i wanna go home

by skrimmbly_void

Summary:

He's Agent 4 of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. His job is to rescue Callie and the Great Zapfish. He can handle this. He has to.
But what if it's too much?
What if he wants to go home?
Then what?

(or: the agent that came after 3 isn't the one we know and love. he was captured, but something isn't right about it. it's a lot worse than callie's experience.)

Chapter 1

Notes:

Agent 4's first day, he gets a bad haircut and can no longer enter 90% of establishments
warnings for the chapter: bleeding, fighting, syringes/needles

adjusted 26/5/24

"Four? I know you're nervous but you can't let it get to you. Just listen to my voice." Agent 4 was definitely more than a little nervous. This base looked a lot like Moray Towers which, by the way, was one of his least favourite stages. There was no space to retreat or hide and there was a disgustingly high drop so it didn't even matter that he didn't have bones because if he fell he'd just turn into a pile of inky yellow mush and die– "At least take a step off the platform? We can try to take it slow, it's alright." Yeah, he could do that. "Okay. Yes." Agent 4 stepped off the platform, and took more steps. Then he threw a curling bomb and swam through the trail. Maybe if he goes through this one fast enough, they wouldn't get him. Yeah, yeah, that's it, that's it. Keep going, keep…

He stopped when he saw the marker indicating a soldier jumping to his location. "Four! Move!" He did as Marie told him to and narrowly avoided a sniper shot. Oh, Great Zapfish, he's going to die here, isn't he? As if right on cue, the soldier landed, her cruel laughter echoing in his head. Danger, danger, move, move, MOVE!

Agent 4 panicked, shooting and swimming and running away and there's one of the mini zapfish he needs to collect! He's hit in the back by pressured ink exploding, which only propels him forward and–!

directly into another soldier.

His hope falls, he stumbles backwards, and he realizes Marie is shouting orders at him to get out of there but before he can really process them his headset is gone.

Sniper.

The only reason he's still alive is because they hit the headset.

Something's rubbing on his ankle. He looks down and sees the signature pyramid shape of a Splat Bomb. 

Oh. 

Before he knows it, he's flying through the air from the explosion and it burns and he's falling way too fast–

The last thing he sees is hard concrete before it all goes black and he can't do anything to defend himself.

 

. . .

 

Agent 4 wakes up in a cold, dark, unfamiliar place. He checks himself, going through the routine Marie taught him after the first octoling base for situations like this. Dualies, no. Bombs, no. Special holder, no. Shoes, yes. Armor connectors, no. Shorts, yes. Shirt, yes. Headset, no. Tentacles tied, no..? Limbs, free to move.

Okay. He can do this. Marie taught him a little bit of self-defense when he has no weapons, it'll be fine. He'd just get up and find a way out of here, easy.

Or at least it would be easy if he wasn't so dizzy and had to sit back down. Well, if he had to stay low, so be it!

C'mon.. so be it!

That's.. not normal. He should be an inky squid crawling across the floor right now. He's still all… limbed and solid and stuff like that. He can still get out of here, that's fine! Lay low until you're recovered, that's a rule of the battlefield. He'd lay low.

Unless he couldn't. A door opened, a clicking noise was heard, and a small amount of light graced the space he was trapped in, revealing a figure standing before him.

An octoling.

When he looked further, though, he found that this wasn't just some ordinary octoling, not like others he'd seen at least. This one had different clothes, suited a lot less for combat purposes. He couldn't see a single weapon on their person. A flicker of hope fluttered inside him, maybe they'd be different? A little nicer? They looked like a scientist or a doctor, those parties are usually neutral. Maybe they would help him? They were messing with a table he couldn't see the contents of. They turned around and–!

Oh.

Surely that pair of shears and vial wasn't for him, right? He didn't.. like where this was going..

They approached him and he eyed the weapon with newfound fear, shuffling backwards as far as he could. 

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, hm?"

Talk?? They can do that?? There's a distinct accent, yeah, but.. he didn't know that octolings knew how to speak the same language as him.

"D-Do you gotta look so scary with that thing?" If they could communicate, they could be reasoned with, this is great!

"Necessary procedure. Still." What did they mean by– "AAAAAAAAAAOW, ow, ow, w–" hurt, hurt, pain, pain, and more hurt. He put a hand to the point of pain, finding it disturbingly to be one of his tentacles. Even worse, it was wet, like he was bleeding. He looked at his hand to confirm and, that's.. a lot.. of yellow.. He feels kinda lightheaded, now, ahahaha…

He put his hand back on the offended appendage. Tentacle cuts aren't supposed to bleed and hurt and should only make you cry if it looks really bad because, yeah, he's crying! It hurts! And it probably looks really bad too!

They left and then– a soldier?! He can't do anything to defend himself with this pain! Heal, clams, heal! He urged his wound to close already so he could deal with defending himse–

"Uf! Ow, hh–" Agent 4 found himself pinned to the odd angle he was in by a boot on his stomach. Ouch. "Give me what I want and this will be easier." Okay, okay. If it's information, he.. shouldn't do that, right? That's the thing in movies or whatever, don't spill the beans. Yeah. "Easy thing. Name, age, background.. don't make it hard." He didn't say anything, just glared at them. He was afraid of what might happen, maybe he'd get punched or something, but he didn't let it show.

"You like your armor, yes?" The soldier said, hovering over his shoes. 

The soldier grabbed his shoe and he kicked back at them. Shell no! He likes those boots! "You asked for it, vermin." They shoved their hand in his face which confused him long enough to get one of his boots off. They started on the other one but he got his bearings and bit the hand on his face and returned his brainless thrashing. Definitely brainless because now he's totally shoe-less. He scowled, hoping to come off as some diseased animal to get them to stay away. 

"Change your mind yet, めiю?" He didn't let the scowl shift. Stay strong, be a good agent. You can still get out of this, Kiro. He started his thrashing again(more calculated, this time) when they moved to take his shirt off. Not cool! Don't do that! But, but, but then they grabbed his still-healing tentacle to stun him and he screamed 'cause man, that hurt way more than the initial wound, and hey– HEY! Those are his socks they're going after next! No, screw this whole deal, he's spilling! Being barefoot would absolutely suck!

