#prototype elliot

[sirsen]

So, my idea for this is that Poppy doesn't remember who she was before being turned into a toy, but Elliot still has all of his memories.

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[solani-ao3]

Family Chaos - excerpt

Screams echoed down the hallways. By the sound of it, they weren't coming from the Game Station, but from somewhere deeper. Though not as deep as the Prison. Playcare then.

Huggy shifted anxiously, and Elliot shushed him, carefully threading the needle through the rip in the toy's arm. “Remain still. It's alright, no one's dying.”

At least, he thought nobody was dying.

A new voice joined the fray, a high pitched feminine laughter. Elliot sighed and resisted the urge to rub at his metal temples.

As if things weren't bad enough… now Mommy had decided to join the fray as well.

Huggy was looking at him, his expression one of concern. Elliot finished the last stitch and began to stash the needles and threads away. “If they're still yelling, that means they're fine.” He told the concerned boy, the box with the supplies closing with a soft click. “It's when things go quiet that there's real cause for concern.”

Right on cue, a new voice rose up in a shout, somehow overshadowing even the screams from before.

“ELLIOT!!!”

Seriously wondering if he could get away with hiding on the other end of the factory and pretending he hadn't heard a thing, but at the same time knowing he would be hit over the head for it later (quite literally), the Prototype heaved a long-suffering sigh and left Huggy’s chamber, slowly making his way downwards, into the depths of the facility.

He was absolutely not dragging his feet as he did so, thank you very much.

Normally, he would've assumed that the argument would die down by the time he reached Playcare. After all, it wasn't a quick journey down from the top floors of the factory, requiring at least an hour to reach even with his extensive knowledge of the building's shortcuts. But this was Sawyer they were talking about. The man's rage could burn for hours. God only knew where he got the energy from.

When he finally arrived at Playcare, it didn't take long for him to locate the source of the commotion.

Harley was standing by the sky dome elevator, metal foot tapping in impatience as he waited for him to arrive. High above, right beneath Playcare's painted skies, Catnap and Mommy Long Legs’ faces stared down at them, alight with glee. The first thing Elliot noticed was the conspicuous absence of the lab coat Harley usually wore when he roamed around in one of his metallic bodies. The second thing he noticed was the flutter of white fabric over their heads, held way out of reach in Marie’s hand.

The reason for the hubbub became painfully clear.

His migraine intensified.

[sirsen]

Sharp metal hand reaching for very fragile pericline doll. What could possibly go wrong?

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[sirsen]

Joking aside, I've had some comic ideas bouncing around in my head for Prototype Elliot, so I want to try drawing them. Wish me luck that I don't loose inspiration XD

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[sirsen]

The Shard

I've been writing little script ideas for Elliot as the Prototype. I figured I would share this one, since it got a bit long, and I don't know if I will draw it. Please keep in mind that I don't do extensive research on the canon lore when I write ideas, I just like coming up with my own stuff, since that's the joy of making a new au. You get to change whatever you want.

For context: Harley is holding a grudge against Elliot for removing him from the Young Geniuses Program, and feels like he threw him away. I also think it would be interesting if Harley was the one who came up with the idea for the wrongsideoutimals and Yarnaby.

Script:

Elliot: *looking at new toys plans while Harley performs “surgery” on him* “...the wrongsideoutimals. One of your ideas, I’m sure.”

Harley: “Is the idea not appealing to you?”

Elliot: “It’s certainly an… interesting idea, but the implications are… not quite kid friendly”

Harley: “I would’ve enjoyed it when I was a child.”

Elliot: *he smirks at him* “Yes, but you were not like all children, Harley.” *he taps Harley’s glasses playfully*

Harley: *annoyed* “If you don’t want me to make a painful mistake, I suggest you stop messing with me.”

Elliot: “Right, don’t mess with the doctor when he’s in the middle of your ‘surgery’” *he goes back to looking at the new toy ideas.*

Elliot: “Hmm, this is a cute one.” *turns the page* “Oh… it’s face splits vertically down the middle, revealing sharp teeth…”

Harley: “Are you going to give negative opinions about all of my ideas?”

Elliot: “No, I like the designs. You just have a habit of adding hidden ‘weaponry’ in them.”

Harley: “Of course I give them weaponry. How else will they defend themselves if they need to.”

Elliot: *looks at Harley with concern* “...do you… feel like you need to defend yourself often?”

Harley: “…”

Elliot: “… you never did tell me how your childhood was before joining the YGP.”

Harley: “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Elliot: “So… not good, then.”

Harley: “What orphan ever comes from a good place?”

Elliot: “A fair point, I suppose…”

Elliot: “… are you… happy?”

Harley: “Is now really the time to analyze my psyche while my hands are in your guts?”

Elliot: “I suppose it’s my way of coping, checking if you’re doing alright.”

Harley: “…”

Elliot: “… I never meant to hurt you, you kn- ACK!” *he’s cut off as Harley yanks something out of his spine.*

Harley: “Ah, so this is what was jammed in your vertebrae. A tiny shard of metal.”

