Destroyer - MK
(Masterlist)
they were doing some MK ultra shit to delta im ngl
(Content: medical whump, drugging, dissociation, living weapon whumpee, begging, needles, addiction implied)
Lights and colors. It was all dreamy in the void. How long had he been there? The question made no sense. He was always here. Always had been. Something milk white and slimy nuzzled up against his leg.
“Attention, Control. You’re drifting off again.” A voice cut through the noise. He hadn’t noticed the noise just until the voice had cut through it. What did it sound like? Water on rocks. A rainstorm heard from the inside of a tin chest. Mewling. Drool dripping.
Something pricked at his forehead. He gasped.
“Tighten up.”
He nodded weakly. For a moment, he was back in the office. The faces surrounding him were blurry and tame. His body was nowhere, but his wrists were bound. A thin line of fire worked its way around his neck. Then the office was gone and so was he. Light and colors.
The sharp tip of a blade rose out of the water, held aloft by a hand whose flesh was slipping off of it. The skin debris dripped down into the lake. It floated there like broth that needed to be skimmed. Disgust rose up in his stomach. Had it been full, he thought it might empty itself. He’d have to have a body for that, though.
Pain replaced everything. He couldn’t tell the source of it. He couldn’t tell where it ended and began.
Inside of you, something said. It’s inside. Get it out.
He whimpered. From somewhere far away, someone sighed in disgust.
“Delta. One-oh-seven. Enough. Follow the rabbit.”
The instruction was only vaguely familiar. It was coming to him so slow this time. A sine wave hit him directly in the side of his head. It hurt. Abstract concepts soared over the pit he’d carved out for himself. He was helplessly lost. He was scared. Not how he usually was. It was otherworldly.
A snake bit his ankle. It winded and winded.
“Simon?” He called weakly.
Pain, sharp and hot.
“Dr.Leach isn’t here. And you are not to call him that.”
He felt the firm grip on his face, but couldn’t see it. His vision was dislocated somehow. He did not know what he was seeing instead. It wasn’t nothing.
The dragon had two tails. He made out the shape on its side.
“Yellow,” he managed, “Yellow, four-sided, decimal. Cobra. Holly.”
“Designation?”
“MK. Omega. Ow. Fucking ow.”
He felt a hand come down hard against his cheek. He’d just been slapped. Even in his drugged state, he knew that that wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t procedure. He knew Dr.Martino hated him. Really hated him. It didn’t come as a shock everytime he remembered — but the slap had. He made a soft, choked noise. The drugs made the pain feel more intense; they didn’t numb it, like he hoped they would. Weren’t they supposed to?
“Again.”
Something electric and circuitous played against the flesh of his bound hand. The vision shifted.
“Threat level magenta,” he choked, “Seven. Spades. Diamondback. Juniper.”
“Juniper?”
“Pike,” he corrected. “Please make it stop.”
“You know better than to ask,” The doctor said. Something sharp. He couldn’t tell if it was a punishment for having begged or if it was just part of the procedure. They drew no distinction, expecting him to take either complacently. It burned against the inside of his skin.
“Again.”
========
When the drug finally wore off, he was shaking so badly that the chains binding his wrists rattled softly and continuously. He’d been bound up for too long, too tightly. His shoulders and knees ached from the pressure. All the spots on the body where the needle had jabbed him bled through the bandages. There was a dull and constant ache all throughout his body that heightened at each injection site. He tried desperately to subdue his crying, but the tears flowed freely and undisturbed. He couldn’t even roll his shoulder enough to wipe them.
Dr.Martino went about his business like he wasn’t even there. There was no reason for him to still be bound, to still be kept kneeling. The experiment was over. It had ended thirty minutes ago. He didn’t voice this, sure that if he did Martino would make a point to keep him there longer. He tried to readjust his position to relieve the tension. Nothing worked. He just wanted to sleep.
“That was pathetic,” Dr.Martino finally addressed him. Delta cringed. He still didn’t move to free him, which was all Delta could really focus on in the moment.
“Needless to say, I don’t think the Cytopline is a good match. We’ll run a few retrials with different dosages to be sure, but I’m not confident it’ll be to any greater effect.”
Delta tried not to cry again. He thought he meant today. He just needed a break before they started again, just a few minutes to get out of position. He wouldn’t be able to handle going under again.
“There’ll be a bit of a cooldown period before it becomes effective again. You might be inoperable the next few days,” the doctor clarified, much to his relief.
“I can write you a note, if you want.”
========
Delta laid numbly on the floor of his bedroom, in the same position he’d been in for hours. The blanket was a tangled mess around him. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, just that it was well past when he was supposed to have risen. He drifted in and out of consciousness. There was a sudden banging at the door.
“You know you’re not allowed to quit, right?” Paris called from the other side of it. Delta closed his eyes.
He was sure that Dr.Martino hadn’t told him on purpose. The unexplained absence would put Paris in a bad mood off the gate, make him totally unwilling to listen once Delta was forced to explain, and Paris was by no means obligated to comply in the first place. The excuse wouldn’t count for anything. He’d still be forced out into the field. He’d probably still be punished just for trying to get out of it. It was such an underhanded move. Delta resented whenever the doctor called him sneaky; if anything, he had learned it from him.
He braced himself up on one elbow, getting ready to open the door, when Paris opened it himself. Right. Not like it had a lock. Delta collapsed back. That was fine. He hated having anyone in his space, but he also didn’t think he’d be able to walk in a straight line all the way to the door.
But Paris’s anger was always so visibly telegraphed that its absence was immediately obvious. If anything, he was annoyingly chipper. He had one hand pressed up against the top of the doorframe, leaning casually in the entrance. The end of a nicotine lollipop hung off to the side of his mouth. He let himself into the room.
Delta adjusted roughly, just barely pulling himself upright into a kneel. He was already on the floor, so that helped. His hair fell messily in his face. He reached one arm behind him, feeling around clumsily for the doctor’s note on the desk. He offered it up with one hand.
Paris took it. He read it over slowly, trying to make out the nearly indecipherable doctor’s handwriting. Somehow he managed.
“Oh shit. Comedown?” Paris popped the candy out of his mouth.
“Yes, sir.” Delta stopped himself from rolling his eyes. It was technically true, but he would never call it that.
Paris winced in sympathy, giving Delta some indication of just how pathetic he must have looked. He glanced at the note again. His eyes hovered on the medication name.
“…Do you have any more?”
Delta pulled the pill bottle out from his desk drawer, tossing them over. He was glad to be rid of them. Paris caught them in one hand, letting the note drift back to the ground.
“Take oxitriptan,” he called over his shoulder. He slid the pills into his pants pocket and disappeared out the door. Delta collapsed back against the crumpled blanket. He wasn’t going to take anything. He was pretty content to just lay there. He pulled the blanket over his face, not sleeping, nor moving.
…………
tags:
@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump
@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire
@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety
