whumpee turned into a nonhuman thing like a puppet, doll, or automaton but still suffers from psychosomatic sensations like hunger, thirst, and the need to breathe.
Until their mind accepts they're no longer alive, the pain won't stop, without any means of relief.
Over the past few months, i've been a little tired, but progress is going well. The story is being outlined, but the characters and concepts are being finalized. Puppet, or hopefully now better known as: The Red String
Will likely be coming to tumblr (and maybe ao3) sometime sooon! I would really appreciate it if you would spread the word or show this to Moots who you think would be interested in it! I would love interaction and making friends if anyone would like to say hello or to know more. (This is my first time making a web series, go easy on me ;3)
Genres: Modern Hurt/Comfort
Themes: Love, Perserverance, Freedom, Family, Personal Worth, Jesus
POV: Third (Limited)
Plot Structure: Hero's Journey
Status: OUT! IT'S OUT NOW! RAHHHHHH GO READ IT PLEASE! IT'S JUST STARTING!!!
Knives and targets, blood and tears. A Shadow, a chameleon in the crowds of the nobles, a hundred identities, a hundred faces. But he knows only one name as his own, Puppet. That’s what she calls him. The woman who owns his every thought. Lady Eilene Hallon. Her wish is his movement, her life is his breath. Not a person, but a possession. 026. The Northwing Facility’s newest weapon. And as long as 026 can remember, that’s all he’s ever been. A life lived in a ditch, the constant taste of blood and lingering agony of Eilene's rage. Pulling himself back to his feet, alone.
Raised since childhood for the scope of a gun, 026 should know better than to feel remorse for his prey. After all, that's all they are. Prey. But the blood on the walls and the screams for mercy haunt him, his only semblance of freedom found in high nights and Dreary mornings. Everything slowly goes from bad, to worse as 026 begins to lose his grip on everything that kept him sane. Until he fails. His target leaves alive. And Eilene is furious.
Tortured for half the evening and left to die, 026 accepted that he would, ready to meet the darkness with one last sigh, anything would be better than this. Until he wakes up, temporarily blind with a couple dozen broken bones in a place he doesn't recognize and people he doesn't trust.
Eve, the farmer's daughter who fished him out of the alleyway and hauled him home. Cole, the easily-excitable little boy with a lot of questions and an empty space in his life for a protector. Iris, the matriarch and the watcher who waits for 026 to prove himself to her. Lucian, the friendly church book-keeper and retired Therapist. And the Watchful eyes of a God 026 never believed in, whispering that his life has a purpose, and it's not his time to die just yet.
Characters
#026 - Puppet - Male - 26 yrs old - Mixed Ethnicity/Biracial - ISTP
A Young man raised for as long as he can remember to believe he was a weapon, taught to supress himself for his job, but bits of his spite and grief still poke through. Defiant and angry with a wild streak. This causes him to often lose control of his emotions and abuse any substance he can get his hands on to cope with his situation.
Dislikes: Being called out, Sudden loud noises, Specifically red dice, Grease, Mud & Dirt, Complete silence
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Lady Eilene Hallon - Whumper - Female - 41 yrs old - Greek - ESTJ
A charismatic Noblewoman with a penitent for blood and violence, she has high-expectations and little patience for mistakes. Her favorite toy is of course, #026, who conveniently gets rid of all of her problems for her
Likes: Things being quick and easy, Rich flavors, red wine, The colors Red and Blue, Night, Stars, Silence
Dislikes: Slow processes, Failure, The color orange, Fish, Birds, Most flowers, Loud noises, Swearing
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Evelyn (Eve) Sparrow - Caretaker - Female - 24 years old - Caucasian - ESFP
A Sweet young woman who recently moved back into town from college to help her aging mother on the farm and care for her siblings. She's generally a very happy girl with a heart of gold who tries her best but sometimes misjudges the situation.
A doll/puppet whumpee searching for pieces to repair themselves. Maybe they're missing an eye, and are stuck searching for button. Maybe they've torn a seam. Maybe their paint has faded. Maybe the real pain was a broken heart all along.
If you like it, Pease comment! It means a lot to me!
Tws: Gore, Child Soldier, Child abuse, Grief, Drug use, drugging of a child
The inhale was like choking on fibreglass, world suffocated in an ocean of needles and shadow. He couldn't hear anything; the ringing drowned out even his own breath.
The blood soaking into his shoes was hotter than he expected it to be.
He barely heard her as she spoke, his finger still tightened—paralyzed—around the trigger. Fuck. Fuck!
“Well,” Eilene clapped her hands once to illustrate her statement, “my compliments to your instructors. The disobedient streak will need to be removed, of course, but beyond that, you've trained such a perfectly vicious little beast; This is exactly what I wanted.”