Elliot: “oooh, I wonder how that got there~” *he says through gritted teeth, clearly in pain.*

Harley: “Well, it’s out now. You should be able to move your spine more comfortably now, so I’ll just sew you back up, and we’ll be done with this.”

Elliot: “Goody~” *he says a bit annoyed*

Elliot: “… I truly thought that I was doing what was best for you, when I sent you away.”

Harley: “…”

Elliot: “I… didn’t want you to become a monster, like what I was turning into.”

Harley: “Well, it seems you failed at preventing that, but the difference is, I’m better than you.”

Harley: “I was able to do what you did, but perfect. Look at you. You’re practically the same as you were when you were alive.”

Elliot: *looks away sadly*

Harley: “As annoying as that may be.” *he mutters*

Elliot: “Pff- AHAHAHA!” *he looks at Harley fondly after laughing, reaching to his head.*

Harley: *he flinches and glares as Elliot reaches for him, making the other pause. But he doesn’t flinch again when Elliot continues.*

Elliot: *he brushes a stray hair back into place, letting his hand linger on top of Harley’s head.* “My boy… You haven’t changed at all.”

Harley: “… Well!” *he cuts the loose thread as he finishes sewing* “You’re all closed up, so I’ll be off. I trust you can right your own clothes.”

Elliot: *he watches him leave, looking like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t stop Harley.*

Elliot: *he flops his head back onto the pillow once the door is closed, letting out a long, tired sigh.*

End

I like to imagine Elliot with a playful personality, as someone who worked with children often. The embodiment of a silly yet sassy old man, and since he views Harley as his son, he teases him endlessly. Harley definitely gets the lighter side of Elliot, while his darker side is reserved for Leith. I also think that Harley was likely treated poorly as a child due to his lack of empathy, and based on his lore, he seems prone to emotional out bursts.

[sirsen]

Kickin made a mistake.

Little idea I had for Elliot as the Prototype au. I feel like Harley would be a little more willing to help Elliot in this au, since Elliot thought of him as his son and would likely still treat him this way even after being turned into a toy. Yes, he wouldn't like that Harley experimented on him, but I don't think he could bring himself to stop caring about him, especially when Harley meets the same fate. As a result, Harley helps with keeping an eye on Poppy (even though she annoys him).

The audio is from Neytirix's short.

[solani-ao3]

Breaking the Loop — excerpt

The lab was quiet.

The boy sat on a lonely bench, nose buried in a book, but his eyes stuck in frozen contemplation on a single line of printed text — his mind far away.

On a subconscious level he knew he should be upstairs, with the others. That he was missing dinner, that soon it would be time for lights out. He knew all this — and yet didn't care. Didn't care because nobody else ever cared. Because it didn't matter. Because he didn't matter. And neither did the questions he asked. The questions troubling his young mind right now.

So focused was he on the book in his hand that he didn't look up when the doors opened behind him. When quiet footsteps approached the place where he was sitting. When a much larger body slid into the seat beside him. He only looked up when a soft hand came to rest upon his head, a warm, gentle weight.

“Why aren't you at dinner, Harley?"

Harley looked up.

Kind, brown eyes stared down at him, lined by wrinkles of age. Eyes that seemed to be the only ones who ever truly saw him. Who ever tried to see him. To understand him.

The question left his lips of its own accord, before he could try to hold it back as he usually would. Before he could ponder the possible ramifications of his curiosity.

“Are we destined to vanish?”

Elliot frowned — just the barest furrow of his brow — and tilted his head to the side, examining him.

“What prompted you to ask such a thing?”

The question wasn't a condemnation. Wasn't the cold dismissal he had become used to receiving from his parents. Wasn't a mockery of his peculiar thinking. Instead, it was an inquiry. Genuine curiosity. A request for insight into how his mind truly worked. And this served as encouragement, the boy placing the book between them, showing the page he had become stuck on when the question first arose in his mind.

“All species are destined for eventual extinction. Either they die out, or they evolve into something new. No matter how strong we are. No matter how smart we are. We are all destined to end up lost to time. Dinosaurs once roamed this world, prehistoric creatures as big as mountains. And yet all that's left of them now are old bones, dust and amber. We ourselves are subject to age, to mortality. Are we meant to one day disappear just like all else? And are we simply meant to accept it? Accept our eventual demise, not knowing what will come after, not knowing if we will have left a bigger impact than old bones and amber?”

There was a moment of silence, a second of baited breath. Some part of him expected to be dismissed. To be told he should cease worrying over such topics. To not waste his time asking silly questions, no matter how serious they may seem to him. But then — Ludwig looked away, brows furrowing in consideration.

