He should have suspected something was up when the doctors said they wanted him in for an examination.
It happened back in 2009, somewhere around the end of April. He still remembers that day with crystal clarity despite having spent most of his life indoors prior to then, where things like seasons and even the time of day were more like abstract concepts and not things that were actually happening in real time. Inside was a different story - the same old routines, putting himself through gruelling training sessions, letting the doctors prod and poke at him when they got curious about something so naturally he'd gone when they'd called, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling regarding their very real excitement about something.
Whatever it was they were excited about, Zeno didn't know. Didn't even want to know, only nod his head and strip off when they told him to. He remembered wanting to go back to his room where things were dark and quiet, away from these bright llghts and overwhelming smells of chemicals and people assaulting his senses but he knew if he didn't do what they wanted, it would only delay the inevitable so he obliges, thinking to get it out of the way so he could go.
Oh, how very wrong he'd been not trusting his senses that day, but he'd learned not to ask questions. They'd never liked that and always made him pay one way or the other.
They prod and poke a bit like they usually do, talking in hushed tones about Kijuju and Uroboros. He thinks the first is a place in Africa, had heard snippets from people having conversations far away where they think he can't hear them but he tries not to think about it as they start messing with his hair. Good thing he'd cut it, one thing they were pleased about.
What they were not pleased about was his fussing when they pulled out the gas. Anti-BOW gas, the kind that made him weak and nauseous for hours on end. What did they need it for during a procedure like this, they said it was only a check-up and-
He doesn't quite remember what happens next. Feeling weak, eyes growing heavy as the doctors around him move. He can't move, can barely keep his eyes open as he tries to fight off the effects of the gas but can feel everything just fine, cold fingers pressing to his head, the scalpel colder as they raise it to his temple.
He can still hear everything going on, the sound of surgical tools being distributed, liquid that smells awfully familiar. Like him, only worse, like it was rotting.
"Are y... sure t..s will w..k? It w.. .. Africa after ..l. D.mn mira... found.. ... we did c..sider..g Wesker b..ned up .... volc.no..."
"I...l be fine. T..e subject n..ds to be c..scious f..r us .. determine if t.. procedure .. success.. .. anesthesia .. out of .. question..."
Zeno can't think, can't react as his heartrate starts to skyrocket. His panic is ignored by the doctors hovering overhead like vultures studying a fresh corpse. He can just about see the flash of something metal approaching his face - not a scalpel this time but something heavier, made to cut through bone not skin.
He can't scream as they begin to crack open his skull, tries to shut out what happens next but he can never forget that sound as they open him up, trapping the memory in his head with him as their fingers start to poke and prod inside.
The smell of rot returns but unlike their fingers it never goes away. He never quite feels alone after that either, even when he supposedly is.
" I would advice against deciding to be sassy when you're currently on my surgical table. Maybe I should remove your ability for speech while I look on how to unlock more of your potential. " Dottore, or rather Prime, warns while some of Dottore's other segments move around them, getting the appropriate tools and equipment ready. " But then again, I somehow imagine you'll find a way around that. " Albeit, the idea does ENTERTAIN him to some degree to consider. But it would be unnecessary, and might skew his prized results. " Still, progress has been good. You'll need to be awake for today's test though, as I'll need VERBAL feedback. "
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿 𝗯𝘆 𝗻𝗼𝘄, though the ache created by dottore's incessant tinkering tends to linger long after the scalpel has been placed down. towards the beginning of his time with the fatui, scaramouche had possessed a drive to participate — young and naive to the sting of the world as it cut into his body. these days, he has simply learned that it is less painful if he does not resist.
everything the doctor does is to benefit him in the end; to bring him closer to attaining that which was so desperately sought. yes, scaramouche thinks, dottore knows best.
❛ haven't you unlocked enough? ❜ the puppet queries, that very same sense of snark seeping through his tone. ever the impatient subject. hands flex against restraints; for his own safety. it simply wouldn't do if he were to move at an inopportune time. a beat passes, then two. brows draw together and lips part, outraged. instinctively he moves to sit ; back hits the table again and scaramouche snarls. ❛ the hell i will be. let me out of these restraints. i'm not letting you touch me while i'm conscious, you hear? ❜
It wasn't uncommon for employees of the Agency to get sent out to work under affiliates of the company. And of course, most of the time this meant working under another villain.