She was proud of him.
He couldn’t look away. It was like seeing something one was never meant to see, gazing upon an infinite abyss, one that screamed at him to follow in a voice that turned out sickeningly distorted. To let go. Fall into nothing. Something was wrong. He’d seen blood before, just a few hours before in the dark of the morning. There had been more then.
But this was different.
His gaze eventually drifted upward from the tiled red floors. The eyes stared back at him. Cold, empty. He almost imagined a few quiet words in the stillness, but whatever they were, they remained only a hallucination. Not even breath graced the frigid lips of the still body.
And for a moment, they stared, like they had only the day before. Then, it had been a challenge, a friendly competition, as if they were going to live forever, and nothing was serious. Nothing meant anything.
Now, everything meant nothing.
He felt his limbs trembling, the blood rushed out of his head and somehow, despite the incoming vertigo, he remained locked in place. Eilene’s voice fuzzed out of focus. 032 stared. He stared back.
Again.
The Remaining singular eye was filled with fear and uncertainty, even as it detached from its mutilated socket, no longer looking at him directly; instead, it silently probed the floor, judging the blood staining the grips of his sneakers, as if to disapprove of him.
He felt small, insignificant. Even his best friend hated him.
He’d known what it was like to be alone.
But not like this.
The blood spread past him, dripping loud in the sterility. It reminded him of her, but she was gone. What he wished he were. Pristine. Like she was. Perfect.
She still wanted him.
Someone still wanted him.
Even sticky, stained, dead in the eyes, responsible for a tragedy. Filthy. Filthy with blood.
He glanced back at his friend. His silent form.
His corpse.
“Don’t leave me,” It said, "I'm scared of the dark. I don't want to be alone…"
He wouldn’t look at it again. Not even when he flicked the safety back on, fingers numb. Not even when he looked back at the splattered glass. Two deathly familiar faces greeted him, taking in the gore that carved little rivers down his skin and stuck to the tiles in foul metallic-smelling prints.
026’s hands trembled as his eyes stuck on the blood creeping toward his shoes; and when he could no longer stand it, he glanced up instinctively in a childlike search for approval.
Hayes looked cold—almost reluctantly approving. Greene stared at the corpse absently, trembling for a moment; those nearly hollow eyes dug into his skin like twin blades, as if they could speak in the suspended silence. His voice was so soft 026 didn’t register he’d spoken until the words sunk in alongside the glare, “You…You little shit.”
026 didn’t remember when they’d come into the room. His shoulders hunched on instinct, his breath shallowing under the eyes as he began to register what he’d done.
He’d disobeyed direct orders, been caught, but not only that; he’d put the entire facility in danger and killed his best friend.
A vicious little monster Eilene had called him. And she was right. Maybe it was his nature. Maybe he was a murderer. Even so, he didn’t fight it when Greene grabbed his shirt, letting himself drift into the pain he knew was coming. Like a hazy dream, begging himself to forget.
Even angry, Greene was too weak to hit him hard. 026 resisted the urge to flash a smug grin at the instructor. It would be better not to think until it was over.
Maybe that’s why 032 had died. He’d always been weak, and time had finally caught up to him. Murderer. He’d had to kill him! What else was he going to do? Fight back. And then what? Be shot down himself? Maybe one life was enough.
032 had no blood on his hands, maybe a few stolen items and tools, and he could be a smartass at times, but of anyone in this goddamn facility he would’ve been the only one who deserved to live. Perhaps this was it. This was all there was. A brief smile that the world took glee in stripping away. Perhaps that was all he was. A killer from the day he’d opened his eyes, a monster trapped in human skin. Eilene saw it. She knew. She wanted the monster. That’s why she’d chosen him. That's why he needed her. The pain had given him strength, like she promised it would. He’d survived. Only now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Injustice. Death of an innocent, the benefit to those who relished in agony, like Hayes and the directors who dragged him along like a puppet. Puppet. It had a nice ring to it. Eilene called him that, too. Every direction he went spun him back to the center of the bloody spiral, agony and hatred over every single loss he’d experienced. What had he done wrong? What had 032 done? Nothing.
026’s breath trembled on his lips, the burning ache pulsing through his skin as his thoughts caught fire. The pain blooming beneath his skin like unfurling flower petals pushing through his flesh toward the sunlight.
If there really is a God up there… you must be a selfish one.
Just give him back…
026 collapsed onto the floor, his palms locking into the congealed viscera between the tiles as Greene shrank away from him and the bitterness soured on the back of his tongue. He sniffed, coughing in the stench of the forgotten corpse and the fact he’d inhaled his own blood.
