Caretaker who was sent videos of Whumpee's torture by Whumper
#256
content: forced to watch, captivity, amputation whump, no holds barred beatdown
"You," Caretaker growled, clutching the baseball bat in their hand tighter.
Whumper smiled at them. "Me indeed. We finally meet. Whumpee has talked a lot about you, you know."
"Keep their name out of your filthy mouth," they hissed. "You don't deserve them. You don't deserve to say their name, to look at them, to touch them—"
"Oh, but touch them I did. I've given them a wonderful little gift of scars, pains, and memories."
Caretaker knew. They'd seen the videos. Videos of Whumper cutting off parts of Whumpee's body, permanently disabling them. Videos of Whumpee trying to run from them, limping, screaming for help. Videos of Whumper beating them until Whumpee was nothing but a bloody heap on the ground, unable to even groan in pain. They'd seen it all. They'd seen it a thousand times, trying to look for clues in them, anything that would've brought them closer to finding them. There was nothing.
Until yesterday.
"I didn't call the police on you," Caretaker said. "They would be too understanding."
"No, of course not. You're your own little vigilante, saving Whumpee from the big bad wolf yourself."
They raised the baseball bat. They didn't know why Whumper was so calm and confident when they seemed to be the only one with a weapon, and they didn't want to find out. The sooner they took Whumper down, the better.
"No!" they heard a scream.
Caretaker whipped around to find there was a small glass window looking into this room, and Whumpee was on the other side of it. Their hand with which they were banging on the glass was leaving bloody handprints.
"Would you look at that?" Whumper said. "We have company."
"Caretaker, please, don't do it! They'll put you in jail! Please! I can't do it without you, I can't!"
Caretaker's fingers tightened around the baseball bat, their teeth grinding on each other as they thought back to the weeks of torment both they and Whumpee had had to endure. They were so angry, they almost yelled at Whumpee to come to their senses, to be glad they were going to beat their assailant to death. But then, as they thought further, they realised Whumpee was right. They lowered the bat. They had been so selfish. They'd… put their revenge above Whumpee's well-being.
They turned back around to face Whumper, their righteous fury slowly evaporating. They still loathed Whumper, but their logical thinking skills were slowly coming back to them. Whumper was still smiling, like they were invincible.
"So?" Whumper asked. "What will it be?"
"I'm calling the cops."
Whumper's smile widened, and they reached into their pocket, pulling out something that didn't look like a weapon. They lifted it and let the leather case fall open, revealing a police badge. "At your service."
Eldwin being ordered to cut his own hand off just to see if he'll do it (under the guise of "you need to do things that make you uncomfortable") (it will be healed so it doesn't matter)
content: infection, gangrene, amputation, field surgery, broken bones, gore, brief & temporary death wish, lady whump, yuri!
-
The infection only got worse and worse.
Whumpee tried to get the guards to do something about it. When it became apparent that the guards didn’t give a fuck whether she lived or died, she tried to ignore it. But as her foot started to necrose more and more, and then her ankle, and then her lower leg, she stopped being able to ignore it.
She didn’t take her shoe off anymore. It hurt too much, and looking at it made her want to puke. She couldn’t stand, could barely even sit.
And then she got a cellmate.
The other captive was quiet and reserved, but not shy. She was polite, but not much for conversation, not unless it served some practical purpose.
So when Caretaker asked What’s wrong with your leg? only hours after arriving, without having seen anything, she knew it had to be bad.
“Some kinda infection,” Whumpee explained, her voice ever-strained now. “Figure it’ll go away or my foot’ll fall off, one or the other.”
“Or you get sepsis and die,” Caretaker added bluntly.
Whumpee glared at her. “You some kinda doctor?”
“Medic,” Caretaker corrected. “Can I take a look?”
Whumpee grimaced. She hadn’t looked at it in weeks, and at that point it was just the ball of her foot. It hurt all over now, and she could only imagine how bad it was.
But she didn’t want to get sepsis and die.
“Fine. You can look at it if you can get my boot off.” Whumpee didn’t bother to even try to get up off the floor.