“These are the very questions that have troubled humanity for a very long time.” He said at last, his tone quiet and thoughtful. “How do we resolve our own mortality? What is the legacy that we will have left once we cease our existence as a species, and what meaning will there be to our lives? It was Tolstoy who said that ‘the sole meaning of life is to serve humanity’ and Tagore who posited that ‘death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come’. We should have no fear of death, it comes for us all. We should instead spend the time we have on Earth by helping others, and when our time comes to leave the mortal plane — accept the transition, for something greater may be waiting for us on the other side.”

“But what if we didn't have to accept it?” Harley asked, and it was impossible to keep the dissatisfaction with that answer out of his own voice. “What point is there to live for other people if all of us will one day be gone anyway? What if we could find a way to fight it? Find a way to stay here as long as we want? Do away with this restriction holding us back? We could really make an impact then! Like no other species has before!”

Elliot looked at him, and the sudden seriousness in the man's eyes made the boy fall silent, suddenly afraid he'd crossed an invisible line.

“And what would be the nature of that impact?” He asked at last, his question, spoken quietly and softly, rooting Harley to his spot. “Have you considered that perhaps there's a reason we were not made immortal? That maybe we do require restrictions to our lives so that we don't bring about greater calamity? That perhaps… we were never meant to be Gods, because there's no telling what we would do with that power?”

Elliot rose from the bench and closed the book Harley had been ruminating over, handing it back to the boy before him. His hand hesitated for a few moments, but finally came to rest on his shoulder, clasping it gently before letting go.

“You should go upstairs, Harley… It'll be lights out soon…”

[solani-ao3]

Echoes Without Sound Part 2 — excerpt

Juliette followed his slow, laborious steps to the kitchen, meowing all the while. It was still dark out, the sun hadn't even risen yet, but she was already hungry. He filled her bowl, setting it down for her carefully so she could eat. Harley wondered if he should envy her appetite. Especially when he himself could hardly stomach anything these days.

The stack of medicine he'd been prescribed awaited him on the kitchen counter, taunting him with its mere presence. His eyes trailed over the multitude of pill bottles, something within him clenching painfully at the sheer amount of medication he now relied on to be able to function day to day. He knew most of it wasn't permanent. And yet still he could not help the bitter feeling of despair welling inside his heart at the sight.

How quickly and drastically things had changed…

Turning away from the sight, he made his way to the window, looking out at the dark world beyond.

He should be trying to get some sleep. As much as he could. In just a few hours he would be heading back to the factory. Back to the cutthroat world of Playtime. He needed all the rest he could possibly get before stepping back into that nest of vipers. And yet he knew he would not be getting any more sleep. Not tonight.

The letter still lay on the table where he'd left it last, Ritterman's neat handwriting spanning the page. False condolences. Details of his new responsibilities after his… demotion. A request to see him first thing Monday morning. Harley wondered how gleeful the man had been to write it. How much he, and Leith, and Stella were reveling in the fact they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Deal with his dissatisfaction, his frustration with the direction they were taking his project — creating experiments only to fulfill their needs rather than to push the boundaries of science. An experiment here, an experiment there… nothing imaginative. Nothing ambitious. Nothing revolutionary. The envelope had needed pushing and they… they…

Understand this, Sawyer, the Game Station works directly under OUR jurisdiction. Myself, Eddie, and Stella… What experiments we put where is OUR decision. I trust in your judgement on ideal candidates, but at the end of the day, you don't get to lord over this project…

They must've been so happy this had happened to him. That they finally had a legitimate excuse to get rid of him. They'd certainly wasted no time in promoting White to his position. White would do what they wanted. That spineless bootlicker, always bending over backwards for his superiors. Harley should've known… should've suspected… He and White had never gotten along, true enough. Not even during their Program days. But he'd thought White had shared his vision at least… How disappointing to learn that that man had been nothing more than a leech.

And that leech was now going to take his place as Head of Special Projects. Become his direct superior. Because he himself was now… because he'd been…

The letter crumpled in his fist, smacked where it had been flung against the floorboards. Harley's fingers dug into his hair, curling into the short black strands and pulling furiously. Instead of grounding him, soothing the storm raging inside, it only served to amplify his helpless rage and despair.

Juliette meowed quietly as he collapsed in a chair by the window, head bowed, his body shaking almost imperceptibly.

… What was he supposed to do now?

The car came for him around seven to take him back to the factory. The same driver as before. Cole. Harley stood out on the porch, leaning heavily against his crutch and feeling the early morning chill seep into his bones.

The neighborhood was shrouded in soft mist, the houses and their darkened windows seeming almost ghostly at this early hour. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed. Someone else heading off for work just as he was. One of his neighbors. It wouldn't be long until more followed suit, but Harley would be long gone by then. No one would see him in his new state. No one would know of his…

He swallowed, grimacing at the residual sharp ache in his throat.

Two and a half months had passed, and still the pain had yet to fully fade. Somehow he wondered if he would ever be free of it. If his body would ever stop hurting.

Who are you kidding? You will never stop hurting. This pain will follow you for the remainder of your pitiful life. The life of a cripple. Mute. Lame. Useless.