"FOURTEEN! I'm-I'm fourteen. Fourteen years old." They gave him a grimace and got off of him (when did he start losing the fight that bad? the pain must have done that..). "Good. Right on time." They left, thank the Zapfish. Wait, hold that prayer, they took his shirt and shoes with them! Clams!

The same scientist, doctor, whoever from before entered again, holding a platter of.. needles.. 

Zapfish save him, he might pass out right now, that sounds like a good idea. "Not optional. Still." He'd deducted that they meant for him to not struggle but there was no way he was letting any of those things near him. That's, like, one, two, four, eight, sixteen… too many. Way too many. Who needs that many needles full of weird stuff?! Nobody, that's who! And certainly not him! 

Agent 4 started vigorously shaking his head to emphasize that he did not want a weird injection but they grabbed his arm way too hard anyway and ooouuuucchhh. He was totally crying again, that sucked. A lot. And– and they're already getting the next one?! –ow! He was getting a little dizzy again, then another needle poked him and hurt and he was seeing spots and then… woozy… can’t see…

Notes:

please mind the tags it only gets worse from here brothers

yea i mix mashed japanese, russian, and latin letter for octarian what are you going to DO ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!

Chapter 2

Summary:

Agent 4 has a shocking experience.

warning for: general pain, getting beaten up

Notes:

the plan is to update this one on mondays, and the other one on fridays. im working on the next chapter for the other one. im much more motivated to write this one so if there's suddenly 12 whole chapters over here then thats why

(so that was a lie)
adjusted 26/5/24

Agent 4 woke up in a different room. It was a little lighter, but smaller and colder. There was no furniture, just cold metal and tile and a door which looked like some fancy super durable thing that he'd have no hope of getting through. Yikes.

And his socks were gone. What was even the point of that whole thing?

He thought about possible escape plans for a while. Maybe someone’ll open the door and he can push past them, or… 

Then the door did open. All plans and thoughts instantly left his head. Crap. "Cooperate, and will be easy. Name, now." He can do this. He just has to tough it out until Marie gets here and saves him. She'll save him. He'll be okay. "Not gonna tell you." The soldier– his hearts skipped a few beats– approached him and grabbed him by his arm. He didn't move, using as much of his strength as he could to keep himself in place. The soldier turned around and kicked him in the knee, stopping his struggle as he keeled over because OW, and he was being led out of the room, right then left, and left again into another room.

The room was dark, but if he strained his eyes he could make out some kind of machinery in the middle. There was one of those scientist-like octolings near it. They spoke: "Speak your name or get in. Will hurt." Haha… now would be a great time for Marie to find him. "I'm not gonna tell you." He'd stay strong, he wouldn't say anything! He was grabbed to be moved again and he did what he did last time, hoping to stall so Marie could get to him because surely she knew where they took him, right? She always sees what’s going on. He’s been here a day, tops. That’s more than enough time for her to drop everything and follow his squidnappers.
He was kicked again and his strength wavered and he was dragged over to the strange machinery that he couldn’t quite tell what it was still. Whatever it is, they’re strapping him in and hooking it up to him and is this what he thinks it is? He saw some sort of container on the side…

A short, sharp jolt of pain seems to answer for him. It’s similar to the feeling of when he touched the barrier that contained a Zapfish. So, yeah, it is what he thinks it is. This would be a GREAT TIME for someone to come and rescue him!
No..?

The machinery around him crackles and he’s met with more than just a little nip of electricity– it hurts, a lot. He’s trying not to let it show, gritting his teeth to refrain from crying, screaming, or whatever else he wants to do because it hurts. “Say name, will stop.” Oh, how badly he wants to make it stop, to just scream “Kiro! My name is Kiro!” but he won’t do it. He manages to grunt, “N-No..” in his determination to not let them know. 

It got worse.
His fingers are twitching on their own now and he is definitely crying because it HURTS. Maybe a rescuer now? PLEASE? He’s trying so hard not to break, to make it stop. Get through it, get through it, be a good agent and don’t spill information, even if it hurts really really bad and the crackling of electricity is overwhelming and it’s getting hard to see and they’re just looking at him–

It stops.

The horrible, mind-numbing whirring and crackling stops and he’s just left with the remaining pain left behind. He can think again. He can hear the octolings talking but he can’t understand them, they’re taking him out which hurts but at least he’s not attached to the Pain Machine or whatever the heck it is. He’s pushed and pulled forward, and he’s on the floor again before he could even know it. Ouch. This floor is absolutely gonna kill his back.

On the bright side, he’s alone, yeah? That’s, uh.. positive thinking! And then Marie will get him soon, and he can go home and catch a break. And tell Kogane where he’s been. She’s probably worrying her head off, he hasn’t talked to her at all since he started this whole agent thing. It’s nearly been a whole month, Great Zapfish! She must be searching the world up and down for him. He’s gotta get outta here soon, then. Come on, Marie! Why hasn’t she found him already?! He had a bunch of gadgets all over his gear, so surely she knows where he is? She should have at least seen where his attackers went.

Hah, on that topic.. there’s a soldier in the doorway again.

“No name, then give other information, hm?” Uh oh. He isn’t sure if he can take much more. Hopefully it’s not as bad as the other methods, yeah..? “Family?” The answer immediately pops into his head– Older sister. And he immediately throws the thought away. Don’t endanger her, K– Agent 4. Don’t think about life outside of being an agent, then you’ll slip. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Place of living.” Apartment complex in Inkopolis near the square, fifth floor. Did you not hear yourself? He shook his head again. Maybe they’d go easy on him if they thought he was a homeless orphan or something. That’s what he’s telling them, right? “Don’t be difficult. Name, family, living, answer.” Ah… not working… “Not gonna tell you.” He’s not gonna endanger his sister and himself, that’s just dumb.  