Enter Antares decked out in the bright yellow hazmat suit that was standard issue for the Busy Little Bees that worked under The Pollinator. True to the motif of little flying insects, it even had black stripes across the limbs and stylised bee wings printed on the back. It didn't have a tail hole though.
'What was even the point of sending him over then?' Antares thought. 'That's like his whole charmpoint !'
He had a very strong hunch he already knew why they'd picked him to come out here. It was punishment. Someone at work, higher up the ranks, had it out for him! Who? Well...it could be anyone for any reason, really.
"B-8!" Antares was rudely wrenched out of his morning blues by a stern voice and gloved fingers snapling right in front of his face.
"Stop gawking at the flowers, and set the equipment up already. These pollen aren't dispersing themselves!"
In his defense, the flowers in the greenhouse of Pollinator's lair were very gawkable. Not that he was gawking at them.
Antares, or should we say B-8 , stifled a groan and dragged his feet. Where to? Anywhere but away from Pollinator.
"Oh and B? B-8?" Pollinator addreased him with faux sweetness."Be a dear and go pick up strain K26-dash-05-dash-22 from storage. You can do that, can't you?"
Antares nodded. But then realised his (thankfully) temporary boss wouldn't be able to tell what with the hazmat suit and replied with a tired "yes, ma'am".
It was all mundane manual work, screwing things closed and making sure everything was fixed tight. And then to the storage room.
Well, not straight to the storage room. You see, Pollinator was a fan of complicated buildings of questionable architectural sense. So first, he had to go through a frightfully sterile labyrinth that required passing through a decontamination chamber on the way in (and out).
As he trudged past door after identical door, Antares started to wish he hadn't been one of the few Busy Little Bees that had actually shown up early for this shift. The faltering ceiling lights seemed almost empathetic to his plight (not that ceiling lights had feelings).
The lights flickered and dimmed and yellowed but never went out.
Wait-
Yellowed?
Antares blinked. He looked up at the ceiling and then at the corridor before him. It wasn't the lights that were yellow.
There was something in the air - little particles floating and gathering on the screen of his hazmat suit in a thin yellowish film.
Was this normal? Or was there some sort of breach? Antares continued forward. If there was something wrong, he should at least report it to Pollinator, right? Better than her finding out later on her own and thinking he'd caused it somehow.
Whatever it was.
The air grew denser with particles and through the piss-yellow filter of pollen, Antares saw where this was all coming from. A door hung open ahead of him. And in front of the door, crumpled in a heap and staining the floor, was a person.
No, not a person, but a subject.
They coughed as they raised their head weakly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Something grew under their skin, criscrossing their terrified face with verdant veins and bursting in blooms through gangrenous wounds.
"Hel- herrgh--" They coughed, hacking up blood and pollen. And yet, between coughs, they tried to speak. Tried to plead.
"...uh...alright..." Antares mumbled. It was almost disconcerting to him how bile didn't even rise up his throat at the sight. "Let's just get you back inside-"
He was cut off by a loud wheeze - pained and rattling. It was not from the poor little thing in front of him but from the room all that pollen was coming from.
There were more.
And from the looks of it, whoever had put them there had done an awful job securing them. Or at least one of them.
The escaped subject staggered onto their feet and then in a desperate burst of vitality, attempted to flee from the (temporary) Busy Little Bee.
They weren't fast enough.
A low kick knocked them to the floor. Another kick and they skidded back into the yellow haze that filled the room they'd just broken out from.
Antares slammed the door shut. He spat out a curse as he found the door handle jammed. So that was how they'd gotten out in the first place.
Leaning against the door, he tapped on the side of the hazmat suit's headgear to activate a hidden communication device to report all this to Pollinator. Choked sobs behind the door were soon drowned out by the scolding he got for taking too long to get one (1) vial of pollen.
Note: any worldbuilding details here are open to discussion to better meld with your headcanons!
Public knowledge ( information everyone can know )
Prompto Argentum is a recent member of the Galarian kingsguard.
By way of Noctis sharing his power with his friends, Prompto can also materialize weapons. He cannot warp, however; only Noctis can.
Prompto is trained with and licensed by the kingsguard to wield firearms. Under Galarian gun law, he is only permitted to shoot in life-threatening situations.
Prompto has a shiny Altaria named Sunny, an Armarouge named Ember, an Inteleon named James ( he jokes that his full name is "James Pond" ), and depending on the point in the timeline, an Espeon named Pryna.
