding you'll need." They assured. "You're not the only one invested in this project, Ms. Naumann."

Aranka hummed to herself. This was definitely one of her less... ethical projects. But if her theories were correct—and even if they weren't—then she could open up entirely new frontiers in the study of the human mind. She could potentially even craft a paper on free will and individuality from this project, were it ethical enough to source.

And that was the issue. Ethics. Oh, Aranka understood why the simpering masses of the world valued them—but one did not make an omelette without cracking eggs, and Aranka considered herself a far more practical woman. Really, the only thing stopping her before was the sheer upkeep involved in using live subjects, let alone human ones.

But with this funding, with these resources being offered to her...

One could not make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And if the omelette Aranka was aiming for turned out anything near what she hoped, then all the more reason to start.

"I'll need fifteen subjects." She started. "Healthy, in the same age range—young adults if you can help it—and ten of them psychic." She looked up at the person across from her, meeting their gray eyes with her own. "Can you manage that?"

They grinned, extending a hand across the table for Aranka to shake. "Why, Ms. Naumann, I think you've got yourself a deal."

[razzle-zazzle]

Any Psychonauts OC's you have?

Sort of? I've certainly made up a few characters to use in my AUs, but I'm not sure I could call them Psychonauts OCs specifically, since chances are I'll use them again in other continuities as it suits me.

But of that number, we've got Archelaos from Buried Beneath, ancient bodystealer looking to have a good time, Denver, his on-and-off lover who he taught the bodyhopping trick to. And some other psychics who have figured out the bodyhopping trick throughout history but they don't have names yet.

There's the Entity in Symbiosis; Aranka Naumann and the clones in Pooter Pile; there's Creed and Tammy and the Owl from The Lion, along with all the other denizens of Ouroboros; and Carrie in Sit Still, Look Pretty. And that's about it for AU OCs actually.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 13: can't make an omelet without breaking a few legs

Dislocation

1473 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for injury description

AO3 ver

“Three, look!”

Three looked up from his book at his brother. Four was doing a handstand on top of the small swing set Ms. Naumann had installed, looking excitedly at Three upside down. The moment Four knew Three was watching, he proceeded to handstand walk along the bar, grinning the whole time.

Three cheered. “You’re getting really good at that!” He set his book down and stood up. “Bet you can’t do a flip!”

Four scoffed. “Of course I can.” He boasted. He’d seen the original’s memories; this was baby stuff. With practiced ease, he went from gripping the bar in a handstand to balancing on it, arms spread out to his sides.

Watch this!

Four backflipped, landing on the bar for barely a second before he jumped again, twirling in the air.

Watch this!

Watch me!

Three was chanting, now, a steady chorus of “Flip! Flip! Flip! Flip!” undercut with mental pulses of encouragement. Ribbons of joy snaked through their link, tethering Four to the idea that he could do anything.

(Memories of calloused hands around his own, leading him along a practice wire. Memories of being thrown across the trapeze, the knowledge that he’d always be caught firm in his mind. Memories of being lifted in the air and spun around, laughter in the air.

The memories weren’t really Four’s, but he enjoyed them all the same.)

Four jumped higher, trying to push himself. The swing set wasn’t all that tall, maybe eight feet at the most—Four had climbed up higher on the cabinets and shelves in the storage room.

And compared to memories from the original? This was baby stuff.

Four double-jumped with a burst of psychic power, curled into a ball and spun in the air. Free Hour would be over soon, but he was having too much fun to care.

Four came back down, uncurling to land on the bar.

He wrongfooted.

For a moment, it was like the whole world slowed down as Four was suddenly weightless, the bar rising above him.

No, the bar wasn’t rising.

Four was falling.

Panic kicked in. Four caught the chain of one of the swings, hands stinging from the friction—

Pain erupted in his shoulder and he yelped, letting go. His back slammed against the floor seconds later, knocking the air out of him.

Panic filtered in through the link. Static fizzled through the back of Four’s mind.

Distantly, he could hear Three yelling.

Four wasn’t sure how long he laid there, everything around him fuzzy. Maybe it was only a few seconds. Maybe it was an eternity.

Throbbing pain in his shoulder battled with tingling numbness down his arm. His neck tingled. His back ached.

The bright lights of the playroom bore down on him, making Four squint his eyes.

And then the lights were blocked by the looming form of Ms. Naumann, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Four wheezed.

Ms. Naumann’s frown tightened. “Don’t move.” She commanded, her hand feeling out the shape of Four’s shoulder.

Four hissed in pain at the contact.