The soldier frowned and got closer. “Last chance.” He prepared himself for whatever suffering awaited him before he shook his head again. He’s a good agent, he won’t let anything slip. The soldier pulled on one of his tentacles that hadn’t been cut, which hurt, and he struggled because it’s not nice to grab someone’s tentacles, y’know? They punched him in the face with their other hand which, ow, that hurts. The shock caused him to stop struggling, which gave them the opportunity to let go of his tentacle and kick him in the side. He rolled over and curled in on his side from the pain, only giving them more time to kick him in the back too. They kicked him some more, and he almost forgot what they were even beating him up for. When he remembered what they wanted, he almost gave in but through the pain and his half-closed eyes he saw them just standing above him. 

They gave up.

They walked toward the door, looked back, and left.

Agent 4 immediately started full-on crying, sobbing, breathing wrong, all of it. Every convulsion hurt his whole body but he needed to cry. It was– it was good for him, or, or something, he just needs an excuse. He wants to go home, he didn’t wanna have to be strong. He wants his sister. He wants Marie. He wants anything but this.

He wants to be Kiro again.

Notes:

if you read it on mobile it suddenly feels longer! woah, magic!

Chapter 3

Summary:

He can't breathe.
warnings for: the usual getting beaten up, doctors appointment <3

Notes:

adjusted 26/5/24

Agent 4 woke up on the cold floor again. He was hoping it was a bad dream, and he’d wake up in his bed, or Cuttlefish Cabin. But it wasn’t a dream, he wasn’t comfortable, his whole body was in pain, and he cried himself to sleep whether it was yesterday or a few minutes ago he didn’t know. There weren’t any clocks and there weren’t any windows and he wanted out of here already. 

It would seem that fate had other, crueler plans for him. An octoling, soldier or scientist didn’t matter to him anymore, was in his doorway. They approached and he was too tired to struggle anymore. He didn’t want to go with them, not at all, but he was in so much pain he wasn’t sure if he could even try to fight them. They grabbed him and he stumbled forward, they turned right, right, straight ahead.

His escort stopped and entered another room with Agent 4 in tow. There was some sort of weird chamber in the back and, man, this is gonna be more pain, isn’t it? Are they gonna set him on fire or something? “In.” He didn’t move. He’d avoid it as long as possible. “In.” Harsher, now, and he’s pushed into the chamber. He was quickly sealed inside.

A hissing sound came from behind, and he looked to see what it was. A magenta mist was coming out of a part of one of the walls, and it really looked like an Ink Storm cloud. But it wasn’t above him, it was level, and he backed away from it, pressing himself to the opposing wall, but it was coming faster and closer and then he breathed it in.
The mist burned his lungs, and he coughed to get it out but no matter how much he coughed it wouldn’t get out. Then it was everywhere in the chamber, too much to avoid, and it got in his eyes. Tears started flowing reflexively, because, hey, guess what, the mist burned his eyes, too. He shut his eyes tight and coughed more, more, more, it hurt so much. He coughed some more.  He slid down one of the walls in the chamber onto the floor, maybe if he stayed down it would go away, but then his skin started burning too and, man, that sucks. “I-I’ll say s-something!” He felt like he was choking, he had to make it stop. “I-I-I–! I..” Make it stop. “Marie! A-Agent Two, her.. her name… is Marie..!” He coughed a little too hard and felt something wet. He opened his eyes for just a second and he’s pretty sure that yellow patch of ink isn’t supposed to be there.

Suddenly, the mist began to retreat. It was gone, and the chamber opened. He was still on the floor, not wanting to get up because his whole body, inside and out, felt like it would melt at any moment from the concentration of that misty stuff which was definitely not compatible with him. “Out.” He doesn’t know which way is out because his vision is completely clouded by the tears the mist spawned. And everything looks kinda purple, or is it pink? He can’t tell. The point is, his vision’s all messed up. He just hopes it’s temporary. 

He’s grabbed and pulled rather harshly out of the chamber, which he probably should have expected by now. But he didn’t expect it, not helped at all by the fact that he couldn’t see right now so how was he supposed to anticipate that, huh?! He tried to blink away the tears to see a little better but they just kept coming back. He’d dry out, at this rate. “Good tell, but we didn’t ask. Wouldn’t have stopped it for that.”
Oh.
Oh no.
He just– he just did that for nothing? He.. he feels awful now. He should have saved that for something better, or, or just not said anything. He shouldn’t have said anything. He’s– he’s–

He’s horrible.

He exposed Marie just to save his own skin and that wasn’t even the thing that got him out. He thinks he deserves whatever comes next.

It’s now that he’s back to his cell? Room? Whatever it is, he notices his escort is a soldier. “You willing to tell on Splatoon for safety, yes? Then go ahead. Who is the leader?” Normally, not that this situation is normal at all, he’d say no because he knows the information. But now? He doesn’t know the answer to the question. He doesn’t know who leads the New Squidbeak Splatoon. Marie mentioned a captain of sorts, but that can’t be Agent 1, because Agent 1 is missing, and Marie used different pronouns for the captain and Agent 1. “I.. I don’t know.”
“Don’t. Know?”
“I-I don’t know. I-I’m sorry, I..” 

“Refusing not good enough, hm? Have to feign ignorance?”
“I’m not! I swear! P-Please, I’m not–” His blathering is cut off by a slap to the face. “Tell. Now.” He doesn’t know! “I-I know there’s, there’s a captain. I don’t know his name though! Or even what he looks like! C-c-c’mon, I really don’t know, I–” Another hit. “Lies.”
“I’m not–” They grabbed his tentacle and pulled him close. He could feel their breath. “Do you want to die, boy?”
“N-No.”
“Then tell.”
“A-All I know is that there’s agents 1, 2, 3, and then me, and there’s a guy who’s the captain! That’s it! I swear!” His tentacle was released.
The soldier frowned, standing up. Are they leaving? Hope welled up, they gave up! They're lea–

Agent 4 lost his breath and recoiled when the soldier stomped on his stomach. They weren't done with him. They kicked him over onto his side and kicked him some more. It hurt so much he began to wonder what in the world they put in those boots. They kicked and stomped him some more, only seeming remotely satisfied when he was in a ball on the floor sobbing and on the verge of passing out. He heard their heavy clanking footfalls retreat and let the darkness take him.

 

. . .