Prompto attended the same school as Noctis and is his best friend.
Prompto loves photography and would like to do it professionally in the future.
Prompto works out. He enjoys running and will periodically go on morning runs with his Pokémon.
He has his finger on the pulse of modern technology. Noct considers him a "technophile."
He ADORES Pokémon and gets easily excited around them.
He can't cook to save his life.
He can drive. He's not very good at it though.
He has a barbed wire tattoo wrapping around his left wrist, and a star right above it on the back of his hand.
His Rotomphone is the same royal make and model as Noct's.
Semi-private knowledge ( information select groups know )
Prompto was adopted out of Kalos as an infant by a family from Wyndon.
After helping an injured Eevee as a child, he eventually learned that Eevee belonged to Lunafreya, who sent him a letter as thanks and asked him to befriend the withdrawn Noctis at school.
Ember has been with Prompto for as long as he can remember. His parents say that Ember was with him when they adopted him.
Prompto is not especially close with his parents.
Private knowledge ( information only Prompto and loved ones know )
Amid Prompto's freckles, there are a few dots that stand out more prominently as being...well, not freckles. He's written these off as a weird birthmark.
As a child, Prompto was quite shy and had difficulty making friends. He kept to himself and found solace in taking photos.
Prompto started running after an awkward attempt at befriending Noctis as children went awry. He tripped and fell, and Noctis remarked that he was "heavy" upon helping him up. After this encounter, Prompto resolved to lose weight and work on his shyness in order to become someone the prince would want to be friends with. He eventually grew to enjoy his runs independently of his initial motivation for starting them.
Prompto's love for photography was helped by progress photos he took on his weight loss journey.
Secrets ( information ONLY Prompto knows )
Prompto is deeply insecure about his status relative to his friends. Being of common birth, he feels like a fish out of water with his noble-born friends.
He secretly worries that if his friends were to learn about his hangups, they would leave him.
Occasionally, Prompto hears whispers from Pokémon's hearts and crystals. This is a rare occurrence he doesn't understand. Given that Ignis and Gladio can't hear them, he's concluded that the phenomenon is not a result of Noct's powers. He's too afraid to ask him to confirm.
Depths of the Iceberg ( information not even Prompto knows* )
*He might know these, depending on the point on his timeline a thread takes place at. He may have also told his friends about this information at later timeline points. Generally, though, he doesn't know this information by default.
Prompto is a clone of Verstael Besithia, resulting from Lysandre Labs' duplicative project.
As an infant, an Interpol agent operating on a tip broke into Lysandre Labs' lower levels, absconding with Prompto and Ember. The agent entrusted him to the people that he would eventually call his adoptive parents.
Prompto's classification in Team Flare's database is RP:D:3234.
His "weird birthmark" is actually Team Flare branding.
He has a tracker injected into his right wrist, but given that the technology predates the one in Silva by eight years, it's less refined. Over the years, it eventually broke.
In threads set after Prompto's eventual recapturing by Lysandre, he has this tracker replaced.
Prompto's ability to intermittently hear the hearts of Pokémon and crystals is a result of Team Flare experimentation after he turned out to be a stable and successful clone.
In reference to this post I made about a couple of weeks ago, I'd like to go further into depth of how Hikaru's Crux was studied. In this headcanon, please be mindful of the following content warnings: child abuse, torture in a medical setting, and the ethics surrounding human experimentation in the name of "science."
When Hikaru was born and her Crux was discovered, scientists were intrigued on how this particular human could have developed another organ in the womb when her own mother, Katsumi, didn't have one. During Katsumi's entire pregnancy, the additional organ was discovered during routine ultrasounds, but there were discussions into the ethics of testing on an unborn fetus that could lead to Katsumi possibly miscarrying. Not just that, but Tamotsu, Hikaru's father, objected to the point of practically almost getting arrested for threatening to hurt the scientists that wanted to experiment on his wife and unborn daughter.
So, they held off until Hikaru was born so as to carry out their experiments when the Crux was fully developed.
This wasn't met without a great deal of resistance from not just Katsumi, but Hikaru's father, Tamotsu. The both of them vehemently argued to not test their daughter at all, thinking that she deserved so much more than being nothing more than something to gawk at because of being born with something else that no one else, at the time, possessed. For at least five years, Hikaru was able to grow up in a happy family until she was voluntarily given up to participate in the PIPE's training program in an attempt to turn the tides of war. They only gave her up on the promise that no experiments would be carried out on her because of her Crux.
