[Hey Violet, you remember that back and forth reposting we had on that one post I did and you countered my worsening of the matter with the prospect of tattoos? :> Heh... Buckle up.]
Ahem; in retaliation/acceptance of the challenge administered to me in form of "(please don't)" spoken by @violetstarc4, I give to you my means of torment. Enjoy your suffering~
Jay remembered the day he and Nya had gotten their matching tattoos, the one which replicated the likeness of their Promise medallions, just in the form of ink on their skin. He could remember how tightly he had held her hand as she laughed softly when his was getting done; the pain was fine, it was just the sight of the needle which made him uneasy. He never liked needles—makes sense as he grew up on a junkyard in the middle of the desert with oh so rare visits to the hospital.
She continued to laugh and tease him for that long after the day itself, though every single time, repented for her poking fun in payment of cuddles and kisses.
He liked her cuddles and kisses.
Which meant that it was only natural for the universe to take those away from him.
It was the Merge that took them.
It was the Merge that took her.
—
Needles.
His bleary eyes opened and was instantly blinded by the bright white light, feeling its searing intensity like it was burning into his skull and causing spots to appear in his sight. When he managed to blink and squint his eyes open enough to battle the light, he registered that there were silhouettes of people above him, holding objects with thin, pointed ends.
They were needles.
He didn't know why it unsettled him so greatly; the uneasiness, almost nauseating, was so great it was to the point he tried moving, ignoring the agonizing pain striking through his entire body. He felt hands on him as he had to be held down. He thought he could feel the pinpricks of the syringes piercing his skin, but the stinging and aches and dizziness kind of drowned out all other feeling. He could see hints of red, mainly on himself, with the crimson of both dried and fresh blood plaguing what little of his body that he could see; his vision even still rimmed with the same color.
Just from what was in his peripheral, he wasn't sure he wanted to look down at the rest of him.
However, either way, he did so as much as he could. And what he saw nearly made him sick under the oxygen mask that had been placed to cup the lower half of his face.
There was blood. Everywhere.
One injury which stuck out to him was on his right forearm, mauled and torn up. Deep gashing of the flesh revealed bone, at least part of the bone that wasn't sticking out; it was as it his arm had been completely crushed.
He felt like he was accustomed to blood, maybe even had some medical knowledge, and was just used to seeing it—he couldn't remember why, but he felt like that was the case—but the sight of his own bone still made him want to puke. Yet, past the blood and shredded skin—or rather on the shredded skin—were spots of black; ink. He could only speculate it was a tattoo.
Then the sluggish revelation came to him as he realized that he should probably know exactly what it was, but didn't.
What had happened to him?
Shouldn't he know what was going on?
Why didn't he?
His head was throbbing and aching—his entire body was.
Through the mental fog which was clearing only to produce splitting pain in his brain, an onslaught of more questions he should know the answers to swirled; where was he? Who were these people tending to him and shouting as they did, voices muffled by the ringing in his own ears? Did he know them? Were his his friends? Family? Were they helping because they were worried? Why did he feel like he knew someone who was worried, but who wasn't here? If they cared and worried, shouldn't they be here? Why did the area on his body, where he somehow knew there was a pocket, feel so light? Did he lose something? What was it? Why did thinking about losing what had been in that pocket make his heart ache more than it already was, when he didn't even know what he had lost?
His heart rate spiked as another thought came to mind: who was he?
That thought terrified him; he had no clue who or where he was, who these people are, what had happened to him with the result of ending up like... this-
He was lost.
He was more lost then his heart could ever remember him being before.
It didn't help that whenever he looked at the needles injecting numbing , he felt a weight in his mangled hand, as if someone else's should be holding it. Yet there it lay, holding onto nothing except air.
He glimpsed one of the figures raising something resembling a saw, before the scent within the oxygen mask every so faintly changed, and when he breathed it in, everything instantly went back.
—
"Manager Walker!"
His eyes snapped up to his office door with a slight jolt—out of fear of his "paperwork sessions" being discovered—before the annoyance quickly took place. A scowl plastered over the competitive expression which made an appearance whenever he was gaming, pushing his chair away from his desk as his paused the game and set the control down. He stood and stalked out of the smaller room into the much larger room where there was a swirling blue portal in front of a long treadmill-like moving aisle. To the left of the portal, straight ahead in front of his office door, was a raised platform containing many monitors, as well as two other agents working them
"Subagent Prentis," Jay answered, eyes narrowed at the pale-haired man who stood at the railing up on the platform. "What is it this time."
The man wearing the sunglasses above him fidgeted. "Your, um, parts you requested from engineering- They were dropped off with all forms already signed- So-"
Jay gave him an exasperated expression as if telling him to simply get on with it.
