(Putting a little warning here for a less than ideal attitude to the idea of getting better / prioritising one's own needs / being a “burden”.)
Whumpee's been told they need to recover, but they're not sure that's actually a good idea?
They know about recovery. Recovery is messy and complicated and hurtful. It means taking up space and making people upset. It means backslides and breakdowns. It means mourning.
Isn't it better for whumpee to just stay as they are? Sure, they're not really a person right now, let alone a well-adjusted one, but they're functioning. Maybe they're unobtrusive and obedient, and aren't those good traits? Maybe they're stoic and efficient, and aren't those qualities widely praised?
Surely no one actually wants them to be emotional, be upset, take up space, demand thinks they want, set boundaries? Surely they're much easier to look after the way they are? People say “you need to recover” but whumpee thinks those people would probably like them less if they tried to.
• Day 11: Leaning into conditioning to escape the pain | “Weapons don’t have feelings” • Masterlist •
Warnings: Self dehumanisation, hidden injury.
Despite what the others assumed, Whumpee didn't like to think. They didn't like emotions and feelings. They didn't like the pain it brought along. And often, they thought - it was more like believed, since they didn't really put effort into making an intellectual analysis because they were taught that, and they didn't need to question the teachings - the trainers were right. Weapons didn't have feelings. To be efficient, and for their own good.
Like now. Whumpee repeated themselves again and again. Pain was nothing but an annoying sense. They didn't feel it because they were incapable of feeling. But their lungs were burning, their thoughts focusing on pain consuming them and disturbing their movements. Still, they couldn't bring themselves to cry out for help.
The team was nothing but kind to them. A lot kinder than the lab, than the trainers. They were observant, too, mostly about how whumpee was.
It was strange. To be offered things that Whumpee had only seen the trainers have. Like meals three times a day, delicious and real, not synthetic. Those were expensive. Maybe more expensive than making another weapon from scratch.
And Whumpee found themselves undeserving. Because that was only a fraction of what the team did— Whumpee could never pay back the shelter and the medical supplies that just got wasted on them.
So, they kept their mouth shut. There was no need to waste any more resources on them.
Walking two steps behind Caretaker, Whumpee took their usual 'guard' position. They better had to show some gratitude if they wanted to be kept around. And they only knew one way to do that: taking the burden of violence.
"You're doing good there?" Caretaker asked. It took a moment for Whumpee to realise the subject was Whumpee. Someone was asking Whupee how they were, even though there were no orders for them to be ready for in the near future.
"Yessir," Whumpee answered immediately. Caretaker looked at them for a moment before turning back. They were observant, Whumpee acknowledged, but not as observant as the trainers. It was too easy to lie, and it made Whumpee feel guilty, or rather, Whumpee would feel guilty if they could actually feel.
Silence settled, Whumpee's steps matching Caretaker's without much effort, both masking their presence and giving Whumpee something to focus. But either them or Caretaker was limping, which made Whumpee rush their left step, and it hurt.
They kept up for a while, but Whumpee's balance crumbled as they missed a step. They managed to stay upright, a whimper escaping as their weight fell on their left leg.
"Whumpee?"
"I'm fine!" Whumpee almost yelped. But before they could assure Caretaker, they were on the floor, Caretaker at their side.
"Don't lie." Came the command. And Whumpee could only sit and watch after as Caretaker found out about the big gash on their leg. They were basically ordered to shut up. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"
Because weapons didn't feel. They shut their mind off. And it was easier. Yet Whumpee couldn't bring themselves to say that. So they stayed silent as Caretaker mended their leg, but for the first time, Whumpee let themselves feel the warmth of Caretaker's hand and soothing sting of bandages over their hurting skin.
CWs: self-dehumanisation, fear of death, electric shock mention, conditioned whumpee, caretaker new master
MD-264N blinks itself awake. Its systems are not functioning at optimum efficiency but they're close to it, except for its ankle. There's uncomfortable sensation coming from that. But other than that it's much better than before.