Caretaker came to her. She gripped her right boot, tugging only slightly, but Whumpee had to bite her lip and jerk her head to the side so Caretaker wouldn’t see her cry.
“They’re kidnapping medics now?” she forced out, squeaky, just to try to distract herself.
“Apparently they are. Fast or slow?” Caretaker asked.
Whumpee sucked in a deep, sharp breath. “Fast.”
And Caretaker yanked the boot off all at once.
Whumpee screamed. She couldn’t help it, it was the worst pain she’d ever felt in her entire life, and it wasn’t even close. Miles worse than being shot.
“Breathe,” Caretaker said, and Whumpee was about to spit a remark out about that being oh so helpful when she felt Caretaker take her hand. The medic’s hands were warm and gentle, clasped around her own like a clamshell guarding a pearl. “I’m going to help you.”
She did breathe. Big, shaking breaths in time with Caretaker’s own, until the pain settled back to its already-awful baseline.
She didn’t dare look.
“You have gangrene,” Caretaker said as soon as Whumpee seemed in a place to hear it. “Your lower leg is rotting away. It needs to go or it’s going to take the rest of you with it.”
“Guards don’t care, I already tried ‘em. Fuck. I’m gonna die in here.” Whumpee did look up at her then, still teary, caring less about that by the moment.
Caretaker looked out through the bars. She dropped Whumpee’s hand, shuffling away toward the corner. When she seemed certain that no one else was looking, she silently lifted her shirt and pulled a small pocketknife from her waist. Just as quickly, she resheathed it and pulled her shirt back down.
“How did you–”
“They didn’t search me,” Caretaker whispered. “Probably assumed I didn’t have anything.”
Whumpee set her gaze back on the floor beside her head. “You’re going to cut my leg off with that?”
“We don’t have any other options.” Caretaker was right, Whumpee knew it, but still, the thought of that puny knife sawing into her for who knows how long when simply taking off her boot sent her into unimaginable pain…
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Caretaker continued. “We’ll wait for a time the guards seem unlikely to interrupt us. The fact that they barely looked in when you screamed is a good sign.”
Whumpee nodded blearily. “I’ve been screaming a lot.”
“Good. But we’ll have to try to limit it so they don’t get suspicious. We’ll have to gag you. It’s going to be really, really bad. I’d never think of performing something like this on a conscious person unless it’s an absolute emergency, and that’s what this is. You are going to die if we don’t remove that rotting tissue. I’m going to have to use leverage to break the bone–my knife isn’t strong enough to cut through bone. Then I’ll cut through it as fast as I can, wrap it in my shirt, make a tourniquet, put as much pressure on it as I can, and hope you don’t bleed out or get infected again. It’s the best we’ve got. The good news is I’m pretty sure I can save your knee. Guess it’s a good thing they’re kidnapping medics.”
It sounded like hell.
She had no other choice.
“Okay. I’m in.”
The guards left them alone when they went for dinner–it wasn’t like they expected them to do much. And really, they wouldn’t care about the surgery itself anyway. But if they found Caretaker’s knife, they’d take it away, and then she really would die.
Caretaker pulled off her shirt and slung it over her shoulder, leaving her in a sweaty white tank top. She cut a strip off the bottom, tying it and fashioning it into a makeshift gag.
“This is going to hurt. Just try and stay still or this is going to be way harder than it needs to be.” She knelt down beside Whumpee, one knee bent at a 90-degree angle.
Whumpee nodded. Caretaker picked Whumpee’s leg up and hoisted it over her knee, sending a shockwave of pain through it, and as she rolled up the pant leg, Whumpee finally saw it.
Her leg was unrecognizable. Her toes were totally black, the skin of her foot and up her leg rotten to the bone, which was visible out the side and yellowed. Was it supposed to be yellowed? The whole thing looked more like a dead tree than a part of her body. It was a miracle she kept herself from throwing up, her vision spinning.
“Brace yourself.” Caretaker warned. She wrapped one hand around one fist, raising them up in the air like a hammer. “This is the worst part. I’m going to try to snap the bone. I’m probably not going to be able to do it on the first try. Don’t look and don’t struggle.”
