#the facility

[patchofhares]

abiotic faptor, more like.

[blurryeyeswhump]

J

[j is just tired]

[cw: institutional whump, guns and knives, explicit violence, forced sh, death, drug mention, suicidality (not acted upon or planned), emeto mention, bureaucracy]

Nathan felt dizzy following the facility employee down the sterile, white hallway. Their pace was quick and they were silent. He knew they introduced themself, but his head had been swimming between his pounding heartbeats since he arrived. He tried to recall a name and simply couldn’t.

They were passing by many doors now. Each one illuminated by a red or green switch above the top jamb. He remembered reading a handout in the lobby that claimed the rooms were very nearly soundproof. He strained to hear a single thud or a cadence of voice. He couldn’t, and he jumped when the employee stopped in front of him and spoke.

“Well, here we are,” they said in front of a green lit door. Nathan swallowed and rubbed his sweating palms against his pants as he watched them scan a key card from their lanyard. The door slid open with a low whir. The room inside was larger than he had anticipated. The same eerie, sterile white infected the entire space. On the wall to the right were tools set up like a workbench in a handyman’s shed. Some of the items were out of place maybe: namely the knives, needles, and a collection of gags, whips, and chains. In the center of the room was an operating table fitted with restraints.

The most notable fixture in the entire room however, was a figure—a man—with a black hood covering his face and fastened tightly around his neck. He was gagged through the hood, and he had a pair of bulky black earphones on. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly to the metal chair he was sitting in. Nathan watched him scratch absently at the arm of the chair. His heart slammed in his chest.

The employee set their clipboard down on the surgical table. They approached the man in the chair from behind and pushed his head forward. They scanned the back of his neck with their watch and tapped away at the small screen for a few seconds. The initial touch had seemed to activate the captive. Nathan watched as he pulled at his restraints and shook his head violently. His muffled voice sounded terribly hoarse.

“This is J. His handler apparently neglected to give him a full name. Feel free to refer to him however you’d like, or not at all if you prefer. He’s been selected for you based on your stated preferences on your intake form. His file claims he’s mild-mannered. That’s a unique description for Product here, at least in my experience,” Nathan froze as the employee pulled a handgun from inside their white coat.

“Please pardon me, The Owners insist on proof of quality. Please cover your ears.”

Nathan obeyed right away, and not a moment too soon. The employee wasted no time before pulling the trigger, and blowing a hole straight through J’s skull and out the front of his forehead. He stilled in an instant, before slumping forward. His dead weight carried the chair with him as he fell forward, and cracked brutally against the white tile.

Nathan watched with wide eyes as what seemed like an impossible amount of blood spread out from beneath the black hood. The gun was quickly re-holstered, and the employee walked back to where Nathan stood, with their clipboard in hand.

“Some house rules and info while we wait,” they adjusted their clear rimmed glasses and flipped through the pages.

“You’ve paid for…two hours with us. That‘s quite long for a first timer," they commented quietly, "Your time will begin when I leave the room. A tone will sound when you’ve reached half of your allotted time, and then again when you have ten minutes remaining. When I re-enter the room all activity must cease immediately. You will be led back to your locker where you can collect your personal items, change into the clothes you arrived in, and leave your loaner clothes in their place. I see you've paid the premium fee so you may freely access any of the tools you see. Everything is unlocked. That also means you are permitted to sexual contact with the Product should you wish. Removing anything from this room is strictly prohibited. This includes any Facility tools or equipment, and anything from the Product itself. Hair, teeth, bones, etcetera. In the same vein, you may not consume any part of the Product, in whole or in part. Disregarding these rules will result a permanent ban on your use of our facilities. Your session will be recorded in both audio and visual and stored for 24 hours. You may discontinue your session at any time, but you will not receive reimbursement for time unused. The Facility is not responsible for personal injury perpetrated by the Product. In the event that you feel unsafe, out of control, or at imminent risk of personal injury: you may use this,” the employee produced a small grey remote and placed it in Nathan’s hand.

“The single button will send a debilitating, and deadly shock to the Product via its electric collar. Overuse of this device as a method of pain delivery is not recommended, as it will put the Product out of commission for seven to ten minutes after each use.”