He tilted his head, brushing his nose with the back of his arm, scowling at the red. Shock faded into grief, which slowly twisted itself into rage. Hands seized his shoulders; he startled, instinct telling him to fight. But any thought of resistance dissolved as he caught sight of Eilene, leaning delicately against the door frame; her sharp blue-grey eyes dug into his skin. He complied. He had to please her.
The wind across the lake carried his feet over the grass under the dull grey sky. Death sang on the waters, and blood roared in his ears. Her perfect posture beside him.
The sound of the slamming door shoved him back into reality. Looking up at her eyes, he didn't flinch when icy fingers wrapped around his upper arm. She and the guards pushed him into a chair, but to his surprise, she dismissed them, and once more, they were alone.
026 opened his mouth to speak, but in the echoing nothing, the enormity of everything that had just happened crashed in on him. Dark skies. Bright white lights. Feet tapping on the floors. Pain. The burning flesh still wrapped in bandages, the blood congealing on his shirt, Hayes’ and Greene’s words, the flames and smoke that lit up the sky, several loud blasts that caused his ears to ring perpetually in nothing. And above it all came the reality that he was alone. Completely and utterly alone, his only connection to the rest of the boys snapped like a charred stick and splattered all over the floor.
He broke into tears.
Lady Hallon glanced up from the bowl she'd been filling with water. He was unable to tell if the look on her face was surprise, or simply acknowledgement; perhaps it was even disappointment. He bit his tongue, choking on a sob. 026 you fucking failure. It's just pain, you've felt worse. Shut up. Shut up and just take it.
But another side of his thoughts argued back, he's dead! And it's all my fault! What am I going to do when she leaves?
“It'll be alright, baby.”
026 jumped, fighting away from her in the split second he couldn't recognize what was going on. But his eyes widened, the soft coolness of her hand a hypnotizing gentleness against his face he couldn't help but lean into as she raised a cloth to his cheek, scrubbing off the dried blood and dirt leftover from the night's events with a strange sort of tenderness in her eyes.
“Does that feel better, my dear?”
He paused, a soft whimper slipping past the muffled sobs, “Y-yes Ma'am.”
“There, now, there's no need to cry. You've become such a perfect Puppet. Everything I wanted. And I'm so proud of you for obeying that order. As such, I'll offer you a reward.”
He barely registered the words, his mind tumbling over the ramifications of pulling the trigger. Good? Bad? Death? Life? She loves me? He's gone… I wanna make her proud. It hurts… I'm sorry I'm a monster.
“I can make it stop hurting if you like, does that sound nice?” Eilene's smile gained a lighter tint. 026 hesitated, glancing at the needles and small bag on the table.
He nodded slowly, remembering the nice feeling that always followed after the sessions and the blank spots in his memory he associated with a feeling of pure bliss and the promise of a kind future. Could she do that? She can. I need her.
“Lovely, may I?” She reached into the bag, rummaging with something as 026 rubbed his face on his grubby sleeve, begging himself not to cry. Be strong. Make her proud. She's giving you a gift.
Before he even realized what was happening, Eilene placed something in his hand, “Eat these.”
Blindly, confused, he did so, a small squeak of surprise tumbling from his lips as she jabbed a needle into his upper arm. Wait, what? What's happening? Why is everything happening so quickly? What was that? What did she do?
Slowly, in his shock, the edges of the lights seemed to sharpen, a spike of dizziness in a starburst through his brain as his hands shook and the sudden urge to move overtook his entire body. The dark greys of the morning disappeared into hyperactive swirling shades of pink and green. Weird but exhilarating. Spinning like a kaleidoscope at the end of an infinitely accelerating and extending tunnel.
That thing looked fun to shoot. Maybe he could punch it, chase it? Would 032 be there? Betrayal. It’s too bright in here.
He moved to reach for it, but a hand pressed firmly into his chest as the wave of excitement hit him all at once.
Mom…?
Cycling in and out. White lights, soft eyes and gentle hands.
Robots, metals, rattling against his back. Golden light swelled behind his ribs, pressing against them for a way out. Death didn't exist. His mama loved him. He wanted to move, only something wouldn't let him. That sort of boundless joy that makes you want to run in circles and flap your hands in the air. A little giggle spun from the tip of his tongue and he struggled for the vast expanse of trees in front of him to run through. Arms pinwheeling in the wind bound to a wooden frame. Zip ties around his ankles and fingers skipping along a ridge like tiny dancers.
Her. He needed her. Her eyes followed him, her hands cupped around him, fingers digging into his skin and drawing the blood and feeling out of his tendons until the overload became numb. A clash of everything and an intense scrabbling desire for that feeling again. For her. For her blessings and her lording over his life. For everything she was and everything she could make him into. Her. Those eyes. That silver. Her bladed tongue and the blue blood dripping between her fingers and the sea-blue flame she lifted to his lips.