Now. Where is it being stored? It has no restraints for… for some reason, and there's a window, so it isn't back at base. How did it get here?
Can it see the sky now?
One thing at a time. What is it wearing? It's far too light. The control harness and mitts are gone, and its clothes are… unusual. They're thick, soft, bright. The weapon looks at its arm, covered in baggy light blue soft fabric. So much brighter than it's allowed.
But it's not at base, so maybe it's what the people here want. That would make sense, right?
Next. This storage room. It's brighter than any at base, walls coloured light blue and pink. There's a wooden cabinet in the corner, a prosthetic forearm lying on it, and a window above the soft cot that MD-264N's on. That's unusual too. The weapon peers out of it as much as it can without moving, just about able to see a grey sky above.
That's its surroundings taken care of then. They don't make sense, but that's what's there. In that case, who brought it here? The last thing it remembers, it was on the street. Why did someone take it and put it in here? What do they want from it? Its hands are free, the only thing that makes sense is they want to use it, but there's no handlers here. This space is too big for the safe storage of weapons anyway.
MD-264N's throat goes tight. What happens if someone finds it out here? It's not safe. It doesn't know if this is what the people who put it here want but surely they want it to be secured safely.
MD-264N's eyes light on the cabinet, and it climbs off the soft cot it's been placed on and starts making its way towards it.
One foot goes on the floor, but when it tries to put its weight on the other foot, its ankle malfunctions and it collapses to the floor.
It attempts to push itself up as it hears footsteps, arms shaking, but it can't move. Aberrant moisture leaks out of the corners of its eyes. These people won't want a faulty weapon. They'll decommission it and then it'll never see the sky again.
The footsteps are very close now. MD-264N tries to kneel instead, desperate to be good enough to see the sky again.
"Hey, sweetheart, what are you doing on the floor? You're supposed to be resting." The voice is soft beside it, and the weapon's not sure who they're talking to. It sounds like they're talking to it but… you don't talk like that to weapons. Gentle, like it's a person. But there's no-one here. "Sit back on the bed, come on. Can you do that for me?"
MD-264N tries, it really does, but it can't move its leg. "This weapon is malfunctioning, sir, it– please." Please, please don't have it decommissioned, not yet.
"Okay. It's okay, sweetheart, I'll help you. I'm going to have to touch you, is that alright?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you." The speaker wraps an arm around it and helps it sit down on the cot. The arm is warm and the hand ungloved, and the weapon finds itself leaning into their touch. It stiffens. No, no that's bad, weapons don't need touch. "Hey, you don't need to move away. I bet you're touch-starved, huh?" MD-264N doesn't answer. It doesn't know how. "You don't need to… y'know, act all subservient. You can look at me. And you don't have to address me as sir, Rhian will do. Since it's my name. Do you have one?"
"This weapon has been designated MD-264N," answers the weapon automatically, "designed and programmed for urban use by the Ministry of Defence. Its capabilities are–"
"That's your designation, sweetheart, not your name. I guess that means you don't have one then. Would it be alright if I give you one?"
Why are they asking all these questions? Surely they know it can't refuse anyway.
"Yes, s– Rhian."
"Great! So I was thinking of Morgan, if you like it?"
"Yes, Rhian."
"That's good. You can look at me, sweetheart, you don't have to look at the floor. Why won't you look up?"
MD-264N (no, Morgan, it'd better start using the name its new commander wants) shivers. "This weapon is malfunctioning."
"What do you mean?"
Morgan swallows, preparing to give the information that might get it decommissioned. "Its left ankle is not functioning, and there is aberrant moisture leaking from its eyes. And it keeps having aberrant thoughts."