The speech had been perfectly practiced and executed. The moment they finished speaking, J gasped so loud that Nathan jumped at the sound. His ragged breathing turned into a coughing fit muffled behind the gag, as he wriggled uselessly against the floor and his restraints.

The employee watched emotionlessly for a moment and then turned back to Nathan.

“Do you have any questions?” they asked.

“I don’t…I don’t think so,” he answered. Part of him wanted to cut and run. Maybe he couldn’t do this. Maybe fantasy and reality needed to stay separate or he would shake apart entirely.

The employee cocked their head.

“Will you require any assistance?” they asked. Nathan imagined what that might mean. Getting J out of the chair and strapped to the table? Or something more intimate? Nathan shook away the images of them with blood slicked up to their elbows and wild grin on their face.

“I’ll be fine alone,” he spoke evenly as he could. The employee blinked and nodded, before leaving the room. After the door slid closed the only sound left was J’s slowly settling breaths. Nathan pocketed the remote, and took careful steps closer to the toppled figure. He gripped the back of the chair, and hauled it back upright. Blood further darkened the black fabric of J’s hood and the rest of his garments. The earphones were left in the tacky pool on the floor. Nathan had never been around so much blood that he could smell it before. J’s head hung low.

“Hi, J. My name is Nathan,” J turned toward the sound of his voice almost imperceptibly. Nathan swallowed hard, his fingers moving to unbuckle the gag. He let it clatter to the floor, and couldn’t help but hold his breath as he peeled the blood soaked hood off of J’s head revealing his choppy deep auburn hair. Yet more blood from a now completely absent head wound, streamed down his face and neck. Tears left two clean lines down his cheeks. J squinted in the bright light, and Nathan faltered when he looked up at him with his big cognac eyes. With a clean portion of the hood, Nathan tried to wipe away what he could, even as J cringed.

“Wow. You—you’re very pretty. Were you altered?”

J cleared his throat.

“All original,” he said softly. It sounded like it could have had some bite, but it didn’t.

He seemed exhausted. Nathan had no frame of reference for what coming back from the dead must do to a person. J watched the way Nathan gently twisted the hood in his hands with what felt like understanding.

“Have you ever done this before?” J spoke perfectly evenly, but fresh tears were already tipping over his eyelids. The tears seemed completely reactionary and outside of his control. He really was quite pretty.

“I haven’t. I was hoping to talk some first,” Nathan said, still winding up the fabric in his hands. He caught J’s eyes flitting to the workbench before he nodded dutifully.

“Of course. Sure, we can talk,” J’s voice was shaky, but practiced.

“You don’t need to be tied down, do you?” Nathan asked, wondering how much like a threat it sounded. It wasn't.

J opened his mouth and then shut it again. It seemed as if he were still in the process of catching his breath. Resurrection must be tiring.

“Not if you don’t want me to be,” he finally answered.

“You won’t attack me?” Nathan asked.

J shook his head.

“Have you ever? Attacked someone?”

J’s eyes glazed over as he stared a hole through Nathan’s pocket. The one with the shock collar remote shaped bulge in it. He nodded, slowly.

“Not for a long time,” he said and swallowed thickly. Nathan inched closer and started working the ropes undone. The pair was quiet for the minute or so it took. Nathan glanced up from where he was crouched and caught J‘s eyes wandering the room absently. He rubbed at his newly freed wrists. Nathan stood and J‘s eyes were back on him.

“I um, I did my research before deciding on this place,” Nathan started awkwardly, “I know they have a debt agreement program here. And the facilities are more…humane than some other places.”

“Humane?” J asked, though it didn’t sound like much of a question. A laugh played at his voice, but he forced a straight face when Nathan didn’t participate in the joviality.

“You mean like three hots and a cot?” J asked.

“That seems like the bare minimum. All I’m saying is things could always be worse,” Nathan said. J watched the man in front of him for a moment, and then let his gaze drop. He picked at his fingernails. Nathan winced.

“I’m sorry. That was—I don’t know why I said that,” Nathan cleared his throat, “Are you? Part of the debt program?”

J shrugged without looking up again.

“I don’t know. They memory wipe the intake process, and poke a bunch of holes in whatever came before. It’s in the documents you signed. Something about keeping us on level playing fields. If I knew when I’d get out, that I’d get out, I’d be feistier. According to them anyway.”