 

Agent 4 woke up to something poking him. Conveniently one of the spots he'd been kicked in. He moved to get away from his attacker and get a scope on things. His vision had completely cleared up from earlier, so he could see that it was a scientist crouched before him. They were holding a notepad of sorts, which seemed to already have a few things on it. They wrote something down before reaching forward and pulling on one of his tentacles, he only flinched because it wasn't the kind of pull that said "I'm going to beat you up now" but was more gentle and curious. He still hated it, of course.

The scientist-doctor repeated this process of inspecting his body with pretty much everything. They looked at each individual tentacle, inspected his ears, looked in his mouth, felt around his hands, checked flexibility, writing things down along the way. It was weird, to say the least. Being inspected so closely.. it definitely made him feel uncomfortable. He could really use a shirt right now. He supposed it was better than getting beat up, though. He debated biting them, or something, but they weren’t actively hurting him so he probably shouldn’t test his luck.

They moved on to inspect his legs in excruciating detail just like the rest of him, bending his joints and all the other stuff they did on his upper half. On second thought, maybe he should've bitten them. This felt terrible.

After way too long, the scientist-doctor finally, finally left him alone and was hopefully never to be seen again. That was really weird and really uncomfortable and he felt like there were a bunch of tiny crabs crawling all over him. Eugh.

Hopefully he'd never feel that crawling sensation on his skin ever again.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Agent 4 goes to the clean room.
(warnings for: amputation and bad food)

Notes:

i dont have any backlogged chapters left oopsie

 

adjusted 26/5/24

A few days have passed since Agent 4 was taken. It really sucked and he really wants to break and tell them everything, but that would only be helpful for now-him, and be detrimental for future-him. Spilling the beans on himself is a big no-no. On the topic of it being a while, he is starving. They haven't given him anything to eat at all. He's not sure he'll even be able to try to struggle anymore, he's so shaky.

A figure arrived at his room. A scientist-doctor-whatever. Octoling with a white coat. Hopefully they don't do anything weird this time, he can't defend himself like this. His hopes were met as they only dragged him up onto his shaky legs, leading him to yet another room he was sure would cause him more hurt. They arrived at their destination, leading him inside a new room. It was unusually bright and smelly. It was a clean kind of smell, but it was overwhelming enough for him to scrunch up his face upon immediate contact. He'll just file this one away as the clean room with a weird looking table in it in his head. 

They led him over to the table and had him lay down on it. He obeyed, too weak to really do anything about it. He soon realized that the weird table was weird because of the straps on it, which were for him. The octoling put them over his legs, torso, neck, and arms– although when they got to his left arm they messed with it more than the other, making it asymmetrical. Weird. Not that being strapped to a cold clean metal table was normal to begin with. They moved away to a nearby table where if he strained himself he could see them doing something with a syringe. No thanks.

"This procedure is not optional. However.." They turned around, brandishing a needle of clear liquid. "..It can be easier, if you cooperate." What procedure? How is any of this easy? "Give good information, I make less pain. Easy." Less pain sounded great, but he wasn't gonna go that easy. "Won't. Won't do it."

"Your choice." They set the needle down– that isn't the bad thing? –and went somewhere out of his line of sight. They then came back on his left side brandishing a blade of sorts. It looked clean like the table. The octoling approached his arm with the weapon and he did not like where this was going. He tried to struggle and get away before remembering, duh, he's strapped in some stupid constraints and he CAN'T MOVE! Which is decidedly not good, by the way. Especially when there's a big scary knife thing coming down, down, down on his arm right at where the elbow joint would be if he had bones and he sees it go in–

Pain.

Agent 4 screams.

He screams more than he thinks he ever has before. It's agonizing, and he starts sobbing and making more similar though short-lived sounds after. Pain clouds all of his senses, he can't think. It starts to die down and then it's worse again and he cries out and tries to get away and then it starts to die down again after an agonizingly long amount of time. His hearts are pounding in his ears and he looks down at his left arm.

It's gone.

From the elbow down, there's nothing but a yellow ink stain on the clean table. No hand, no nothing. Just a stump desperately trying to heal and regenerate. Any and all hopes or plans he had for an escape are dashed in the blink of an eye. He's completely and utterly useless now. He can't do anything.

He's unstrapped and on the floor before he knows it, his arm burning with pain while other previous injuries flare up again. "Up." He can't. He can't push himself up on one arm so weak like this. "Up." They growled, and he was expecting a kick but nothing happened. Yet. 

They grabbed his arm–

Pain.

The left one. The one they just cut off.

And pulled him up to his feet, pushing him forward. He stumbled before finding a wall to lean on shortly and regain his balance. Shortly because they pushed him forward again before grabbing his good arm and dragging him back to his room. He didn't claim it as his, didn't find it comfortable or his at all, but it was consistently the same one they put him in after taking him out and hurting him.

They left him to ruminate in the pain. He looked down at his arm and immediately looked away at the sight. It was so wrong, he didn't believe it was real, it couldn’t be real. He can still get outta here. He can still fight back. He'll–he'll be fine! It's fine, fine, fine, he's FINE! 

He didn't realize he was hyperventilating until he felt like he was gonna throw up and realized he couldn’t feel his face anymore. Maybe he's not fine. He can still deal with this! Deep breaths.. in, out.. in, out.. Panicking will get you nowhere, that's probably a rule of the battlefield.

His door opened again and– deep breaths, deep breaths, don't panic, don't panic! He shuts his eyes tight, not wanting to even see whoever's come to hurt him now. Footsteps, footsteps, a silent sliding, dragging noise, footsteps, footsteps…

No pain, no anything. He opened one of his eyes cautiously to check, and.. nothing.

There was a dish on the floor by his feet, the contents smelling like nothing and looking close to the part as well. Just looked like mush. He reached over with his good arm to get it because, man, he's got to eat. Bowl in hand, he sees a lack of utensils to eat with. With a grimace, he carefully pulled the bowl up to his mouth to drink the nondescript slop held within.

Oh, Great Zapfish save him.

This stuff is disgusting.

Is he sure he's hungry enough to get this stuff down?

The short answer: yes.

The horrid excuse for food is gone in minutes(mostly because he only has one arm to work with and he has to prepare himself for the downright offensive taste and texture every time he goes to eat more) and he can only hope he'll feel better later.