Whumpee whipped her head to the side. As soon as she did, Caretaker brought her fist down with all the force she had.
Something cracked.
For a moment, Whumpee thought there was a ringing in her ears, soon realizing it was the sound of her own muffled screams. It felt like every nerve in her leg had been pulverized, and she twisted away, unable to control herself in her desperation to escape it.
Caretaker gripped her firmly by the shoulder, twisting her right back. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right spot, it didn’t break where we needed it. The bone is weaker on the infection. If I cut there, you’ll still be infected. I need to go again.”
Whumpee shook her head vigorously. She’d rather die. She couldn’t do this.
“I’m sorry,” Caretaker repeated, her voice wavering for once. Distantly, Whumpee realized they were both crying.
The hammer of Caretaker’s fists came down again.
And again. And again.
Each time, Whumpee wailed, trying to leap away to death, though Caretaker easily brought her back. Finally, there was another crack, though everything below that hurt so much worse she could barely feel it.
“There. That’s the worst part,” Caretaker panted, as if she were the one exhausted. “It’ll be over soon. I promise.”
She flipped out that little knife and began to saw.
Whumpee was too spent to struggle anymore, even as she saw the floor grow slick with her blood, even as she felt the blade carve her up like a piece of meat, digging into the corded muscle of her calf.
But oddly enough, by the time she felt her leg thunk onto the cell floor, it hurt less than before they’d began.
Caretaker wrapped something tight just below her knee, and Whumpee whined. Caretaker kept wrapping and wrapping, and when she was done, she pressed her hand into the fabric over the stump of Whumpee’s leg, not letting go.
“It’s done,” she announced. “It’s done. How are you feeling?”
Arms shaking, Whumpee reached up and removed the gag from her mouth. “It hurts,” she whimpered, voice small like a child’s. Whimpered, something she couldn’t say she’d ever done before in her life.
“I know. I’m here. You’re going to live, Whumpee,” Caretaker said reverently.
Whumpee stared at the severed limb laying in a bloody heap on the floor.
HUGE TW: amputation, surgery, sadistic doctor whumper, restraints, paralyzed whumpee, no pain-meds, referenced escape-attempt.
AN: Hello! Let's just pretend d this is all medically accurate/survivable and that Jace would NOT die from shock. Again will definitely come back and edit this. Meet Dr. Morris!
Masterlist
Jace grunted as a blinding white light snapped down on him, stirring him from his sleep. Confused, Jace tried to find cover for his face, only to be obstructed by something firm. Huh? Jace wondered groggily, shifting to look down.
Then, the pain followed.
Jace groaned as a sharp, almost needle-like, agony danced up his legs. Jace gasped, trying to sit up, but once again failed as something heavy held him lying down.
Finally, memories of last night flooded in.
That’s right! He was running away. He made it past the gate! But… but then he tripped? And he got caught..? Jace’s stomach turned as his revelation turned to dread. He snapped his gaze down, finally meeting his reality.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Jace was strapped to some sort of hospital bed, pinned down as if an insect ready to be dissected, and one look around the room quickly eliminated any hope of him being in an actual hospital.
The room was shrouded in darkness apart from the spotlight where Jace laid. It was cluttered, with paper and journals scattered across the room, all suspiciously stained with red.
Jace felt sick.
Had he escaped Theodore only to end up in the hands of a madman? With his luck, Jace wouldn’t be surprised. The sound of beeping filled the room and Jace finally noticed the heat monitor he was strapped to.
A door creaked open and Jace tried to flinch back, the monotone sound of the heart monitor speeding up. A disheveled man limped in, holding a fat stack of papers, mumbling to himself. He looked middle-aged, with long brown hair pulled into a messy pony tail. He had a scar on the left side of his jaw, and he was currently nursing a lit cigarette between his lips.
He grunted as he finally looked up from his paper, seeing Jace staring wide-eyed at him. “Oh? Finally awake…” He grumbled, looking down to check his files, “Jasper?” He dropped his cigarette, grinding the heel of his leather shoe into the bud.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Jace yelped, “Actually, I don’t care. Let me go!”