“I must‘ve missed it,” Nathan said regrettably. J looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He tensed up watching Nathan walk over to the table of instruments.

“Do you mind the questions?” Nathan’s voice carried the short distance.

“No,” J answered, and Nathan believed him.

“How often do they have to dose you?”

“With Reserrine? It used to be like every other day. It’s more like weekly now. Y'know, I heard a rumor some guy missed his dose. It was an accident, like a clerical mistake. He didn’t notice. They usually do it at night through an IV when we’re sleeping. Anyway, no one realized and when they took him up next, they blew his brains out like always. He never got back up.”

Nathan had turned his back on the workbench to listen to the tale.

“I don’t know how expensive an error like that is, or what kind of fail safes were put in place after, or even if it really happened at all. But every single time they bring me up, I hope someone made the same mistake with me.”

Nathan stared even while J wouldn’t look at him.

“You want to die? For good?” He asked.

“I think so,” J replied in a soft voice. There was a moment of silence between the two and then Nathan spoke.

“What is it like?”

J knew what was being asked, but he stayed quiet—waited for surer context.

“After. Or between. I’m not sure how to word it,” Nathan walked closer and J looked to see if his hands were still empty. They were.

Nathan caught the way J glanced up at the camera mounted in the top corner of the room.

“I’m not permitted to speculate about what I experience when I’m out of commission.”

Nathan was taken aback by the sudden bureaucracy with which J spoke. Until now he’d been disturbingly casual.

“I see,” Nathan said, “Do you ever get used to it?” He circled back to the table and J watched him drum his fingers over a selection of knives. When Nathan glanced back he saw fresh tears tugging at the boy’s eyelashes.

“No,” the question seemed open-ended but it didn’t change the answer. The fear. The pain. The dying. The lurching back into a body tearing itself back together. The coming face to face with another human being there to do it all over again. No, he never got used to it.

J shut his eyes when he heard the familiar, nauseating sound of knife being lifted—dragged from its place on the table. Nathan stepped closer. He held the knife flat with both palms up, like he was holding an offering plate. J watched him, his hopes for Nathan copping out dashed. But if it wasn’t him it would just be someone else.

Nathan turned the blade in his hand and held the handle out for the boy in front of him. J blinked at it and then looked up at Nathan. He squirmed uneasily in the chair.

“Take it, please,” Nathan said, inching his hand closer.

“I-” J stilled when Nathan grabbed his arm and pushed the tang into his shaking hand. Once J held the knife, Nathan retreated just a step or so. He seemed largely relaxed but his right hand did dip into his pocket.

“I know this is something I want,” Nathan started, “I’ve known for a long time that I have…urges. I don’t want to hurt anyone, not forever. I don’t want to kill anyone. This is all I can do. I mean, harm reduction is a real concept, right? Maybe it’s not perfect, maybe it’s not really fair but it’s better?” Nathan sounded like he was close to frantic and J felt ill-equipped to help guide him through whatever this was.

“Why am I holding the knife?” J asked.

“Because I’m nervous,” Nathan said, a pained smile working at his lips, “I want to see you do it first.”

“You want to see me—?”

“Yes. Just—here, like this,” Nathan traced a line up his own forearm. J felt like he couldn’t keep the shock off of his face. This was new. He looked down at the knife and started to roll his sleeve up.

“Don’t cut too deep at first. I don’t want you to go right away,” Nathan looked antsy, “I’ll take it from you when I’m ready.”

J wished he really was as numb as he felt watching the knife in his hand dip into the sun-starved flesh of his arm. He hissed quietly, glancing up for direction but finding only new hunger in Nathan’s eyes. The shift scared him. He was starting to look just like everyone else before him. Drops of blood pattered to the floor. J started a new cut, this time a little deeper. The first one was too shallow; he could already feel the itch of it trying to pull itself shut.

Nathan started to sweat. There was a buzzing in his head that made him wonder if he’d faint. His heart and stomach seemed to switch places as he watched the blood, dark and thick, and the way J’s hands shook. The boy was sporting a sheen of sweat of his own.

“Stop,” Nathan said, hungrily. He cleared his throat as J froze and flexed a blood soaked fist.