Maybe his arm would grow back while he slept? He hoped it would, at least. He really wasn't sure how far inkling regeneration can go. Was it just for tentacles, or limbs, too?

He'd try to sleep. Agent 4 shifted so he was as comfortable as he could be when his bed was a cold floor and wall. Sleep is a good medicine, or something like that.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Agent 4 struggles with his new impairment.

warnings for: getting beat up

Notes:

i had most of this chapter written for like half a month and didn't do anything on it. oops

 

adjusted 26/5/24

Agent 4 woke up on his own. He didn't open his eyes, but he still felt the cold of the walls behind him and the floor beneath him. He thought he could feel his left arm as being present, but he wasn't going to test that theory until he had to. Best to think positively, and thinking positively includes lying to himself.

Footsteps. He hears footsteps. Way to ruin his good mood. He opens his eyes so as not to be punished for sleeping, and checks the status of his arm while he's at it. 

Still gone.

On the bright side, it doesn't hurt nearly as much now. Think positive, yeah? He can look at it without wanting to throw up, now. It’s scabbed over and some of the skin is growing back already.

The soldier's harshly hauling him up soon after he checks and he's not sure how much longer he can keep doing this. Right, left, straight ahead for a stupidly long time…

They've led him out to a different room, big surprise, but the room they stop in is different from the others. It's decently large, with a bunch of boxes small enough for someone to pick up. There's different places around the room that look to be where to boxes are supposed to go. "Move them." An order– one he can actually obey, for once. Manual labour can't be that bad, surely.

He goes to the closest one, reaching with both arms to pick it up.

That's strange. Why's only one end moving?

Oh. Right.

right…

No hand. He only has one hand.

He can't move the boxes. 

"Move it." The order re-stated, but he can't. Unless he can?

Agent 4 kicks the box toward where he thinks it's meant to go. It's light enough to move, bit by bit.

"Don't do that."

What?

"It's fragile. Pick it up."

What kind of cruel joke is this?! He can't! Surely they can see that? There's nothing he can do here! He turned around to address the situation, surely they'd understand? "I.. I can't."

"Speak up."

"I can't. I can't pick it up."

"Do it."

"But–"

"One more word and you're done. Do it." The soldier came closer, close enough to grab him if he did one thing wrong.

This is–he can't! He physically can't do this. There's no way. "I–" They grabbed his shoulder… and punched him square in the face. Something shifted in his mouth alongside the glaring pain he felt before stumbling backwards and falling over onto the floor. That really hurt. They're coming for more. "Your insolence.." They stomped a boot down on his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. "..will get you nowhere." 

"P-P-Please, I-I can't pick it up with–with one arm, I–"

"And?" The question resonates in his head. What.. what's he supposed to say to that? His hearts drop, 'cause if he wasn't afraid before, he certainly was now. He may as well just.. he doesn't even know what he should do. He can't even tell them anything to get out of this one. They're just gonna beat him up and there's nothing he can do.

He takes a shaky breath and shuts his eyes tight, tears flowing even before the first blow hits. And another one. And another one. They're kicking him around, pulling on his tentacles, spitting words he doesn't understand and he just takes it. There's no point in struggling anymore because he knows he's too weak to do anything. He can't even turn into a squid to soften the blows or try to get away because they took that from him too. 

He processes them stopping as just another hit because they pull him up to his feet by the bad arm. The one that isn't quite there anymore. It hurts and he can't help the full-body flinch which only gets him another hit to the face. He tries to keep the sobs and whines down but a few escape him and when they do, the soldier's grip on him tightens momentarily. A warning. He tries to keep the noise down but everything hurts so bad he can't help it.

A new wave of dread washes over him when they pass his room. He's not done yet?! It hurts so much, and he's not sure how much more he can take before he tells them everything. He's squandered so much easy information already, he's got almost nothing left. What's he gonna tell them? He doesn't like using rollers because they're too heavy for him? That's stupid! He's STUPID!

He can't break. He can't. He has to protect what little he has left. He's Agent 4, he can do this. He can't be Kiro anymore. He has to think like Agent 4. His mission is to save the Great Zapfish and find Agent 1 after he gets out of here. He has to get out of here. He's Agent 4, he can handle..

a large pool of water..

Considering how his other visits went, he had a feeling this wasn't the safe kind of water, even if it made him realize he was really thirsty.

They led him to a ladder. A ladder? Seriously? He has ONE ARM! At least.. at least when he inevitably gets beat up again he'll know it's not his fault. Positive thinking… 

They push him forward. "You first."

Right. Maybe he can do it? He hasn't climbed many ladders before. He goes through somewhat familiar motions, but stops when he nearly falls and remembers, again, that he's missing an arm. "What's the holdup?"

He can do this. He's Agent 4. He's done worse than climbing a ladder with one arm, he can–

thunk.

He fell.

His head hurts. The room's spinning. 

"Idiot. Do you not know how to climb a ladder?"

He thinks he's being picked up, but he can't really tell. his head hurts. 

"Hey, stupid, did you not hear the question?" 

"i can.. climb a ladder.."

"Are you braindead? I didn't ask you that!"

"what.." he can hardly hear anything.

"Give us your name, or you're going in the water."

"i, uh.. i.. won't." he doesn't wanna go swimming…

"Your choice."

Agent 4 realized what was happening a little too late. He was falling, falling, and he only screamed after he was already hovering above the water, the tips of his tentacles hitting the surface. He was upside-down, being held up by something that was around his whole body. He couldn't see it, but he could feel the pressure.

"When you feel like answering, you go back up."

So.. he was just stuck here? It was uncomfortable, sure, but he could handle it. The ink rushing to his head wasn't nearly as bad as all the other stuff they did to him.

 

. . .

 

It was bad. He kept his mouth shut, though. The pressure in his head was getting horrible, and they lowered him just a little bit to encourage him to break. The water was starting to burn his tentacles, but he didn't break. When they asked him his name, the answer didn't immediately pop into his head this time. Before he could open his mouth to start begging for them to let him go, he saw the water get further away. He was moving. He was hauled onto solid ground, and he didn't move. He closed his eyes, trying to take a moment to recover.