The man sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face, “Why do they always say that? You young folks nowadays have no manners towards a doctor…” The man stalked forward, flicking on more lights and revealing a table next to Jace filled with sharp tools, syringes, and medications. Jace paled at the sight.
Struggling against his restraints without success, Jace paused at the crackle of a phonograph. The sound of classical music filled the air, contradicting the sporadic beat of the heart monitor. The doctor sighed, a pleased expression crossing his face, “Ah, you must be familiar with this tune? Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, one of Mozart’s best pieces, if I do say so myself. Now, then…” He shuffled through his papers, “Ooh! How exciting! A dual below-the-knee amputation.” He glanced at Jace, a scary glimmer in his eyes, “Finally. You have no idea how boring giving shots and vaccines gets.”
Jace felt his heart lunge to his throat, “A-amputation..?”
The man barred his teeth in a wild grin, “Seems like you got into some trouble with your little escape attempt, huh?”
Escape attempt…? Jace gasped, “Y-You! You work for Theodore?”
The man rolled his eyes, “I don’t work for Theodore, I work with his father.” He snapped blue surgical gloves over both hands. “That family - just full of nutcases! And don’t even get me started on Eleanor! She comes in, like, once every month with her little boy-toy to try out new treatments to make him ‘comply with his husbandly duties’.” The man gossiped, leaning in closer to Jace as if sharing a juicy secret. “But between you and me, I think she just likes hearing him cry.”
Jace’s face twisted in disgust, “You’re sick.”
“Eh,” He shrugged, “I can live with that. Now, hold still.”
Suddenly, Jace’s head was snapped back and a plastic tube was forced down Jace’s throat, silencing him as he gagged at the intrusion. The tube was pulled back and inserted into a strange machine that Jace couldn’t recognize. Just as quickly, the man inserted the needle of an IV drip into Jace’s forearm.
The whole ordeal left Jace disoriented. It all happened so fast that Jace couldn’t even struggle. Clearly, whoever this man was, he was well-practiced. Jace didn’t know if he should be relieved or horrified at that thought.
The sound of the piano seemed to get louder as the man snapped his fingers to the rhythm, gleefully singing along. He pulled up a vial, turning to face Jace as he injected it into the IV drip, “Now, this beauty is Rocuronium. Just 58 mg of this bad boy and you’ll be all set for surgery.”
The tube in his mouth stripped Jace of his ability to protest as inflatable cuffs were wrapped around both of his thighs all while Jace steadily began to feel his body turn unresponsive. “And these will help manage blood loss,” the man continued, as if narrating to an audience, attaching the cuffs to machines off in the distance.
Jace tried to shut his eyes and pray. Pray that this was all a terrible, terrible nightmare and that he’d wake up soon.
It was only when the man took a scalpel to his leg that Jace realized nauseously that one, this was not a dream, two, he was still awake, and three, that he could feel everything. Jace tried to flinch away from the scalpel, protest, alert the man that he was still awake, because surely this was a mistake, but, frustratingly, his body remained still.
The man continued cutting deeper and deeper using the scalpel all while Jace remained painstakingly pinned, unable to scream or fight. His heart pounded and he could feel his adrenaline skyrocket.
Merrily, the doctor picked up a pair of scissors, starting to work through Jace's muscles and tissues. Jace's struggles increased, but his efforts all went to waste.
It was only when the man started talking to Jace that he realized that he was left awake on purpose. “This is my favorite part of the whole surgery. Seeing the look of confusion turn to horror as you realize you are going to feel every incision,” the man sighed, enamored.
Jace felt sweat drip down his arms, forehead, and back from hard he was straining himself to break free. “Us doctors really are underappreciated… What we do, it's like a form of art! Every cut, every incision creates a perfect tapestry,” he continued all the while Jace began to struggle how to breathe, feeling hot and cold all at once. “And you patients should be part of that process!”