There's a short pause. "So… you're in pain, you're crying and you're probably scared? You're in a strange place with people you've never met, after being shot in the ankle, I'd be surprised if something wasn't wrong, frankly. I'll get Asha to bring you some more painkillers. It's okay to feel like this, sweetheart, it doesn't mean you can't look at me, or that I don't want to see you. Please, Morgan?"
Morgan can't refuse that, and it raises its head, not making eye contact but looking all the same. Rhian's hair is white dipped in red, and they smile at the weapon, mouth dimpling at the corners.
"There you are. Nice to meet you."
They're so soft, their hand warm on its arm, saying things that don't make sense, not for a weapon, but they're so nice. More moisture leaks from the weapon's eyes at the gentleness. Nobody's ever been this gentle with it.
"Hey, it's okay. Do you want a hug?"
A hug? But it– it's never, no-one's ever– it's just a weapon, why would anyone offer? Morgan nods anyway, and Rhian wraps their arm around it, holding it tight and warm. They don't seem bothered about touching it, like its handlers are, and their fingers almost burn through the fabric of the hoodie. It doesn't remember the last time anyone touched it without gloves.
Its eyes leak even more and it finds itself making sounds along with that, sounds that it would surely be shocked for with anyone else. But Rhian just shushes it gently, and it can't help leaning into their touch.
Of all the people it's met, Rhian is by far the most patient, and it can't help the aberrant and likely futile hope that the gentleness lasts.
• Day 8: Emotions | Going through motions • Masterlist •
• Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Masterlist •
Warnings: Self-dehumanisation, unconsciousness.
Right Hand settled next to the couch, their head leaning on Leader's arm. They could feel the rapid pulse, drumming against their ear and fingertips. There was nothing more to do rather than waiting.
But patience wasn’t their strong suit.
Right Hand didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to lose the assuring pulse. They feared, illogically, if they closed their eyes, Leader would disappear. Just like anyone in back there who showed them kindness.
Right Hand knew it was paranoia. They were in the middle of nowhere. Alone. No one could harm them. Except, Right Hand feared the harm was already done. Leader's struggling and quick breaths could stop any moment. Because no matter how much Leader tried to prove othervise, they were fragile. A lot fragile than Right Hand, Youngest, and even Medic, who had undergone so few changes. The one person they all looked up to was the weakest one among them. That was the opposite of what the facility taught.
They all should've been decomissioned by the lab before such a mistake was allowed in the first place.
Leader stirred, as if feeling Right Hand's thoughts. Right Hand ran their hand through the older soldier's hair, undoing the knots on short, neat cut. They knew Leader would be horrified at the thought of anyone touching Right Hand or the team, let alone taking them for decommissioning or reconditioning. Leader always protected them.
Leader was the weakest of them.
It was hard to keep that in mind. Leader pulled stunts no one could. Leader protected the team in a way Right Hand never could. And Leader basically raised them all, when they had no handbook that told them what to do. For Right Hand, no one could be stronger. No one could be better than Leader.
Yet, Leader tried to run away when they crumbled. Right Hand knew calling it as an escape was ignorance, but it was the first time ever that Leader left them for any amount of time. It was the first selfish thing they had ever done. It felt like abandonment despite knowing it was not.
Because Leader wasn’t supposed to falter. They weren’t supposed to lie there, pale and still, like all the others who had never come back. Leader had no right to scare Right Hand like this.
"You can't leave us alone, you know," Right Hand whispered, knowing they wouldn't have the courage to say if Leader was awake. "Not when we need you."
Right Hand didn't allow themselves to tear up. This was going to be alright. Leader always pulled through. Besides, this was just a healing enchanter. It was just supposed to fasten up the progress. Leader assured them it was going to be alright. And Right Hand believed Leader.
They would call it childish. To trust someone less than a person. To trust someone who was made for simple-mindedly accomplishing the given task. But Right Hand believed Leader because that one task Leader always pursued was keeping the team safe and giving the team a normal life.
