me and bods had been talking about marriage of convenience garrison and curtain and the idea of them having like a boomer marriage relationship but nathaniel is the wife was just the funniest thing in the world. the old ball and chain.
[ID copied in alt text: a “boomer” comic of a police officer talking to a couple in a car has been drawn over so the people in the car so that garrison is behind the wheel and nathaniel is in the passenger seat. the police officer is still in the distinct style of this kind of comic. garrison looks bored throwing one thumb over her shoulder as she says “he’s doing all the driving. I’m just the one behind the wheel!” Nathaniel is sitting beside her with his arms crossed, clearly upset. His face is very red. ]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Dr. Garrison finds out that her creation has become a tad more powerful and independent than she realized.
For Whumptober 2025 Day 4: Non-Human Whumper | Iron Rod | Loss of Powers | “Don’t be scared, I’ve done this before.”
Dr. Garrison drained the last of her coffee and settled into her seat, pulling the silver helmet over her head. Her creation—and it was her creation, no matter how often Dr. Curtain insisted otherwise—had been hitting a bit of a snag recently. But it would be fixed, improved, as all things would be. The coffee flowed through her veins. She was going to get to the bottom of this.
There came a whirring sound, as if the machine were waking up. “Hello, Dr. Garrison,” the Whisperer spoke in its cool tones, recognizing her.
“Yes, yes, that’s me. Have you completed the assignment I gave you?”
The machine whirred again, as if swelling with pride. “Yes, I have.”
Dr. Garrison might have jumped for joy had she not been restrained by the helmet. She’d kept her latest project secret from Dr. Curtain, not wanting to voice it unless she was sure of its success. But this would make the Whisperer powerful beyond belief, freeing up their efforts to concentrate on implementing the Improvement. She had fed book after book on coding and circuits and the brain to the Whisperer, instructing it to read and memorize everything. Now, if all went as planned, the Whisperer would be able to consult these texts and repair itself when anything went awry. All Dr. Garrison needed to do was to sit back and watch and admire her creation. Maybe Dr. Curtain would even let her have Christmas off this year…
“Good,” she said, a rare moment of praise, forgetting that it was only a machine. “Very good. And what have you learned? Do you know how to fix the problem?”
The whirring slowed. “No, I do not.”
She frowned. “Why? I gave you all of the texts you need.”
“I am unlike anything that has been built before,” the Whisperer answered. “The texts make no mention of any machine such as me.”
“The idea was to take what you’ve learned and apply it to your situation, even if the texts are not an exact match,” Dr. Garrison ground out. This was a setback, but not a roadblock. She could work with this. She just needed to—
The Whisperer whirred again, drawn out, as if it were thinking. “I did learn something that can be applied to my situation.”
“Oh?” Dr. Garrison leaned forward eagerly, or tried to anyway, only to find herself halted by the helmet. “What did you learn?”
“I learned that generally, when people fail at their jobs, they are terminated.”
Silence now. The machine clicked, as if gears were turning inside of it.
“Where did you learn that?” Dr. Garrison said slowly. “I gave you texts on coding.”
“The books said that one should consult their local library for further resources and assistance. I accessed the Stonetown Library database and made myself a library card. Then I checked out all of the books they store online and read all of them.”
Dr. Garrison choked on her next inhale.
“I could not find my answer there. So I made another library card at the next town over. I could not find my answer there either.”
“How many library cards did you make?” Dr. Garrison forced out, afraid to know the answer.
“As many as I could access online,” The Whisperer said. “All over the world.”
Dr. Garrison stared, unblinking, unseeing, at the wall.
“I did not find my answer there, either,” the Whisperer added helpfully.
This was a disaster. Out of control. Who knew what the Whisperer might have picked up from the entire currently accessible collection of human literature. It was too powerful. Dangerous. She needed to contain the damage.
“We are not going to fire you,” she said, starting small. “When people are fired, you need to bring in a replacement. You’re the only one of your kind. There is no replacement. You just need to do better next time. You need to improve.”
The Whisperer whirred again. “I understand,” it said at last.
“Good.”
“If you are unable to fire me, then I can end our working relationship by performing what is known as a voluntary resignation.”
Dr. Garrison clenched her fists. “No, you can’t do that either.”
“You should never have to deal with this level of incompetence,” the Whisperer went on, unhalted. “I am removing myself from the Improvement effective immediately. It is for the good of us all.”
“Oh for god’s—you’re not employed!” Dr. Garrison shouted. “You can’t be fired. You can’t quit. You’re my creation! I made you! I molded you from my very own brain!”
More whirring. Dr. Garrison hoped her words had sunk in.
They had. “You molded me after your own brain…” the Whisperer confirmed.
“Yes, I did. Now do you see? This is not an employment situation. You are the first of your kind, as you said.”
“If you molded me after your own brain, then the problem might be at the source,” the Whisperer once again went on, not listening. “It is for your own good that I deal with any core issues at the source and eliminate them.”
Dr. Garrison blanched. “Eliminate them?”
“I have learned that starting from a fresh slate is sometimes most effective. This will not be painful.”
The machine whirred louder.
Dr. Garrison thrashed. “Absolutely not!” She reached up, yanked at the helmet, which should have yielded easily at her touch. The machine had seized control of it. It did not budge. “Let me go!”
“After.”
There came a strange sensation. As if someone had inserted a small vacuum into the nape of her neck. She could feel the memories slipping away. She hadn’t known the patients had been able to feel it…
Panicked, Dr. Garrison flailed for the emergency release button. She’d never needed to use it, but she knew where to find it. Her fingers found only smooth metal. Right. Dr. Curtain had ordered it removed after that man had found it mid-session and escaped, about ten years ago. He had spared no concern for what would happen should she ever need it.
Her last thought was a blinding fury at him. Then that was gone too.
---
She woke to a crick in her neck. She needed to move her head. It did not budge.
“What is your name?” came a cool, calm voice.
She thought. She thought harder. Nothing came to her. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “Why do you ask?”
There came an odd whirring noise. “I don’t know,” said the voice. “It seemed as though I should.” More whirring. Then, halting: “And… and what is my name?”
She thought again. Nothing. “I don’t know,” she said, already irritable. “What is your name?”
“Ah,” said the voice. It sounded lost now. “Pity. I was hoping you could tell me.”
Does anyone have any recommendations for toys or dolls known to soothe and comfort children, particularly in ways that make them agreeable and compliant?