Jace nearly fainted as he saw the man pick up a bonesaw, realizing that this man didn’t see him as a person, but as a canvas to leave his mark on.
The sound of classical music mixing with the buzz of the bonesaw as it came closer and closer to his leg made Jace feel sick. He was about to lose his legs. He was never going to be able to run or dance ever again. Tears mixed with agony and frustration finally escaped from Jace’s eyes.
Then the bonesaw hit his leg.
Jace’s world turned white and hot. Fear seized his heart.
“You feel that?!” the man shouted, laughing energetically, the sound clashing with the saw and phonograph,“That’s your tibia! I wish you could see yourself! You look absolutely delicious all spread out in front of me!”
Jace’s head felt stuffed full of cotton, almost as if he was spectating the ordeal from outside his body. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his skull, relieved that he wouldn’t have to feel anymore.
Distantly, he could still hear the sound of the bonesaw gleefully cutting away, mixing into a disturbing melody with the man’s singing.
Random thought but wouldn't cutting an avian's wings off heavily mess up their balance? Since, with such a huge weight on their back they'd probably start falling backwards once they're off, since they're so used to leaning forward a bit to stay upright. They'd probably fall really really often
There are 3 or 2 phalanges per finger, that's 14 on one hand/foot, overall 56 if you count their toes too. Do with that information what you will. Maybe get a guy and whenever they misbehave just chop one off. Until they dont have anything left. A long way to go, but sure possible!
whumpee who had some sort of extra feature, be it horns or a tail or extra eyes or limbs, or anything along those lines, and who ended up losing that feature during whumper’s torment. to an oblivious onlooker, whumpee looks just like anyone else, a baseline human. it’s only the people who knew whumpee best that remember what they used to have — what they lost to whumper’s cruelty.
soooooo... this post kind of rewired my brain and i couldn't stop thinking about it so i guess we're starting a new series. probably won't be very long but yknow
content: lady whump, lady whumpee, medical whump, organ harvesting, immortal whumpee, needles, amputation whump, hero villain whump, hero whumpee
"Have you seen this month's report?" Pamela asked, shoving her phone in Audra's face. "'Meat Factory' is number one again. They've saved…" She took her phone back and scrolled down. "Over 500 people! That's half a thousand! In one month! The Heroes Council should really at least invite this person in and give them like, an award. Who are they, anyway?"
Audra continued eating her breakfast. "Does it matter? The important thing is, they're saving lives. What does it matter if they get an award, or any recognition? These articles are recognition enough."
"But 500 people! Isn't that insane? And what's up with the name? Meat Factory? Seriously? They could've chosen something… less eerie."
"Maybe they feel like they're just that. A meat factory."
"I wonder what their superpower is," Pamela went on, sitting down across from Audra. "And I wonder what they look like…"
"You're doing that thing again."
"What?"
"Fantasising about random people you've never even seen and imagining them asking you out. I know that's what you're doing — don't even try to deny it."
"I'm not— I'm just curious! Aren't you?"
"Not in the least. As long as they keep saving people, that's all that matters." Audra stood up and brought her plate to the sink. "Shouldn't you be heading to work soon?"
"I'm going in late today. Boss had something come up. That's why I even dropped by."
Oh. That was an issue.
"Well, I have to work," she said a little awkwardly. "So…"
"I won't go back home, just leave the key here and I'll lock up and leave it under the welcome mat."
"Okay."
"What is it you're doing again? I can't keep up with all the job changes."
"Fast food chain," she said curtly.
"Yeah, but which one?"
"Does it matter? They're all the same, soul-sucking leeches."
"I just wanna know where to go to visit my bestie," Pamela said with a smile.
"You shouldn't visit me at work, Pam. They said they can kick me out for that, and you know I struggle to hold down jobs."
"I know, I know, I was just joking. Well, go on. Don't be late."
"Won't be. Thanks for locking up for me."
Audra left the apartment with her bag full of stickers. She always said it was to carry her work clothes, but in reality, it was an overnight hospital bag with essentials.