For a while, Right Hand just sat there, tracing the tattoo marking Leader as military property, faded with time, and disoriented with scars. Leader would scold them for sitting on the floor without anything beneath or just not sleeping for such 'crude' matter. Eventually, Right Hand did fall asleep, even if it didn't feel restful at all. It was a short break. They didn't need sleep much, their body wasn't weak like humans. And they didn’t like sleep, unlike their teammates. So it wasn't a surprise to wake up before sunrise.
Standing up, Right Hand stretched their limbs. The soreness of sleeping on the floor faded soon enough, leaving them only with their emotions.
Right Hand hated it. Hated that no matter how fast they healed, no matter how their body regulated their heartbeat or breaths, they always felt. There was no way to heal their feelings, and it was the biggest design flaw. What were they thinking while designing Right Hand?
Apparently, the conditioning, too, was immune to healing. Right Hand had been a respected soldier for years now, yet they were feeling like they were going to be dragged to a room to be chastised about being emotional and not acting like what they were going to be just because of showing care.
But lack of punishment made Right Hand so prone to feeling, and it was concerning. They couldn’t deal with their feelings. They were going to be completely useless once - because it was inevitable and Right Hand was somewhat rational to know that - they lost someone. They were going to be barely a shell when they lost Leader, since even one week of absence made Right Hand seek comfort and their foolish mind told them to go back to the place they were raised.
They were supposed to be independent now. That’s what Leader had taught them, even though it took a while to break the thoughts the facility had drilled into their skulls. But how could they stand on their own when their foundation was crumbling? What kind of soldier needed someone like this, so desperately, that they couldn’t even imagine a world without them?
Sometimes, it felt like the trainers were right. It was wrong to feel. They had been told this countless times. But here they were, unable to step away from Leader's unmoving body. Irrational. Not making any sense.
Right Hand adjusted the blanket around Leader’s shoulders, their hands lingering for a moment longer than necessary. It was unnerving to see them so still. Too still.
Right Hand turned back, getting the woods stacked under the stairs and feeding the fire. They couldn't do much at that moment, and while their mind understood that, their heart didn’t. It didn’t make any sense. Their chest squeezing didn't make any sense.
Flames blew out, warming their skin. Leader stirred, turning on their side and tucking their exposed arm into blanket. Right Hand silently stood guard.
• Day 15: Chain of command | "You have your orders." • Masterlist •
Warnings: Implied lab whump, living weapon whumpee, self dehumanisation.
"I'm not being a part of this," Leader almost snarled. But they had to keep their composure. For Whumpee.
"You can't refuse direct commands. You are the head of your team, but you don't make orders. You have your orders, and you will obey them," the higher up shot back before the call disconnected with a beep.
Leader sighed, collapsing to their chair. They couldn't just obey. Not when it meant using Whumpee, even if Whumpee was assigned to them temporarily with the only purpose of being used. Yet they needed Whumpee to do their part. Leader was still too young to bury a team.
The door behind them opened, Leader already recognising the too light steps coming closer. "Whumpee," they greeted, not making a move to free their hands from holding their head. Whumpee liked seeing people's hands. To be prepared, Leader always assumed.
"My orders and the team's orders aren't matching with the team."
"I was trying to revise them," Leader smiled anyway. "I'm looking for a... less dangerous route."
"I'm expandable."
"No. I told you before, and I'll tell over and over again you aren't."
"This is my job."
"And my job is keeping my team alive," Leader sighed, sitting up straighter and placing their hands on the table to get the support they needed to get up. They circled through the table, reaching next to Whumpee and accidentally towering over them. But they knew how to fix the situation, at least.
"I'm not a part of the team," Whumpee whispered, sinking to their place.
"You're under my command," Leader tried.
"It's not the same."
"It's the same for me. Besides, if you wanted to be a part of the team officially..." Leader trailed off. They put their hand on Whumpee's shoulder for a moment, squeezing it gently before pulling away. They didn't want to invade. Having Whumpee as an official member would definitely help Leader to defend them, but Whumpee was designed to accept anything. Leader didn't want to exploit that. With a bitter smile, they changed the topic.