“Just for a second, I want to see it close up,” he continued.

J watched Nathan watching him. His eyes dancing over the wounds as they slowly disappeared underneath the blood. Nathan nodded after about two minutes of silence.

“Keep going. Deeper,” he said.

J imagined lunging forward out of his chair. He imagined slamming the knife to the hilt through one of Nathan’s watchful eyes. Instead he slid the blade down his forearm again, this time nicking an artery. He gasped and then did again when he noticed Nathan approaching. He grabbed J’s wrist and took the knife.

J looked up at him and kept his face neutral. He hadn’t been given any instruction or script to follow. Nathan seemed more experimental than anything else, sweat gathered at his pulsing temples. He doubted Nathan would ever come back to a place like this again. He still seemed so scared, so wary. J doubted he’d even go down before Nathan’s time was up. He twisted his own arm gently to expose the untouched inner skin of his left arm in Nathan’s grasp.

Before he could even process the movement, Nathan jabbed the knife into the side of J’s neck. His carotid snapped like a rubber band. Blood filled his throat and flooded inside it on top of the flat side of the blade. He swallowed, or at least tried to. Nathan looked shocked and starved.

J‘s head bobbed uneasily as the knife was pulled out of him. The pool of blood was now free for him to choke on, and choke he did. His hand shot up to cover the wound. He had no idea why he still did that. It was like an unstoppable force. The knife fell out of Nathan’s shaking hands. Those hands grabbed both sides of J’s face when he started slumping in the chair.

“No, no, stay awake,” Nathan sounded perfectly sincere, but J couldn’t help but laugh. It only came out as a strained hoarse sound that Nathan wouldn’t recognize as laughter.

“Keep your eyes open. I need to see when you go,” even in his state, J could feel how bad Nathan’s hands shook. He was genuinely surprised when Nathan slapped him.

“Look at me!” He snapped and J tried to through tears and his rapidly narrowing vision. The familiar impending doom gripped J in his gut. No amount of experiencing it built up any kind of immunity to the terror. He tried to stand, but toppled to the floor immediately. There was always this imperative to run, to escape. Seconds, he had seconds. He was gone.

Nathan stayed perfectly still. He even stopped breathing until he became too light-headed to continue. He stumbled back catching himself on the surgical table. Without thinking, he wiped his face and left a smear of J's blood across his cheek. When he looked down at his hand he lurched forward and vomited onto the floor.

"Fuck, fuck," he panics, "I'm done, I'm done. I want to stop," he waves frantically at the camera in the corner.

"Initial apprehension is perfectly normal. If you would like to end your session now please raise your right hand," an unfeeling, staticky voice buzzed back at him.

Nathan stared at J's body: unmoving, lifeless, empty, by his own doing. The shakes set in. Buck fever, he thought absently. Slowly, as if worried the corpse in front of him will spontaneously combust, Nathan took a few steps forward, crouched low, and retrieved the knife.

J wheezed a few seconds later, but didn't try getting up yet.

"If you would like to continue your session, please raise your left hand."

J held his breath. They almost never left. He almost never caught a break, but the staff did not interfere this way without the possibility of time forfeiture. He stayed face down in his own blood and waited, hoped, agonized.

"Acknowledged. Please enjoy the remainder of your session."

—————————————————————————

Taglist: @doctorsawyer @vivisectedboy @salomeslashes @technicallydeliciousdeer @snuff-fag-again @ambient-agony @ba-bhump @yet-how-they-creep @galactic-worm @suchprettypieces @all-the-gory-details

hello my babies, hello my darlin’s, hello my ragtime gals, i promise this is related please don’t chase me into the woods with pitchforks

[khaoscitykitty]

ONE SECRET REMAINS IN THE MAGNIFICENT DESOLATION TEASER.

Also it is also midnight, shut up, I will go to bed after I finish this post, I will warn y'all however it is very rambly due to feral hours and definitely not sleep deprivation.

Dr. Foreman is my hero and role model now okay-

RIGHT SO-

We were going through the video again because you know threads and ciphers and secrets and what not-

And I'm double-checking the Facility logo because I noticed and it'd been brought up before, but it looked like the cipher in the bottom pair of wings was shifting.

