A short Dirk POV blurb
TW: Heavy gore, mind games
alternative title: Immortal dirk gets repeatedly tortured and killed in gruesome ways
There’s blood on the floor beneath you, on your hands, and when you reach up to touch your face, you feel the viscosity of the liquid coating your lips and cheeks. Your chest heaves as your body tries to force oxygen in, lungs pushing back against the lack of response your brain is sending to the rest of your body. You need to breathe. Opening your mouth, you become vaguely aware of the salivation dripping from your chin and mixing with the puddle on the floor. Your vision fades the longer you stare and
Finally you cough, spitting up gnawed bits of your own flesh and clearing your airways enough to get that first coveted breath of air. Oxygen deprivation is no joke, and the way the room spins around you makes your stomach tie itself in knots. You’re alive though, you guess. Your body feels numb, and as you dig your nails into the wooden floorboards beneath you, you're kind of glad you can’t feel the pain from the force you're putting on them. You don’t remember how you got here, but the way your choking between each cough stops you from fully trying to analyze the situation you're in. When you feel like you can breathe a little better, and the puddle of (your own?) blood starts to register as a little too uncomfortable you attempt to stand. Your muscles feel atrophied and your knees creak, but you do it. Now you're wobbling to the nearest wall to support yourself, since your legs don’t feel like they can hold you up much longer. There’s a single lightbulb in the center of the room, illuminating the spot you woke up half-dead in. You’re still trying your best to breathe, and it feels a lot easier now that you got the blood and shit out of your throat but you can still feel the way your breath hitches as your esophagus tries its best to accommodate from the recent trauma.
Running a hand through your hair you try to recall the events that lead you here, trapped in such a despairing situation. Biting back nausea, you think.
...
A bright red glow filled your vision as the android approached, claw tipped tendrils tapping menacingly. A loud humming filled your ears, drowning out your erratic pulse as a second wave of adrenaline hit your system. You turn to dash further down the corridor of the collapsing building, cursing as your shoes skid across the worn tile floors. You’ve reached a dead end, boxed in by ferroconcrete walls and no way out in sight. Hal approached you, dropping to his feet and somewhat sauntering towards you. Almost cockily. He flashed his synthetic teeth, sporting quite the smile for a droid that claimed to be above emotion. He was enjoying this, and he was practically broadcasting that fact to you through every aspect of this chase. Your lungs burned, a warning that your body was reaching its limit. Attempting to catch your breath was harder than you'd have liked it to be and you knew that you’d have at least one shitty retort to snark at the autonomous fuck before your insides were scooped out, so you tried, unfortunately the most you were able to muster was Hal’s designation between heavy breaths.
“Are you having fun, Dirk?” The glitched vocals coming from Hal’s semi-shattered voice box hit your ears before the initial impact of a claw tip digging itself into your shoulder. Your clavicle was the first point of pain you fully registered, horribly white-hot and responsible for the webbing pain that felt akin to fire spreading through the upper half of your torso. You suppose the shriek you let out wasn’t enough for him as he twists the appendage lodged inside of you until your own screams make your ears ring.
“Hal-” You manage, sinking back against the wall and gripping at the metal limb held closest to you.
“Do you wish to hold my hand as I watch you bleed out and die?”
He tilts his head at you and you just about pass out and accept your fate right then, but something about giving him another win makes your brain kick into overdrive.
You let out a small hysterical laugh, all your aspirations and your many lives worth of work keeps coming back to kill you, gruesomely. "How many times do we have to do this until your satisfied?" You choke out, meeting eyes with the android in front of you. He hums, curling a tendril underneath himself to sit on. "Maybe until I deem you've learned your lesson. Maybe until you learn that playing god never really does work out in the end does it?" He props his chin against the palm of his hand, watching you squirm. "After all, you made one."