"I'll update your orders after a short break."
And with that, they marched out. They were going from the agency's back, but it would worth. For Whumpee.
• Day 7: Maintenance | Not being acknowledged • Masterlist •
Warnings: Self dehumanisation, lab settings.
Drill was simple. Stay still. Let the people do their jobs. Whumpee could do that, really. Not being talked to was a blessing at most times. It meant no orders, no tasks.
But today was maintenance day.
That wasn't supposed to change anything. Whumpee was still supposed to sit through without talking. But the last two training exercises almost failed because of sudden pain in its right knee. Something was wrong with it.
"Sir," Whumpee tried, too meek. It didn't use words too much. It always felt quite uncomfortable because no one had to listen it. It didn't have the right to bother people.
It went ignored.
Blood got drawn, eyes checked. Many things connected to its body and then got taken off. It tried talking again a few times. It didn't even get hushed. It got pushed around from rooms to rooms, passing by other weapons and overseers. Machine after machine and tests after tests were exhausting, but at none of those Whumpee was listened.
Until its knee popped and twisted when a doctor tried to fold it more than it could.
Punishment for not reporting faulty parts of it was going to haunt it for days.
Warnings: Blood, hypothermia(? I dont think i got that far), self dehumanisation(again, very vague), mentioned possible death.
It didn't take Leader so long to realise that a cramped bus ride was like a first class ticket compared to... this. Being shipped out, by far, was the worst. And Leader had even travelled in a plane's cargo hold filled with luggage.
Their stomach cramped, their knuckles turning while just like their face as they gripped the handrail. The sea was unforgiving, swaying the ship enough to flood the deck before collapsing to the other way, sweeping off Leader's feet.
Their raincoat was barely holding to their body, the oversized cloth doing a somewhat decent job at keeping Leader dry. The same couldn't be told about the boots, though. Those were filled with water, but the weight was doing a fine job with limiting Leader's movements. But even the storm couldn't make Leader go in. The air smelt there, mixed with engine oil and fuel. Leader would suffocate.
Leader's wasn't made for sea travel. And they should have refused it, especially when their body was failing. But a plane would leave a bigger trail to clean after.
The only reason Leader's compliance was their team had been placed on a safe house and waiting— on an island that didn't exist according to the maps. The thought of seeing their team made the way more bearable. And excited, if they were honest with themselves. They missed the team.
Leader ignored that they weren't supposed to feel that way. They were acting like a defective product.
Well, Leader assured themselves, it wasn't their first malfunction. And definitely not the most harmful one. And what they didn't know couldn't hurt them.
The ship jolted as they ran to the ground, sending Leader to the opposite edge. Leader took a deep breath, relaxing their muscles sore from holding on for two hours. They went in with holding their breath, grabbing their bag and getting out.
Leader - and the crew, for restocking - got to a smaller boat and paddled until they arrived at the small beach. Leader got off and changed in the small warehouse, giving the coat and boots back. They were left with their own cloths, which was awful considering they had packed for a hot town. But they weren't going to complain or exploit the given kindness.
Leader began walking, following the natural path into the forest. The trees blocked most of the heavy rain, but the remaining was still enough to soak Leader from head to toe in a matter of minutes. The wind whistled between the leaves, sticking Leader's cloths to their skin and sending shivers down to their spine.
By the time they got to the hut deep in the woods, they were trembling. The door opened, a gun held to their face. Before Leader could register, they were pulled into a hug, making their bruised ribs ache. Leader melted into the embrace despite the pain, letting their head fall to Right Hand's shoulder.
"Now it's my turn!" Youngest pulled both of them in, tearing Leader from Right Hand.
Youngest hugged Leader's middle, and Leader drew circles on Youngest's back.