FOR CONTEXT:

This is the Facility emblem. Y'all see the letters there in the bottom half of the wings? It's a Base32 cipher that translates to "Guilde d’étude des phénomènes anormaux" OR "Guild for the study of anomalous phenomena" (decoded by @kipperzz a while back-)

Checks out for the Facility, considering they're interrogating moth people and looking for vampires and selkies pretty sure about the selkies-

BACK TO MAGNIFICENT DESOLATION-

At 1:06 (WHICH OH BY THE WAY IS THE SAME TIMESTAMP FOR THAT LITTLE HIDDEN SPECTROGRAM THETA WE FOUND YESTERDAY-), the Facility logo flashes across the screen:

Again, the OG cipher that we already discovered-

BUT THEN-

THREE.

NEW.

CIPHERS.

APPEAR.

I was trying to get a clearer image of the frames so I could transcribe and decode them- eventually figured out how and the entire VC just heard my manic cackling for the next two minutes (I apologize y'all-).

NOW THAT I HAVE THE PROPER TRANSLATION AND NOT THE FEVERISH RUSHED ONE THAT I ORIGINALLY POSTED IN THE BUNKSHELF:

YOEXIYLCNRUXGIDTN52XGIDPOJSG63TOMFXGGZJAMRSSA43BEBGWC2TFON2MHKJAIZZGC3WD U5XWS4ZAOBZGK3LJMVZCYIDSN5USAZDFEBDHEYLOMN SSA4DBOIQGYYJAM5ZMHITDMUQGIZJA IRUWK5JMEBSW4IDM4KAJSYLOEBWWS3DMMUQGG2LOOEQGGZLOOQQHI4TFNZ2GKLLROVQXI4TF

If you decode these all at once you get:

Établis sous ordonnance de sa Majesté François premier, roi de France par la grâce de Dieu, en l’an mille cinq cent trente-quatre

WHICH MEANS THAT INCLUDING THE ORIGINAL CIPHER MEANING, THE FULL FACILITY EMBLEM CIPHER READS:

Guild for the study of anomalous phenomena. Established by decree of His Majesty Francis I, King of France by the grace of God, in the year fifteen hundred and thirty-four

(TRANSLATED WITH THE HELP OF OUR AMAZING BUBBLE @thebestbottleofglue THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN BUBBBBB)

THE FACILITY HAS BEEN AROUND SINCE 1534. I THOUGHT IT WAS AN ORGANIZATION ESTABLISHED IN MAYBE THE 1950S AT THE EARLIEST BUT NO- CENTURIES- CENTURIES- IT'S BEEN AROUND SINCE THE 1500S OMFGDLSFKJASDLKFJASDLJFSADLFKJSAFJ

... so anyway um, one more secret to be found!

bruh i don't wanna sleep

[karmaspidr]

[magebunkshelf]

*pounces on your tail* Hellooooo lovely, I have returned once more to bother you-

SO ABOUT MY NEW ROLE MODEL, DR. FOREMAN-

How exactly was he found- how and where did the Facility discover he was dead?

What did the official report say was the cause of his death?

Who are the researchers/Facility members designated as "C" and "Rh" and will we eventually encounter them?

Was the moth always the logo for the Guilde d’étude des phénomènes anormaux or was that a more modern choice?

Was it during 1998 when Foreman would have started wearing sunglasses EVERYWHERE or was it even before that-

What other symptoms or abnormalities would he have shown?

Was he scared in the end?

And for any questions that you can't answer because spoilers for the future, I completely understand and can I please bite your tail instead-

Hope you're doing well, procyon, thanks again for all the fun we've been having lately with this <3

-🖤🐈‍⬛

Hi hi!

Sooooo, a lot of these are intentionally left unknown for now, and I think giving a solid answer takes away from them, so I will have to skip a few of these I'm afraid!

Who are the researchers/Facility members designated as "C" and "Rh" and will we eventually encounter them?

No one we know so far. One could've easily been the desk intercom from the first Moth audio. But currently no plans to learn more about them; other Facility agents.

Was the moth always the logo for the Guilde d’étude des phénomènes anormaux or was that a more modern choice?