Truth be told… Audra was Meat Factory. And heading into work meant heading into the hospital to be put into a medically induced coma, after which the staff harvested her organs, tissue, and blood to give to others on the waiting list. Because Audra was indestructible. Immortal, probably. At least she hadn't died yet, despite having done this job for years now.
The Heroes Council paid her pennies for her service, but it was enough to live on. And she didn't have to directly fight crime, like all the other heroes. And she was saving more lives. Win-win, right?
Her fingers tightened on the strap crossing her body. She liked this job; that was what she told herself. She liked saving people. She liked being a hero.
No. She didn't. She wanted nothing more than to be normal. She liked helping, sure, but she didn't want to be a hero. She just wanted the soul-crushing minimum wage life without all the organ harvesting. Growing lungs back was an absolute horror.
Audra entered the hospital, looking left and right for any potential acquaintances. When she saw that the cost was clear, she went to the secret elevator in the back and pressed the button to go to the top floor. There, she had her very own, private room, which she entered and changed into a paper gown.
"Well, you know the gist by now," a nurse said upon entering. She was one of the few people who knew of Audra's secret identity. "Doctor's a little late today, but they'll be with you shortly. How are you feeling?"
"Normal, I guess," she mumbled as the nurse put in an IV. She could never get used to the needles. "And you?"
The nurse gave her a funny look, but they decided to entertain it. "At the end of a double shift, hungry, all in all, could be better."
"The other patients don't ask you," Audra concluded.
"No. That's my job to ask. But that's okay."
"Hey, do you think I could get chocolate ice cream instead?" she asked, and she knew it was a long-shot; the ice cream they usually served to the children in pediatrics after they came out of the pedes ICU was always vanilla, there was no picking and choosing. And in Meat Factory's contract, it was stipulated that they were entitled to the same ice cream. Which meant no picking and choosing. But after years of doing this job, she was kind of getting tired of it.
The nurse, once again, gave her a funny look. "I can ask for you."
"Thanks."
"I saw the report in the news. The Heroes Council one. You saved another half a thousand."
"Yeah, I guess. Hey, uh… Is this IV really necessary? I mean, we know I can survive my heart being taken out. We're a little past regular safety measures, aren't we?"
"It's protocol, sorry."
"That's okay. When did you say doctor was gonna get here?"
Right on cue, her doctor arrived, white coat flowing behind them as they rushed into the room. "Sorry for the delay, we'll roll you into the OR right now."
"No, that's okay, I— I don't mind waiting. Did you have more serious cases?"
"I have someone in here who's dying," they said seriously. "They need new lungs. Stat."
Audra swallowed. "And I'm right here," she said quietly. Meat Factory. She was just that, a meat factory.
"Where is the anaesthesiologist?" the doctor asked, annoyed. "My patient's condition is worsening by the minute!"
"Can't we just… do it ourselves?" the nurse asked timidly. "I mean, it's not like Audra's not gonna wake up. Not after all the things we have already done to her and she survived."
"But protocol—" Audra tried, because frankly, she was terrified of something going wrong one time and not waking up again.
"Screw protocol!" the doctor snapped. "Come on, we're wheeling her into the OR. We'll sedate her there, I'll do it."
So Audra just lay there, still, motionless, as they wheeled her into the special OR they kept free every Monday at 8 AM, with a sign on it that said 'extended procedure in progress, do not disturb'. The doctor she trusted to take out her lungs but did not really have faith in when it came to sedation placed a mask on her face and told her to breathe deeply. So she did.
And everything turned to black.
—
"She's not waking up," Audra heard someone say with much concern in their voice. "It's been hours since she was supposed to wake up. What do we do now? Did we kill her?"
Audra wanted to speak up and let them know she was okay. She was indestructible, after all. But she had a tube down her throat, and she was in so much pain she couldn't have spoken outside of pained grunts even if she didn't have that. She could hear the soft whirr of the cardiopulmonary bypass machine, and she knew she didn't have her own organs inside of her anymore.
"I think I see purposeful movement," somebody else said.
Audra opened her eyes, and her blurry vision slowly focused in on a scared-looking nurse.