It was nice to be back. But also… it felt lonely to have only two of their teammates.
"I thought we wouldn't see you again for a long time, Leader," Right Hand broke the comfortable silence.
Leader smiled, letting go of Youngest. "That's definitely a pleasant surprise, even though I can't say the same for the way. What's going on here?"
"Someone is hunting us. Even the other teams we had crossed roads. We'll just gather here until we get the full list of casualties."
Leader nodded. They sniffled, dropping their bag. Youngest began digging through their food stock. Good thing Leader was quite... prepared.
"You look like a wet cat."
Leader glared Right Hand, scoffing. After a moment, they let out a defeated sigh. "Tell me we have hot water."
Right Hand pressed their lips into a thin line, shaking their head with a weary smile. "You can always use the kettle."
"Can't even provide some good accommodation," Leader muttered. They couldn't actually complain. Leader's cost was getting dangerously closer to their profit. They were supposed to be grateful for the roof.
"Well, at least we got a fireplace. You can warm up later. I cut the woods, but you're doing it next time. I'm better with a knife rather than axe."
"Looks like we got a deal," Leader smiled and looked around for bathroom.
"Upstairs."
Leader turned back, looking at the spot Right Hand pointed.
"You gotta be kidding with me," they muttered. The stairs looked like they could fall apart any moment.
"Everyone had forgotten about this place so... it was the safest. And it gave us something to do without going mad in this blackout. I fixed the water tank yesterday."
"Just in time, then. This rain will supply our next month alone."
Right Hand chuckled. "Your luck. I didn't see a drop fall ever since i came here."
Of course my luck, Leader didn't tell it loud.
They got their clothes and went upstairs, the stairs bending under their steps, and the floor cracking. They held onto the sink a moment when they reached up, the stairs taking a lot more energy than they thought. Their chest tightened for a moment, and they coughed, blood sputtering into the white surface as their vision blurred.
They needed a break. Their body was falling apart.
But they were also stinking, their hair damp. At least there was going to be a fire when they got down.
Leader got rid of the blood and showered with their clothes, cleaning those as they got rid of the rainwater clinging to their hair. The cold water chattered their teeth, burning their skin. By the time they were ready to go downstairs, they were hardly able to stand straight.
Right Hand wrapped a blanket around them, beginning to dry Leader's hair with a towel as they sat before the fireplace, trying to get warm as their bones ached.
Youngest came in with a tray on their hand filled with black cake dough, pushing it into the fire.
"Medic would love brownies," they whispered.
Leader looked down. "They're not dead," Leader returned.
• Day 6: Self dehumanisation | Just leave it there • Masterlist •
Warnings: Self dehumanisation, blood, though of death
"Just leave it there," Whumper mottered, turning Scientist away. Whumpee didn't whimper. It didn't cry. It could slowly heal anyway. There was no need to draw attention.
Not that anyone would care to check on it, though. And it definitely didn't deserve it. It was just one of many. It wasn't the strongest or the fastest. It often thought about things when it wasn't supposed to. It felt— pain was just too much along with a deep ache that just came from not from their body but squeezed their breaths - too much, when it was only asked to give feedback.
It stopped thinking. It was spiralling again. It had to stop and just stay quiet, but just like its thoughts, its whimpers were getting too loud. It wanted to stop shaking because it was showing weakness. It would get punishment if it kept like this.
Whumpee tried to get to its elbows, their body trembling with strain. Blood dripped as it felt its wound open more, its breath getting stuck on its throat.
It crawled towards the supplies for a moment. It cursed. It wasn't supposed to be reaching those. That adrenaline shots were for soldiers. For humans whose lives were valuable. But Whumpee...
Whumpee was a weapon.
Whumpee sank to its place, surfing up and trying to calm its breaths. It was going to be alright. It had to be. It had many more days to be used, on field or as practice. It wanted to believe it had days ahead. So it waited its body to put itself back together.