Probably since fairly early on. Though initially it would've been in the fine line style common at the time, very stylised and detailed moth

Was it during 1998 when Foreman would have started wearing sunglasses EVERYWHERE or was it even before that-

Aye 98 most likely.

Was he scared in the end?

At the very end, there would probably not have been enough of him left to be scared

💙

[quitxoticz]

["I am not myself for I have no self that is mine. "]

Name(s): Quitxoticz (nolastname).

Alt name(s): Untold.

(All titles become retired once a patient is admitted in to The Facility) Old titles: The Foxes' whisper, The storyteller

Chronological age: Untold.

Age: Unclear, shifts.

Pronouns: She/Any.

Species: Concept, "insert" concept.

[Nicknames: Quit, Quitty, Doctor's pet.

Sexuality: Lesbian, somewhere on the aro&ace spectrum.

Gender: Apafem. ]

Patient number: 012.

Patient room: 012.

Patient stability: Unstable.

Staff note(s) (if applicable): "Please treat patient kindly and cautiously. If anything do not interact at all. "

"Dr. A Newman does not tolerate well to other doctors trying to support Quitxoticz in her treatment plan, please contact The Doctor if you plan to aid or debate. "

Main doctor/therapist: Dr. A Newman

Treatment plan(s): Therapy on mental illnesses, or proper treatment if possible.

Old treatment plan(s): Surgery (physical conditions for reason), isolation (only seemed to worsen condition, rare treatment plan nowadays due to its lack of aid on patients).

Recovered & discharged?: Neither is applied to this patient, likeness of this at the very moment is low.

Mental condition(s): A lot of this is speculative due to the fact we haven't gotten around to properly checking. Autism, Derealization, paranoia, and most likely something personality based due to their species.

Physical condition(s): Irregular heart beat (pacemaker), nearsighted (glasses, often times...), potential other things (such as chronic pain, or some sort of pain, due to her species) though we haven't had the needs to check.

Addiction(s): Self harm and occasionally they provide addictive behaviors (mainly withdrawal) around interests or "obsessions".

Brief of patient's personality/reaction to treatment:

Quitxoticz is an unstable person. She tends to switch between moods of joy and insecurity. She doesn't seem to act too well with the treatment plan provided, this might be due to her personality or it's genuine lack of support, the first being more likely.

"Joyful episodes": During these moments, Quitxoticz tends to glaze over flaws of people she trusts. She is overly optimistic and tends to have a slight ego in what she does. With obsessions she tends to idolize them much further in this state, even to the point of fantasizing about them. She tends to try to be helpful and aiding though most of the time she ends up getting under people's feet. When confronted about it she tends to brush it off claiming the other is the one in the way .

"Insecure episodes": During these moments, Quitxoticz tends to base her worth on people around her. She becomes insanely codependent and isolated. With obsessions she tends to weep over them potentially hating her and other paranoid-avoidment based fears. Her fantasizes continue even in this episode yet they tend to be more about keeping people or violent. She tends to snap at people around her and gets irritable at a lot of things.

Outside the episodes: Outside of these moments, Quitxoticz tends to be numb and react in general quite sanely to things. Some people tend to be able to aid her into entering this state though this has often only been seen with her obsessions.

[Religion: Agnostic, leaning atheist.

Text colour: Pink. [Example]

Living place: The Facility. Does tends to "disappear" to a place similar to an office building (cannot be contacted normally, in most cases, in this place).

Occupation: Tend to be presented as anything from a tv presenter, to an electrical mechanic, to a writer and even doctor.

Height: Varies. Often times presented as 6ft (182.88 cm).

Language(s): English. Is canonically able to access translators faster than most people, especially cypher related/internet published ones.

Voice claim :

GlaDos - Portal 1&2

ENA - ENA: Dream BBQ

Colin (I think that's his name) - Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Web series & Television series)

Power(s): Teleportation, Shapeshifting (by out of species standards), Electricity manipulation, Mild authorship, Mimicking (by out of species standards).

Electricity manipulation:

Quit is able to send electric shocks, receive electrical signals and have closer connection to devices. She is also able to appear on screens outside of video recordings and be aware of the world around her, speak to others and hear the place around her.

Mild authorship:

Quit is able to censor certain features of life or people's faces for you, the viewer outside of canon, to see. This power is most likely the reason of her high out of universe awareness.