He felt himself get grabbed, and he made no effort to struggle. He just wanted to sleep.

Movement, movement, he's being dragged across the floor. He opened his eyes for a second when they stopped, and slumped over in relief when he saw it was at his “room”. He didn't make any effort to stay awake anymore.

Agent 4 passed out.

Chapter 6

Summary:

cw for: getting beaten up and going severely off canon for applications of sanitized goo. and also temporary paralyzation wahoo!!

Notes:

yall i spent like a month writing this on and off and couldn't break 1k words how you do this
i uh, i finished chapter 9 though?
reminder to check timelines/references bc there IS a drawing of our boy in there

 

adjusted 26/5/24

A soldier entered his room again. He was so, so tired. They stalked towards him, boots clacking on the tile floor. He tried to increase the distance, but the room was small and he was weak. Not to mention the fact that he had one less arm than usual. "Give me your name, and this will give both of us a nice break."

Great. This again. He took a deep breath to steel himself for the beating soon to come. He really didn't want to get through it today. "N-No."

The soldier growled. "Fine, then. Do that." They kicked him, and he tried to get away for once. It didn't work. If anything, they seemed to get some kind of messed-up joy in seeing him struggle. They kept landing hits on him and he kept trying to get out of the way. He hated it, he hated it, why can't they just–

They pulled him off the ground by one of his tentacles, spitting in his face, "Worthless slime under my shoe. I'd gladly kill you, but I like my job." The words were filled with venom, reminding him that the only reason he was alive was because he could be useful. They dropped him and gave him one last kick before leaving. 

He was alone for a while.

He wants to go home. Isn't anyone coming for him? Surely Marie recruited someone to find him, if she's not looking for him herself? They have to come here soon.. right? But then there's the other scenario– He's Agent 4. He should be capable enough to get himself out of here. He shouldn't have even gotten here in the first place! 

..He really let her down, huh?

He's stupid. He's so, so, stupid. His eyes start watering, not just from the thoughts, but because it hurts. Getting kicked around like a piece of trash hurts. Getting his arm cut off hurts. Getting shots that he's sure aren't filled with good intentions hurts. Getting starved hurts. He wants out, he wants out so bad.

The door opening took his attention away from his thoughts. He was quick to wipe away the tears. Not a soldier. He still can't risk it.

The researcher was openly holding a syringe. If he wasn't a fan of getting shots before, he definitely wasn't now. He hopes he can get out of here and stop being afraid of white coats soon.

The liquid inside was green. He hadn't seen it before. He backed up, but they didn't seem to want to play with him today, because they rushed at him and jabbed the needle in his neck.

He winced, breath catching in his throat. It felt different to all the other stuff they put in him. It hurt more. Took longer to get in him. He thought he could feel it oozing into him. He looked at the researcher, hoping to get a sign of what they were going to do next. 

Only his eyes moved. Not his head. 

He brushed it off as sluggishness from getting beat up earlier, but when he tried to adjust his position, he couldn't.

He couldn't move.

He could still feel his limbs, but when he tried harder to move them, it was like something was pushing down, keeping him in place. It took all of his strength just to move a finger.

"Get up."

He was going to try and protest with a grunt or something, but his legs started moving and he was up.

He didn't do that.

The researcher smiled. "Good. It works."

What works?

He's slowly coming to a conclusion he doesn't want to think about. He can't think about it. He has to block it out or he'll be doomed to misery even in his few lonesome moments. He can't think about the implications, or the possibilities, or–

..He's thinking about it.

They can do whatever they want with him, and he'll have no power to stop it. 

The researcher poked him. A little too hard, if you ask him, but it's not like he has any choice in the matter. "Feel it?" Much to his surprise, he was able to answer, "y-yeah." They paused for a moment before walking outside his room, and he followed the movement as much as he could before they disappeared from his peripheral vision. Watching them strained his eyes, so he snapped his gaze back to the wall. It took an infuriatingly long amount of time of being practically frozen in place(though he noticeably stopped trembling when they left, not like they'd be able to write that on their clipboards) before they came back. Unfortunately. They approached him and he made every effort to move, but the only victory he got was his hands shaking. They crouched down, and he couldn't tell what they got out of their pocket because he couldn’t look down that far.

The item was made apparent when a piercing pain hit one of his legs. He tried to yell, to cry, to do anything, but he could only grunt and tremble while he was being sliced. He couldn't tell how big it was, but it hurt, and he heard a few drops of ink hit the floor.

His hand curled into a fist, and he choked out a sob. His legs started shaking more, and he managed to stumble backwards, back, back, until he hit the wall. His knees buckled beneath him and he hit the floor. He put his hand on the wound, desperately praying for it to heal faster. He glanced upwards, seeing the researcher on the other end of the room.

"Test results inconclusive."

Whe n will this ever end?

Chapter 7

Summary:

Agent 4 starts to forget.

Notes:

cw: getting beaten up, sanitized goo usage, memory loss, loss of control

 

adjusted 26/5/24

Agent 4 had firmly decided by now that he had been here for far too long. He tried to count how many times he slept, but lost count at around.. 12? 25? He really couldn't remember. It was really becoming an issue. For example, thinking back on past missions or random tidbits of information and tips Marie had told him in the past was getting.. difficult. He could still remember, of course. Retreat if it's too much to handle and regroup. Don't fall off ledges. Armor is helpful. Use the weapons you're best with whenever you can.

When you get caught, don't say anything.

Something doesn't feel right about that last one, but he brushes it off. It sounds like the other ones, so it's fine. He takes some deep breaths while he can, hoping it'll help him heal faster if he can relax. He knows he'll be interrupted soon enough, but.. staying calm was one of the rule things, right? He couldn't really remember them all clearly.

The door makes a sound.

A soldier entered his room, mumbling something he couldn't understand but he was sure wasn't pleasant. He knew they were here for him. He shuffled in his place, not daring to move.