Ms. Naumann hmmed. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder.” She explained. “Perhaps next time you might consider doing your flips on the mats.”

Four managed to project a weak yes, ma’am as Ms. Naumann kneeled on his right side.

“Subject 3.” Ms. Naumann’s voice was even, betraying no hint of annoyance or worry. “Come here and watch.”

Three scurried over, shoulders hunching as he kneeled down next to Ms. Naumann. She glanced at him briefly, confirming that he was paying attention. Holding Four’s wrist so that his arm was level with his body, hand facing down, she spoke.

“What you need to do with a dislocated shoulder is hold it like this. Then,” Ms. Naumann began to slowly move Four’s arm away from his body, pumping it up and down as she did, “You bring their arm up like this until it is directly perpendicular to the body.” She started to turn it in place. “Rotate it slowly, just like the smaller motions of before. Then—” She pushed Four’s arm up slowly, carefully.

Four squeaked as feeling returned to his arm.

A pulse of telekinesis, and suddenly the materials for a sling were in Ms. Naumann’s hand. She bent Four’s arm at the elbow before securing it against his body.

At her command, Four sat up, cradling the sling.

Ms. Naumann stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Free Hour is over.” She declared. “Both of you return to your dorm and do the chemistry worksheets until told otherwise.” She stalked over to the door, before turning back to the clones. “Go on, go.”

Three and Four were quick to leave.

+=+=+=+=+

Ms. Naumann brought in a medical dummy a week after that, alongside books and videos on basic medical techniques.

Three threw himself into the new studies with fervor, as he always did. Four picked up most of the lessons through Three’s own deep dives into them, content to let his brother take the lead.

(The knowledge was useful. It would be good to have, and by having it, Three would ensure that he stayed useful—

He needed to be useful. Useful clones were kept around, and Three needed to be kept around. He wouldn’t go out the way One and Two did, not if he could help it.

The psychic echoes of their deaths lingered still.

It was a good reminder.)

+=+=+=+=+

Three was gone.

Not dead gone—Four could talk to Three at any time he wanted to, through their shared headspace. But the physical absence was still there, 

Five and Six were nice, in an abstract sort of way. But they weren’t Three.

Because Three was gone, off living out Raz’ life while Ms. Naumann worked with him.

Four hadn’t gotten the chance to meet Raz yet. He knew him, through the memories and the shared thoughts and psychic feedback, but he didn’t know him. Had never met the original, for all that Raz was right here in the facility.

But wherever Ms. Naumann had decided Raz would stay, it wasn’t anywhere the clones spent their time.

Yet. Six had an odd knack for getting into Ms. Naumann’s files and getting away with it, and he was eager to tell Five and Four (and Three) all about how Ms. Naumann was just “making sure our guest is adjusted to this place and its rules” and “less afraid of the water” before having him integrate.

Four was actually kind of excited to meet the original, all things considered. Raz was an actual trained acrobat! Four could get so much more knowledge interacting with the original than he could through the shared headspace!

But the excitement of getting to meet someone new didn’t get rid of Three’s absence. Didn’t clear out the fear that Three might not come back.

None of the clones had ever left the facility before Ms. Naumann went to the Rhombus. Three technically wasn’t even supposed to accompany her, but she’d gotten the idea to test his mental shielding against the psylirium. And when she’d encountered the original, unattended and half-conscious—

Three took to his new mission with gusto, like he did with everything Ms. Naumann assigned him. And Four was happy his brother got to see the wider world—he really was!

But.

Even though Three was right there on the other end of the link, even though Three was telling Four every detail of the events at the Motherlobe, even though Three checked in often, mentally coming to Four for advice and ideas—

Four couldn’t help but think back to when he fell for the first time and dislocated his shoulder. His arm had still been there, tingly and numb—

But he hadn’t been able to move it. He hadn’t been able to move it, because even though it was still attached to him it was dislocated, ball popped out of the socket and the surrounding muscles and tendons damaged. Four’s brother was still there, still attached by their mental link across the shared headspace, but he wasn’t here, the connection stretched across miles.

It stung more than it should, Four felt. He should be happy for how far his brother was going, how much he was accomplishing—and he was! He was, honest!

But there was no chanting when he got up on a balance beam, no ribbons of joy streaming through their link making Four feel like he could do anything. Four was no longer the one who kept pushing to greater heights, for all that he still pushed himself to be a better acrobat. Three was the one pushing himself further and further.

Four curled up on Three’s cot, rubbing the edge of the blanket between his fingers. It wasn’t any different from Four’s blanket, or from Five or Six’.

Four dragged it over to his cot anyway.