Weakness(es): General lack of identity, Verge of "concept unstableness", Prone to manipulation (call her one nice word in the right tone and she's a stray dog to you).

Weapon(s): Anything easily accessible in the setting. Often she carries scissors with her when going some place new/unsafe.

Theme Song(s):

Battle Theme Song(s):

Playlist:

Alignment: Tries to pass at Neutral Good, aligns more with Chaotic Neutral or even Neutral Evil.

Blood Colour: Depending on the viewing, it changes (More on this can be seen within her species' sheet). She often perceives it as some sort of glitter or something "cute/cool".

Awareness:

Universe wise - aware, effect - negative to neutral.

Story wise - slightly aware, effect - neutral, in rare cases positive.

Hobbies: Drawing, writing, "coding", tinkering, collecting figures, listening to music, day dreaming.

Food preference: Quit doesn't tend to eat, when she does it tends to be the same small things. You could offer her anything though, she would probably eat it regardless of the risks. Especially if it's some inanimate object.

Drink preference: Flavoured water, cannot stand normal water. Claims it has a "metallic" taste.

Favourite colour: Pink.

Favourite plant/flower: She doesn't really like flowers. She finds the meaning behind them fascinating but the appearance of them to her is bland.

Favourite animal(s): Cats, red pandas, dogs (often puppies), moths, butterflies, caterpillars, sunbears.

Scent: Mix of a metallic blood like scent and cleaning chemicals similar to bleach. There are times where she will smell like something else, often vanilla, but that's often only when trying to present as something better.

Handedness: Right handed often times, more so ambidextrous for whatever reason.

Birthday: 14th May.

Stimboard : Link. Alt.

Moodboard : Link. Alt.

Fashionboard : Link. Alt.

Relationships :

Average = 50%, lowest = 0%-40%, highest = 60%-100%

"Family":

Biological family, 40%

"If I have to be honest. I don't know if they do exist, I don't know if I want them to exist. My memory is very fuzzy."

"Father"/Dr. A Newman, 60%

Discussion around this individual is normally kept at a minium despite his high trust level. "I like to think he believes in god for fun, no man of faith would act with such sin in his heart."

Friends(?):

Jolie, 50%

Around Jolie, Quit doesn't seem to react much. She slightly pities the girl and she knows Jolie wants the best for her, she just can't bring herself to care enough to actually try and get better.

Ms. D Clarke, 50%

Quit tends to understand Ms Clarke is one of the only people trying to help but she can't feel sorry for her fully too. No person working here could, nor ever should, be classed as a victim, atleast to Quit.

(Fragmented) dummy, 50%

Dummy is tolerable in Quit's opinion, she's aware they vaguely care for her. Atleast did, she finds that funny and pitiful.

Spencer, 50%

"I used to work with them. I guess I do again now... Funny how life is a circle isn't it?"

Andrew Trenches, 55%

Quit isn't very clear with her opinion on Andrew. It's unclear if she sees him as a friend to banter with or if she does experience what happens in the pity stories she makes about him reminding her of certain people.

Unclear:

Mr. E Lennox, 40%

Quit finds Mr Lennox an unusual person, she struggles to understand why he acts so buddy-buddy with Dr. Newman as if he doesnt hate him (which he quite clearly does).

Eon, 50%

"I would be a liar if I said I don't feel slight guilt for what I did, though I would aswell be a liar if I said I wouldn't do it again, given the chance."

"You?", 50%

Quit tends to humour their search for information and feels slightly sorry for them that they won't ever find it. On the other hand, Quit does not care for them and tends to prefer for them to leave forever and return to their life before. "I'm not a monster though, so I'll censor the poor kid's face as much as I can."

Romance:

Mothiry, 80% (crush)

Despite how much she does care for Mothiry, on the inside, Quit refuses to express it. She finds it better if she kept her distance and if Mothiry kept hers. She feels slightly sorry for things she's done yet she can't help but still blame Mothiry for them.

If any oc that has interacted with Quit has been left out that you want on this chart please let me know. ]

[wolfinnit]

Been burnt out recently so no newww art, but a sam Rosado sketch will do. I’d love to see Shawn in a horror setting again