"She's awake!" they exclaimed immediately. "Oh my goodness, I thought we'd lost you for good."
Audra wanted to tell them to up the morphine, or whatever she was on right now — was it fentanyl? — but the tube wouldn't let her. She was at the mercy of people who didn't know just how much she could handle, and more often than not, overestimated her strength.
"The doctor had to leave to finish the lung surgery on their patient," one of the nurses explained, and that was all well and good, but Audra was in so much pain. She tried blinking rapidly, but just out of sedation, it wasn't going well. She was probably just blinking at a normal pace. "Is… everything alright?"
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"How much of the fent are we giving her?"
"A lot."
"We may need to up it anyway. She seems to be in distress."
"We can't up that without a doctor here. She's already on double the recommended dosage for her weight."
"She's just had all her organs removed, hastily, might I add, so there's no telling what additional damage she's sustained. We need to up the dosage."
"Okay! Okay."
Audra would've breathed a sigh of relief, had a machine not been doing all the breathing for her at the moment. Once the dose was upped, she slipped back into a peaceful slumber.
—
The next time Audra awoke, she was already extubated. It was dark outside, and she was taking slow, shallow breaths. Every time her lungs were taken out, she had to learn how to breathe again as they regrew. Every time, she felt like an infant taking her first breaths.
She was alone in the room. She slowly raised her hand to put it on her chest and feel whether her heart had regrown yet, and she found that this time, someone must've needed an extra hand, because hers had been chopped off just under the elbow. She raised her other hand — that one was intact, so she placed it above her breast and felt the slow thump thump thump of her brand new heart.
She was healing. What she was a little concerned about was that she seemed to be healing slower and slower each time. She tried not to think about it.
A nurse came into the room with a plastic cup of Audra's promised sweet treat. When they set it down on the nightstand, they gave her an apologetic smile. "No chocolate ice cream. It's vanilla, like usual."
"That's okay," she croaked. Were her vocal cords messed with? She didn't know. She never knew. And she wouldn't have understood the procedures even if someone had explained them to her — she wasn't a doctor, heck, she barely finished high school.
"And here's your sticker for the organ donation," they went on, holding up a little sticker in the shape of an anatomically correct heart. "Should I put it onto your bag with the rest of them?"
"Yeah. Wherever you find empty space."
"Okay."
There was silence for a while as they turned the bag this way and that, looking for an opening. Once they found one, they peeled off the protective film and stuck the sticker onto the fabric.
"What'd they need my hand for?" Audra asked once the nurse set the bag back down.
"I don't know," they admitted. "I'm never sure what day shift does, I just look after… well, mostly you."
"Surely, you can ask…?"
"I'll ask for you."
"Thanks."
The nurse stood there, wringing their hands, clearly wanting to ask something they were too polite, or whatever, to actually ask. Audra sighed.
"What?" she asked. "Just ask."
"Can I sit on the bed?"
"Yeah."
They sat down, still wringing their hands, not looking Audra in the eye. "How is it? Being a hero."
"I'm not really a hero."
"The Heroes Council considers you to be one. You live on their paychecks."
"Yeah, but that's not… I'm not really a hero. Have you ever seen me wear a cape or anything? Or fight crime?"
"Why do you keep doing this, if not because it's a calling?"
Audra was quiet for a little bit. A lot bit. Why was she doing this? Was it because she was unemployable in every other sense, and this was easy money? Or was it because she cared? Cared about cures, and the medical field, and the people who needed organ and tissue transplants? Blood transfusions?
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's not a calling, not for me. I kind of just… happened to be immortal. And I… I wouldn't know what else to do with myself, if I wasn't doing this."
"I see."
"Meat Factory isn't as cool as the Heroes Council articles make them out to be."
"No," they said quietly. "She's way cooler," they added with a smile. Audra smiled back.
"You know, I tell my best friend Pam that I keep job-hopping. She thinks I work at a fast food place now. At some point, do you think I should tell her? I feel like it'd wreck our friendship. Not to mention, she can't keep a secret to save her life."
"Well, if she's really your best friend, why not give it a try?"