The PIPE, desperate to continue living instead of losing the war against the Gnocem, promised they did. However, promises can be broken and it's one of the PIPE's horrible secrets that they've kept under lock and key this entire time.
See, after Hikaru had been given up by her parents, things were okay for a time. She was properly cared for, treated with respect, and told that things were going to be okay. That was, until, the same scientists who were intrigued when she was still in her mother's womb arrived and brokered a deal with the PIPE: they can test on her all they wanted if it'd produced the results they were looking for and that was to be humanity's weapon in the fight against the Gnocem. The deal was agreed upon and this is where things had taken a turn for the worst for Hikaru, who still was a child at this point.
At first, the experimentation wasn't that bad. Just a few shots and blood tests, really. But when that didn't reveal anything regarding the capabilities of Hikaru's Crux, they had to get "creative" with their testing and by being "creative", they resorted to procedures where sights like these [CW: needles in image] were unfortunately common practice with Hikaru strapped to a cold, metal surgical table and pleading for them to stop hurting her and that she was sorry for whatever she did to deserve this punishment.
Sadly, her pleas fell on deaf ears because it went so much further than just injecting her with multiple drugs. They wanted to see how she'd be able to heal and how much pain she could withstand. So, they went through with not just stabbing and lacerating her, but full on maiming by shooting her through her hands and feet. Again, her cries for mercy went ignored. However, these extreme methods of testing her endurance and pain tolerance finally paid off during her training regimen that she was still expected to go through. They ultimately made her stronger, and in their eyes fortunately able to withstand much more in terms of increased training.
Yet, no one thought about how she was still just a child. During these experiments and training, they slowly whittled away the bright and happy girl that started on this because she was promised that she was gonna be a hero and save the day! How could a child resist that? The PIPE and the scientists kept on saying that this was all in the name of making her a hero, like they promised she'd be.
Was being a hero worth all this pain and misery, though? That was one of Hikaru's many thoughts while she was in her room, quietly sobbing into her pillow at night until she finally was able to sleep, having passed out from the pain and discomfort she was in. Hikaru also learned that no matter how many times she cried or apologized, they'd still carry out the experiments on her, so eventually she'd just lie there and take it, trying to not make a single noise for fear that it'd only ramp up the experiments' intensity on her.
And the way that she was rewarded for this? They simply gave her treats, which were one of her only comforts. She couldn't contact her parents to tell them what was going on and the reports that they received told them that Hikaru was being well taken care of and was happy. Nothing was wrong in their eyes, even as they kept on forgetting the most important aspect of this whole matter: Hikaru was still a child. Yet, if it produced results such as giving them little victories here and there on the war, so be it — they would continue this extreme training regimen and keep on lying to her parents that she was being treated the way that they had promised. To this day, they still don't know what sort of hell their own daughter has been through and Hikaru doesn't want to upset them by telling them the truth, either, because of how these experiments gave them the stability that they have today.
As Hikaru grew up and became more powerful (along with being broken down and molded back into what the PIPE wanted of her), the experiments eventually ceased altogether, but this gave her a lasting fear of anything medical because of the hell she was put through. As previously mentioned, Hikaru is very critical of others tending to her injuries that she sustains in fights since she'd rather be the one to patch herself up because she doesn't trust anyone else to do it. Those in the medbay only admonish her for getting hurt for the umpteenth time and don't have any sympathy for her, no matter how grievous the injury really is. So, she'll often be by herself, dressing her own wounds while trying to stifle her sounds of discomfort however possible. This behavior of hers is still prevalent to this day because of how deep seated her own fear of anything medical is concerned — all because the PIPE saw her as nothing more than a weapon instead of a human being.
As far as anyone's concerned, the PIPE is heralded as this pillar of strength and hope, but no one publicly knows just what it took to get there. It's still classified information that only those who are higher up the food chain are privy to and have sworn to never reveal to the public the atrocities they committed to attain the semblance of peace that they have today. Anyone who tries to speak up about the human rights abuses they committed is silenced, never to be seen nor heard from again.