Blisters and cool air he couldn't reject swallowing when she instructed , it brightened the colors, and by God, it made him sick. But that type of sickness for a moment where he sobbed syrup and coughed up flower petals. She tore his throat out through his mouth and strangled him with the coords. And he loved the pressure, lightheaded and dizzy as he fell into her.
He only barely comprehended the words in the ocean of colors and bliss that lifted him off the ground and spun him around like a carnival ride without a harness.
“Remember, my little puppet. You are mine. Day and night, until the day the light leaves your eyes. You are my weapon, my blade, my bullet, and you will do what I tell you, I allow you freedom because I care about you. You're lucky I do. Because if anyone else found out what you were, you may die. And a puppet without strings is nothing. I don't want that for you. You are mine."
His body responded on its own to the familiar phrase, excitedly embracing her and moving his lips on their own as if from perfect muscle memory, obliging with her statement submitting fully to control and erasing name and person for a number and the bullets in his gun which whispered over his shoulder as the words stuttered out in a gleeful agreement, “I am yours.”
And once more, he pinwheeled away on the fluffiest of clouds, this one the deepest of blood reds hanging him upside down. Like a faucet, everything spilled over, excitement, glee, joy, laughter, mania. Weightlessness like he'd never dreamed, the sensation of everything he'd ever wanted, and an infinity of dreams come true that somehow didn't reach the end of the line but completed the story. Smoke roiled into the sky, tiles cracked beneath him, and arms embraced him. It was perfect, it was heaven, it was fluffy wings and a warm blanket, a smiling face and the voice of his living best friend, reassurance and running through a field of flowers.
Physical activity restrained by leather belts and zip ties as he squirmed in the need to release the emotions overflowing out of his skin, tears spilling down his cheeks and restraints digging into his flesh. Oblivion to ecstacy. Eilene repeated her mantra, enthusiastic agreements leaping from his lips to meet her as he almost seemed to froth at the mouth in enjoyment of meaningless dreams.
Perhaps she'd miscalculated the amount of drugs needed to force compliance; however, as long as it remained non-lethal, she couldn't be bothered. Eilene reorganized her tools on the side tables. Hooking him had been easy, but if it weren’t for the sheer force of his rebellion, she could have taken him back to Ethynoé by now. This setback presented the necessity for more extreme measures. How irritating.
That night, she watched him like a hawk. The only future for him left under smoky skies and a silver diamond, framing his grim chances on the path ahead of him as it twisted into a tunnel and spiralled straight down into nothingness.
i'm planning on turning Puppet into a full series in chronological order
the characters will all have names, as well as the city and the world. thank you for the attention. i never honestly thought people would like my writing. I really appreciate it
for now, have this snippet: (tw: a little blood)
~
Puppet growled through his teeth in an attempt not to scream from rage or agony as adrenaline pounded through his veins and every inch of his body burned. She advanced on him again, flipping the metal rod over as he lunged for her legs, and rammed it into the side of his skull.
Puppet reeled back, tasting blood, the world ringing into white for a moment as his body slammed into the stone floor and he shook his head. Blood. Saw red, tasted iron, his ears drowned, all he smelled; metal, clothes ripped and ruined. Damn. The new suit, too.
"How are we feeling, puppet boy? Ready to give in?" Whumper paced toward him, a grin plastered over her stupid plastic face. Another strike, this time to the ribs. More. Until he slumped against the wall, trembling and wheezing for air. "Come on? It's not that bad. You know what failure means, my little Puppet. Don't give me that look. Obey. You will do everything I say, I own you."
Puppet squinted up at her, head spinning and barely hearing her over the incessant ringing. Or was it buzzing? He narrowed his eyes as best as he could, choosing one of the three copies of her swimming in his vision, faintly gasping through gritted teeth, "Fuck... you..."
026 lay on his back. Silence surrounded him. Thanks be to whomever existed.
He didn't remember how to read a clock. Colors swam in his vision. Tumbling all around him in a big ball of delightful confusion.
Home.
Foreign lands.
Adventure.
Comfort.
Couldn't it be all at once? Why were adventures never comfortable? It was really all they lacked.
Thrill.
He'd had enough of thrill.
Of that... risk.
Right now all that mattered was this mattress, the lovely mix of chemicals in his bloodstream, and his ricecooker.
At least it didn't leave him.
Unless it grew legs.
Why would it grow legs?
Had it always had those?
No, that was stupid.
Or was it?
A loud shriek startled him into a ball on the floor. Since when had he gotten on the floor? The floor vibrated from the sound. He scowled. Stupid motherfucking neighbor and shitty goddamn fucking music.