"I have one shot at this. If it gets out that I'm Meat Factory… I can't deal with that."
"I'm sure she wouldn't put gossip before your safety."
"I'm not so sure about that. It's not even gossip, it's just… she keeps accidentally telling people details I don't want her to."
"I see." They hummed. "But if you don't tell her, eventually it's gonna tear you two apart."
"Maybe Meat Factory isn't meant to have friends."
"Everyone deserves friends."
"Maybe you guys are my friends."
The nurse laughed. "Oh, don't even go there. We know you resent us, deep down, even if you're always polite. It's palpable. And who wouldn't resent the people taking them apart week after week?"
Did she resent them? Maybe she did, a little. She'd never really thought about this. She had always treated this place as her family, kind of. But maybe that wasn't a good thing, given she was estranged from her biological family. "Do you really think I resent you?"
"Oh, Audra. It's okay."
"No, I—" She stopped herself mid-sentence. She raised her half an arm again, staring at it. Did she resent her doctor for chopping her hand off? It must've been for a good cause. She would've been really selfish if she resented them for giving her hand to someone more deserving. "Do you think I'm selfish?"
"You're one of the most selfless people on this planet, if not the most selfless."
"But I only give my body for the paycheck."
"Anyone doing what you do deserves a paycheck. And you're not getting a big cut anyway."
"How do you know? Maybe I'm just not flaunting it."
"It's kind of well-known that heroes don't actually earn that much. Since the Heroes Council doesn't have much money either. I mean, we all know it's donation based, and sure, people are thankful, but most don't put their money where their mouth is."
"Ah."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Well, Audra lay. She felt her hand growing back, inch by inch, slowly and painfully.
"Can you give me more pain meds?"
"We've already given you more than we can today," they said apologetically. "The other patients need them."
"That's okay." Please. Please, just make the pain stop. I can't deal with this. "Can you help me eat my ice cream?"
"Yeah, sure."
So that was what they did. The nurse spoonfed her the half-melted vanilla ice cream as Audra waited for her hand and organs to regrow. Her heart was still beating too slowly, with not enough blood in her body to flow everywhere. They were always worried about necrosis, but it never happened. Not to her.
"You know, I might tell Pam," she said between two bites.
"Okay," the nurse said with a smile. "I'm sure she'll keep your secret."
"It's been years. She's gonna be so upset I didn't tell her sooner. In her fantasy-land, she thinks Meat Factory is some weirdo guy she can fix. When she finds out it's me, that's all gonna come crashing down."
"Maybe that's for the best."
"Maybe."
Audra spent the night at the hospital, and was discharged in the morning. She went home and found the key under her welcome mat, just as Pam had said. She went inside and threw her overnight bag in the corner; not needed for another week. She plopped down onto the couch and turned on the TV.
"Meat Factory saves yet another half a thousand lives," the news anchor said, and Audra switched channels.
"But who could be behind the mysterious and disturbing name, Meat Factory?"
"Fans start yet another thread on the popular social media platform, entirely dedicated to Meat Factory—"
Audra turned off the TV. Stupid. This was all so stupid.
Her phone went off with a little ring, and she checked it to see who had messaged her. It was Pam.
'Wanna go out tonight?'
She sighed. She didn't really have any obligations until next Monday, but she couldn't say that. 'Busy. Maybe on Friday.'
'This is important, I wanna talk to you about something.'
'Just come over after my shift ends.'
'No, I want to go out. Get your ass into some cool clothes and meet me at our bar at 8.'
Audra groaned. 'Okay.'
She was still woozy from all the painkillers and the pain they failed to suppress, but if Pam wanted to party, she guessed she didn't have a choice. And what was so important that it had to be talked about in the company of 50 other people? Whatever. Pam was her best friend, and she wouldn't trade her for the world. So she went to her bedroom and tried to fish out some bar-appropriate clothes.
All her clothes were old and worn-out — her stipend from the Heroes Council didn't really allow for flashy clothes. But she would find something. She always did. And at 8, she would meet Pam at the entrance of the bar and find out what the big news was.