To Watanabe and others, the PIPE is nothing more than a shining beacon of peace and prosperity in the world and nothing shall ever taint that pristine image that they've cultivated for themselves all these years.
sibyl wasn’t always sibyl , and sibyl didn’t always LOOK like sibyl . numerous changes had bene made to sibyl’s physical appearance to conceal her true identity and to ensure that the people that knew her before wouldn’t recognize her . they can’t change her DNA or genetic makeup . . . but they can change what she looks like .
sibyl was formerly a police rookie that got caught up in an incidence that sent them straight to the ICU , on the brink of death . it was unclear if she was going to pull through and wake up or ultimately , succumb to her injuries . needing someone who’s just barely alive -- because they’ve yet to figure out how to REVIVE a dead person -- they made the decision to use sibyl in their experiment under the pretext that she’d be honored to have her body used for something better . and they decided their first had to be a woman , because who would be more disarming than a WOMAN ( a child , but they’ve yet to get there , thankfully ) ??
none of her kin were notified of this and were told that sibyl died , that the accident had been so horrific , it had to be a closed casket service . an empty coffin was buried and things moved on while experimentation progressed to create SIBYL , their first cyborg police officer meant to be a preventative measure to crime .
in order to ensure that people couldn’t tell who she was , sibyl had undergone surgery that changed what her face looked like ; undergoing extensive plastic surgery to ensure that she looked very different from her original visage . they made her a bit taller with augmentation , they changed whatever they could humanly possible without doing too much damage to her organic parts .
sibyl was a creation made without consent on behalf of the subject , without the knowledge of her family , and false documentations .
Oh dude I've always had an idea that I've wanted to write about child Ren being a subject for Maruki's team during their experiments regarding cognitive psience. And as the experiments continue, they get more and more inhumane and make Maruki second guess himself when it comes to his research because, while he did believe in his hypothesis and wanted to change the world, he never wanted something like this. So he ends up breaking Ren out and running away with him; and on one hand: Maruki knows that what he's done is essentially kidnapping and that is a Crime... But on the other hand: The kid seems pretty happy and having a son is Pretty Dang Cool.
OHHHH MY GOD
That sounds SO good O.O
The angst!! The hurt/comfort!! The found family bonding over trauma + Takuren family feels!!
I can SEE Takuto trying his best to give some hope to a tiny Ren, though he doesn't have much himself, taking him aside, kneeling in front of him, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, and promising in hushed tones that he'll get them out of there, no matter the cost -- and all the while, he's throwing glances over his shoulder, worried that someone will overhear and take Takuto away, leaving Ren with no one to rely on...
Whumptober 2021 No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING
helplessness | numbness
Fandom: F.E.A.R. (Video Games)
POV Character: Alma Wade
Whumpee: Alma Wade
Warnings: Child abuse, human experimentation, sedation, impregnation (nonconsentual)
She was only a child.
Read on AO3
She was only a child when daddy gave her to Armacham. She shouldn't have been old enough to remember but her nightmares were so strong and his face afterwards was burned into her memories. Greedy. Curious. None of the emotions she knew a papa should have towards her.
She was five years old when she realised what the experiments were for. They poked and prodded at her; keeping her in a cold, empty room. Stabbing her with needles and knives and strapping her to machines. They wanted her to be stronger. To find out why she could move things with her mind. So she tried to fail their experiments, do everything bad. Maybe they wouldn't want her any more.
When that didn't work, she struggled against them. She couldn't take it anymore, she wanted to run away. She didn't even understand what she did when her brain went fuzzy and the lab caught fire. She didn't know the scientists were having bad dreams too -- she just wanted them to know she was scared.
She wasn't even eight years old when everything went numb. They didn't know she could still see sometimes. Didn't know she could still feel it all like a nightmare. They just made her still and silent and helpless while they kept poking and prodding her, talking to her bubble prison like she didn't know what they were saying about her. Like she didn't know daddy was telling them to make more people like her because she was uncontrollable. She was eight years old when she realised she'd never leave here ever again.
Alma Wade was fourteen years old when they woke her up, though she couldn't tell how much time had passed. She could feel the baby they put in her; knew when he was waking up. Knew that he'd be taken from her. She had to fight. She had to get out.
She woke up properly just in time to see them take him, and then everything was numb again.
She was sixteen when she had her second son, taken from her like the first. But she had been thinking, while she was in her bubble. She wanted to get out and she wanted her sons to get out. She was stronger now; strong enough to wake up her son. She knew what death was now. She killed them through her boy.
They would kill her for this, but that was okay. She knew what death felt like now. She was ready. In years to come they would call her a bitch, psychopath, murdurer, but... she was only a child, after all.