They grabbed him, punching him in the face. They didn't ask any questions. They kicked him over and stepped on him. They spat words at him that he recognized but couldn't understand. “чあnя.” He knew they were only used on him. “めiю.” Those were his words. “がりщeん.” He's heard them so many times, he could probably say them himself despite not being familiar with the language at all. They kicked him over so he was facing upwards again, having been displaced so much during the beatings he couldn't even see his attacker before. He couldn't see their eyes, but their expression was unmistakably one of disgust. He felt like they were probably disappointed by their lack of options to hurt him. They pulled on his tentacles until they got a sizable reaction from him, they hit him and spit in his face, but they still weren't happy yet.

They departed from the routine. He was grabbed by the shoulders and the soldier shook him, bashing him into the wall repeatedly. Each impact hurt his head, but more than he was even expecting– he was seeing stars, the room started spinning… They did it one last time, and a headache graced him as he harshly collapsed to the floor. They must have made sure he didn't hit the floor softly, 'cause it hurt. It hurt so much, and he almost forgot how he even got there. He curled up, it was too bright, it was too bright. A kick to the back reminded him that he wasn't safe. His head was spinning, it was so bright.. he couldn't handle it. He kept getting kicked and berated for trying to block out the light, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help the headache. He couldn't help the crying.

It hurt so much he didn't even realize it had stopped.

He's Agent 4. He should– he should be able to handle this. He has to, he has to so he can save the Great Zapfish and Callie. That's who he is. He's Agent 4. He can handle.. he can handle this.. can't he? why hasn't he stopped crying? why can't he stop?

   

Clack.

 

Clack.

 

Clack.

 

Someone's in the room. He isn't sure if he can take much more today. His head hurts so much. Something pokes him, hard. It feels like someone's slicing into him. Through the pounding headache, he pushes himself up.

He didn't do that. He couldn't have done that.

The stuff’s in him again, isn't it..? His headache is worse, he can't think. He thinks his thoughts are so fuzzy he can't feel anything, but he's pulled back to reality by something familiar. The same pain from the last time he couldn't move his body. Sharp. Slicing. He can't move to make it stop, to make any of it stop. 

He's Agent 4. He should be better than this. He's a hero, isn't he?

But he's not.

He's weak.

He can't do anything. He can't even open his mouth to let out a pitiful wheeze, or anything like that. He's Agent 4, he's supposed to rescue the Great Zapfish and Callie. Why can't he do that? Why is he so weak? Why does some little injection just.. break him? It hurts and he can't do anything to make it stop. 

He can't help but notice the researcher writing things down. They finish, doing some sort of hand gesture at him. His body, almost robotically, sits down in his usual spot. His leg really hurts, and he can feel how wet the ink oozing from the wound made it. His head is pounding, too. Why can't he just get a break? He thinks the researcher is gone now, but he can't be sure. He still can't move.

Agent 4 doesn't sleep that day.

Notes:

this was meant to be longer but i just gave up tbh

agent 4 be like: i forgor 💀

 

more japanese russian slurs (fire emoji) (im on my computer rn)

Chapter 8

Summary:

a break from the *literal* torture.
i wonder how marie is doing?

Notes:

cws: self blame, assuming the worst(that characters that are missing are dead[they are not])

Marie looked at her reflection in the tea she'd made. The other cups were empty. Pink, yellow, orange, and blue. A colour for everyone that might come down here. He never got a chance to drink from his. 

It had been almost three months since Callie went missing.

It was her fault, wasn't it?

It had been almost two since Agent 4 went missing.

She's the reason they're gone.

She shouldn't have been so smug in her victory. She should've kept Callie closer, and she wouldn't be gone.

She shouldn't have let him go in there alone. She should've seen where they took him. She should have never ruined that boy's life. 

She didn't even know his name. She didn't even know his name, and he was gone, too. They made light-hearted jokes. They even played board games, and he beat her every time. Marie frowned at the memory.

Agent 4 slapped his cards down on the table with a grin and let out a triumphant shout, raising his arms in the air. "Yeah, take that! You're looking at the master of the waters!" 

"Guess you got me." Marie laughed, cracking her own smile back at the boy. "That was a close game. You're really good at this, y'know."

He laughed at her with mischief written all over his face, leaning back with his hands resting behind his head. "You keep telling yourself that, Marie. I won by a long shot!"

He was so happy.

 

. . .

 

He sounded so scared the last time she saw him. She heard the shots, the explosion, the thud. 

She could see he was nervous from the camera. “I know you're nervous, Four, but you've gotta get through this. I know you can. One step at a time, you can do this.” She was worried, herself. But they were getting close. They were getting close to finding her, she could feel it. He has to get through this and find her. He nodded. “Yes. Right. I-I can.” He took a deep breath, stepping off the platform. The first platform was fine but then he whimpered and shot and ran and she was yelling for him to get out of there and the headset went flying and he screamed and.

he wasn't moving. They took him.

He can't be dead. He can't be. There are countless hints that Callie's out there, she can only hope that she'll find signs of him, too. 

But it's been too long.

It's been over a month, and he's gone. It's her fault for pushing him into that mission without backup.

He's gone, and Marie killed him.

 

. . .

 

Two months in a day. Marie has searched through every single cleared kettle, and there's not a single sign of him. Octarian music infiltrating her ears taunts her with the distorted voice of her cousin. She wonders if they'll mix him into their songs, too.

She wonders if he can sing. 

 

. . .

 

It's been two months.

Two months.

She's been alone again for two months. She forgot how bad it was.

She hopes he's out there somewhere. He has to be.

She doesn't know if she can live with the guilt of killing two people. They have to be out there. She can't wait until Gramps and Three get back. She can't kill them, too.

She needs someone else, now. She'll find more if they go away, too. She'll find more if they need backup like he did. Four and Callie are out there, she just needs someone else to help her. 

She'll find someone tomorrow.

Notes:

wow that sure was fucking depressing i wonder how agent 4 is doing in chapter 9

Chapter 9

Summary:

Agent 4 opens up.

Notes:

cw: throwing up. you'll know the bigger one when it starts to happen, scroll to the dots to get past it

Agent 4 woke up in his cold room yet again. He kind of wishes he didn't, really. He still hurts from all of the past week's beatings and injections. He tests himself by moving a leg and immediately regrets it, curling his hands into fists to try to deal with the pain.