The agent gulped. "It's over there- Uh- Sir-" He pointed towards the stairs leading up to the platform, Jay finding a small box placed to the side of them before walking over, his steps steady and sure as he slinked along in his suit.
"Good; now if you'll excuse me, I was in the middle of some very important work." He cast another quick stern look to Prentis as he retrieved the box before reentering his office and closing the door. Once the door was shut, he let out a slight breath.
In that short pause from entering his office again, newcoming thoughts of the questions he used to ask had been smothered before they even came to be; it made it easier having forgotten all about the tattoo-like markings that had been on his arm when he woke up, years ago. He never remembered anything else; he wouldn't have remembered himself if it weren't for the Administration telling him, and he still didn't know what it was like or who he was before the occurrence known as the Merge. Nowadays, though, he just didn't bother questioning; he knew the life he had now and that's all he cared to know, because maybe it was better not knowing if he had left someone behind.
Jay walked back over to his desk, turning his chair slightly with one hand as the other held the box, swiveling it back to facing the desk once he was sat down. He tore open the top flaps of the cardboard, snapping the tape, before opening a drawer to his desk.
He needed these parts to keep the mechanics working, having to order more to input an upgrade every time it started locking up. Like it did now.
"Schnike-!" Jay cursed as his right hand stiffened, refusing to move, and dropping items back into the drawer. With a grumble, he reached his left hand in instead, pulling out a few thin tools and setting all but one on the table surface. Then, using the same hand, reached into the package to grab a couple of its small contents before placing the box next to the other tools.
He shrugged off his suit jacket to rest on the back of his seat then rolled up the right sleeve of his white dress shirt, turning his arm to be palm-up. He fiddled with the tool in his left hand and wiggled its point against a small area on his right arm before a hatch popped open in the metal; he then began skillfully using the new parts to replace the pieces not working within his personally designed and own creation.
He was proud of it, especially having accomplished its construction quite literally single-handedly. And even though it was a bit of a hassle to get it working when some parts ran out of use, but being the inventor he was—and that part of him really being the only part he remembered/knew about himself—he always found a small joy out of upgrading the mechanics in his prosthetic arm.
I really really want to hate it cause what do you mean you put him through the whole ordeal or getting the tattoo only to destroy it??? That’s horrible! And not even destroy it a little bit holy crap! His whole arm??? Nya’s going to be devastated.
But it’s so so good. And I love the way you wrote it, because I wasn’t completely sure if he’d lost the whole arm or just had a massive scar over the spot until the end.
Hehehe... Because he's Jay; of course he has to be the cockroach and go through the whole ordeal~! If it's so horrible if I do it, why isn't it horrible when Jay does it? Going through a whole ordeal to form a strong, affectionate, loving, good relationship just to destroy it??? And not just a wee bit destroyed, but forgetting the entire thing and even forgetting her! Nya's going to feel sorrow and heartache every single time she makes contact with the cold steel of that arm; it's just a reminder that she wasn't always there for him and the cold empty feeling she feels when she feels that arm is exactly what he felt when he woke up to have no one but himself.
I'm glad you liked ittt!! I got to the end of the second section before I wasn't able to get online for like over a week and so just today I went back and added/edited some things then finished it! I think I turned out pret-ty well, if I do say so myself! That's exactly what I was going for, not leaving gaps in the way of writing but keeping it masked enough to leave the read without the whole picture until the very last line. (The original idea was just a scar, but then I thought "But what if he forgot it entirely...? Which means he would have to have zero trace of it at all... Hmm...")
When Jay was like 5-ish at his own request he was taken for dance lessons and, not that he ever realised, they were taught by Lilly and Cole is completely unaware until Ed and Edna just randomly brought it up one time
AW i wonder if cole remembers and either just thought jay remembered or thought it was funny that jay didn't recognize him
walker fam </3 I really wanted to draw libber and baby jay and then I saw a tweet about widow!jay with baby mira and my heart shattered into a million pieces
It is extremely rare that I get unintentionally rickrolled. It is extremely common that I look at a link and think to myself, that's a rickroll, and I click on it. Then I get to enjoy the satisfaction of being correct, as well as the entirety of Never Gonna Give You Up. That shit is a banger. If someone offers me a link directly to that song you think I'm not gonna take it? No. You know the rules and so do I. It's Astley time.
I once rickrolled an entire group of friends while playing a game with zero vocal communication like mics/voicechat, and didn’t even realize until one friend pointed it out in the chat/texting while everyone was was crying in the chat from either sobbing or from laughing.
I can imagine so much chaos happening when Jay slowly regains his memories.
Imagine everyone sitting down eating breakfast when Jay suddenly shouts "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE'VE BEEN TO SPACE?!" And then everyone has to explain to the new members of the team what happened, and Jay is just sitting there realising his life has never been normal.
