((Putting this under a Read More because hahahahaaaaa start to finish triggers for gore and violence. Commentary after.))
You start the dream in your garage, idly picking apart pieces of scrap from a useless part. Useless, just like the rest of the bot it was a part of. You're going through methodically and throwing out what's what, piling up what you can sell and what you can reuse. You're keeping the jeweler's eye, though. That's yours. A reminder, not of who it belonged to, but to the thrilling look of terror it used to hold. You chuckle at the memory and continue dismantling.
Someone walks in, and you look up quickly. The man is familiar, and it appears he's bleeding from a wound to the side of the head. Calmly you stand. You take him by the arm and lead him over to your workbench. As he lays down he begins to thank you for your help, and for your kindness in helping him.
You know there's no saving him. Best salvage what you can and move on.
So you strap down his arms, and all he looks scared but somehow resigned as you lock his legs into straps as well. Like he was expecting this of you. You take the caps off your fingers and get started. You make quick work of his jacket and shirt, revealing pink flesh beneath. So fragile.
This is most obviously proved as you make the first incision. A line down the center. The restraints do their job well, and you are able to make it straight and even. A slice across the top, a slice across the bottom. It reminds you of kids dissecting frogs at school. It is very much the same.
You peel it back and pin it to your table. It is difficult, and the blood is gathering and making a mess, but there isn't much to do about that. The intestines are the most obvious to go after, they're the first things you see. You carefully reach in and trail your fingers along the curving and winding turns. You can't find the source with it packed in as it is, so you have to pull some of it out of the way. You do. Slowly and carefully, so that it doesn't rip or tear unnecessarily The man groans underneath you, but you pay no mind. You expect it, you are pushing his guts around without sedation after all. As you uncover the spot where it joins the stomach, you grin and start slicing. You dump the lines of organ and partially digested fluids into the icebox below you. Next you go after the stomach, and end up spilling acid down onto the other organs still attached. Shit. He cries out at that, and you let out a growl that intimidates him enough to try and quiet himself. Good, you don't need to put up with the noise and the damage you've caused to the rest of his now outside insides.
So you keep going. Bit by bit by bit, carving him out. Somehow he doesn't die- he doesn't even pass out. In time he does give in and scream, and an unexpected shiver runs through you. Not one of horror, no, it's purely pleasure. You squeeze down on his heart again, enjoying the sensations the sounds are giving you.
A sharp tool is brought down to rest on his spine, which you've cut through muscle to see intentionally.
You look up, catching their eye and smiling. Theirs widen, anticipating what's coming and feeling the gripping fear that comes with it. Without looking away, you lower your hand. Feather light at first, as you trail downwards. He lets out a gasp and a shudder of his own, though he remains restrained. You apply more pressure slowly, and watch as his breathing picks up faster and faster, and he starts to whimper. Heavenly. You run out of room and start back at the top. The whimpers are growing louder and louder, and you can almost feel yourself getting some sort of high off of it. You're soon digging in with all your strength- and really, that's quite a lot and all you've got standing against you is the fragile bones of an old man- and you're leaving deep gashes and think you might just be hitting table on the other side. It's a slow dragging down, there is some resistance after all. It's jerked, as you slice through each disk. So pretty. It's art, really. Well, it is to a point. Then you forget any semblance of "careful' and you're hacking away at his insides with a reckless abandon. You've taken all you can sell, so the rest of this is for your own stress-relief and the sheer fun of it.
His limbs stop pulling at the straps eventually. You are afraid for a split second that he's died (although that's ridiculous, he's still screaming), but then realize that no, you've just cut through enough nerves that he simply can't move them anymore. There goes half the fun.
You become bored, cutting apart this man. You aren't sure he can die anymore, so you go ahead and cut out his throat to get him to shut up. You loved the screaming, but eventually it began to annoy even you. You wash the blood from your hands and replace the caps, though they will never truly be clean. You're humming to yourself as you replace the covers on the ice chests and prepare to leave. He's still laying there on the table, restrained without reason to be any longer. So you unstrap him, though he cannot move. His eyes twitch and he opens his mouth as if to speak but only a raspy wet breath comes of it. You laugh, pat him on the cheek and turn for another chest.
"See y' later, pa."
You exit the garage without looking back.
He jerks awake with a snarl of his engine, eyes flickering to vibrant life as he shoves himself to his feet, trembling and horrified and sick in his core.
Usually his nightmares involve him hurting people; people he cares about, people who he would do anything to protect in normal situations. In his dreams, memories and facts twist and misfire, combining in horrors on scales beyond his ability to describe.
But they're always based in fears he's already had, moments that have actually happened.
Scrapping Gage... doing... that horror on Pa...
The comparison between stealing parts from living bots and organ theft has always been there, but there is a line he drew a long time ago between harvesting superfluous parts from bots and doing anyone real harm. The parts he takes, he makes cheap but durable replacements for. It's not a guilt thing so much as a professionalism thing; it's bad business to ship customers out in caskets.
Doing anything like that...
And to a human, one who was awake and alive...
It would have been bad enough on a stranger, but treating Pa in such a way... to hurt him and to take such glee in it, such pleasure; it's wrong, it's... something has to be wrong with him, to come up with something like that in his head, though his system diagnostics come up with nothing.
The idea disgusts and horrifies him to the point that his hands are trembling, like they used to when he was much younger. Black exhaust is pouring from his vents as his engine fights against his efforts to calm down. He paces the floor of the garage for a few minutes before pushing his way into the house portion of their building, trying to be quiet as he approaches Gage's room.
Looking inside, he sees the young-form, standing beside his bed in stasis as is his preference. Beyond the rumble of his own engine he can hear the sounds of the smaller bot's systems working. Alive. Functioning as well as ever.
And it's stupid that he should be worried... he knows a dream when he wakes from one... but there was something different about it, something more horrible than normal. Seeing the other just fine doesn't do much to soothe his agitation and upset, however.
He pulls the door shut behind him and moves slowly up the hall, trying to push the dream out of his head and forget it.
But somewhere in his processor, he'll always hear those screams and remember that some sick part of him buried somewhere inside found the idea of them to be a pleasure.
((And in proof of me being horrible, my biggest concern on this nightmare was me at the end going WAIT, YOU DIDN'T HARVEST THE EYES? EYES ARE VALUABLE AS FUCK, GO BACK AND GET THEM EYES.))
