#gene is going to be so soso screwed over i fear

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Ghost in the Machine

Living Weapon Whump for the 2025yearofwhumptropes

content: medical setting, noncon drugging, living weapon whump, memory loss, restraints, dehumanization, bound

Day 1. #20159

Next

He woke with a searing flash behind his eyes, the kind that split his skull in two and left the edges of the world smeared and formless. It blurred his vision to the point he could hardly make out the edges of the hospital bed or the faces around him. What he could recognize was the sterile tange of antiseptic singing his nostrils.

Directly above him, a vent blew cold air into his face.

He opened his mouth but all that came out was a cotten-throated "gah", the words stuck somewhere between his tongue and teeth.

He blinked rapidly, everything hitting him all at once and leaving him with a pit in his stomach.

"Wh-where am I?" each word was a battle.

Someone hushed him and turning to someone behind them, snapped. "Increase the dosage, will you?"

"What?" He tried to sit up, only to be yanked back down to the stiff sheets by the velcro restraints around his wrists and ankles.

His breathing faltered. Trapped. He was trapped.

But he didn't really panic until he saw the IV linked to his forearm, pinching his skin under the small bandage. Some yellow, shimmering liquid was being pumped into his body.

And he could see it.

Vicious, golden threads under his skin. Pulsing. Stitching their way up, up, up--

The scream ripped itself out of him, raw and guttural.

"Someone calm it down!"

Desperation became a whole new reality, lodged entirely in the small medical room with four pale walls and that cheap landscape painting in the corner.

Someone was shoving him down.

"Get it out! Get it the fuck out of me!" he thrashed wildly against the arms that pinned him to the bed. They grunted and pulled another strap over his forehead.

Their clothes smelled of cigarette smoke and salt water, green and nauseating. Their face was lined, almost etched. There was a heaviness in their expression that almost hid the vicious smile. Almost.

They jabbed something sharp into his upper thigh and its effects were immediate.

It hit him like a physical blow, his limbs relaxing at his side before he could fight it.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one harder to draw than the last.

No- no- no!

Shadows crept into the edges of his vision.

He could do nothing besides snarl internally when the stranger sat beside him. "You're going to regret that, kiddo." They straightened and pulled a notebook out of their jacket.

"Subject two-oh-one-five-nine," they spelled out, "has been properly sedated after a brief resistance. Remains unmanageable." They shot him a look, arching an eyebrow, like they were daring him to try anything further.

"But not for long," they added.

Just wait, the boy thought, until I tell...

Tell...

He had someone to tell. He did.

The word with the face attached to it was just out of reach.

His vision narrowed to a tunnel of smudged colors.

The memory slipped completely. Shit.

The last thing he felt was the stranger brushing a hand through his hair, slow and deliberate.

"We're going to make something out of you yet."

His heart lurched with a new, horrifying realization.

He couldn't remember his own name.