Wait. Hands. Plural. Is he hallucinating again, or..?

Agent 4 looks down to his left, and, much to his delight, his arm has fully grown back. For the first time in Zapfish knows how long, he actually feels a little happy. 

He doesn't have much time to mull over this newfound spark of hope before the door opens again. Researcher. The smile is immediately wiped from his face. They seem to notice his new hand, too. He really hopes they don't cut it off again.

The scientist crouches down in front of him, taking his new hand into their own for inspection. He doesn't make any moves to escape, he knows it won't work. Besides, they're just, uh.. what are they doing, anyway? The octoling is simply testing each of his fingers individually, muttering things to themself, and then testing the whole hand, saying something again. They move up to the rest of his arm, turning it over in their hands as much as they can, what with it, y'know, being attached to him and everything. Once they're done, they do a quick check on his other side. Why would they need to do that? When they've stood up, he takes a look for himself, comparing both of his hands.

They.. look different. 

Not noticeably so, but if you're really looking, it's obvious.

Something is wrong.

His hand flexes with the other just fine, any and all movements he tries with it work perfectly. But something's not right with it.

He ignores it, for now. He has places to be, based on the look the scientist is giving him. He gets up slowly, cautiously, leaning against the wall, because he knows he'll topple over from the pain in his leg if he doesn't. The doctor, fortunately, makes no moves to force him to go faster. They'd have to drag him across the floor to get him to move if they were that impatient. Slowly, he managed to shuffle towards them. He just wants them to get on with it already. They grab his forearm and quietly lead him through the halls. He recognizes the route, he really hopes they're just passing it, but he knows where they're going.

They don't pass it. They open the door

to the clean room.

The door to the room where they strapped him to a table and took away his arm. Are they.. are they gonna take it away again? Or maybe something else? He shivers at the thought. His arm was bad enough. What if they took the other one? What if they took a leg?

His thoughts are stopped, the table looks different. The end where his head was last time is at a different angle. He doesn't think about it. He doesn't want to think about it. His legs hurt too much to think about it, and he just wants to get it over with already, whatever it is. He knows it'll hurt way more if he doesn't get onto the table than it will if he does.

He walks forward without needing to be pushed, pulling himself up and laying down on the cold metal. He takes a few deep breaths, knowing that whatever's about to happen to him is gonna prevent him from doing that. Cod, he doesn't- he doesn't wanna be here. He holds back the tears as the doctor walked around, strapping him in and making sure he was secured. He could see pretty much his whole body at the angle he was at. Deep breaths were getting harder at every second, he can't-

The doctor injected him with the green stuff again. He could practically feel it crawling through his system, but it felt a little different from the last few times after a moment. He felt kinda woozy. something told him breathe slow hearts slow slow slow don't move. 

watch.

He looked around with his eyes at the steadily growing presence of doctors. The most he'd ever seen in one room was like… three…? there's five.. Which isn't too much more, but.. he really wonders why they need so many today. One of them– not the same one that brought him here– takes a clean blade from a table just inside his peripheral vision. It's a lot smaller than the last one he saw in this room, so he thinks they're probably not taking his arm away again, or anything else, but that really begs the question.. what exactly are they doing with him this time?

With their free hand, the doctor trails a finger down the center of his torso, from right below his chest to decently above his shorts. Noticeably where there's a lack of cartilage. Then, with the blade in hand.. oh.

Oh. 

No no, no no no, no they were– they were gonna–

The blade goes down, down to the spot they started to trace on his body and it doesn't stop when it comes into contact with his skin and

it

hurts.

He wants to scream, he tries to scream, but he can't even choke out a puff of air. He doesn't make a sound. Tears well up in his eyes and he tries to do anything, but his fingers won't even twitch, not even when the doctor is slowly dragging the blade down his stomach, cutting him open. He doesn't like it, it hurts, why aren't they stopping? Why can't he stop them? Why can't he look away?!

They put down the blade outside of his view, but he can't stop looking at the gaping wound they've created. He can't stop feeling it. Why did they position him so he can see it?  

They come back. Their hands are clean, he can smell it. He knows why their hands are clean, because they're reaching for him, reaching for the incision, and

it

hurts

when they open it further. wider.

They pull out, out, out, and it hurts more, and more, and more. He can't even curl his hands into fists because he can't move. His breathing is steady, no matter how much he's reeling from the pain. His hearts are beating slowly, even though he's panicking.

and he can't look away.

They're digging their hands into him, inside of him, through the ravine they sliced into him, it hurts. He can see it. He can see his– he can see his guts. It's so yellow, and- and Zapfish, he's looking at his organs. He wants to throw up. He has to throw up so bad, he's sick, but he can't. All he can do is cry, because that's the only thing he can do. It's the only thing they'll let him do.

why are they letting him cry?

The abdominal pain he's experiencing is a far cry from manageable, especially because they

won't.

stop.

moving.

Suddenly, the doctor's hand wraps around something and squeezes– he's not exactly sure what it is, he never paid attention to biology– and it doesn't seem like they're keen on letting him keep it. They pull on the organ(he doesn't notice how he manages to grit his teeth from the mind-numbing pain), and one of their doctor buddies gives them another small, clean blade. They use it to remove the organ. His organ. That's his. He doesn't even know what it is, or if it's important for his survival– he doesn't know anything. He just- it hurts.

A different doctor steps in to play with him. He's not sure how much longer he can take this. The dizziness from whatever they mixed in with the green stuff has fully worn off by now, in no small part due to the searing pain. There's nothing to take the edge off, now. It hurts so, so bad and he just- he just wants to go home.

The new doctor plunges their hand into his guts like the last one did. They rummage around before finding what they want, pulling it into view. Except they didn't find what they wanted, based on the frown and them sloppily putting everything back.

Agent 4 finally, finally managed to shut his eyes. He didn't think about it, too desperate to find any escape from this torture to care. The pain was overwhelming, but the smell made it even worse. It smelled like ink and death. He felt something get pulled and cut, new jolts of pain joining the already present mind-numbing agony. 

The hands inside him froze before quickly retreating. Wet fingers push and pull at his skin. A sharp pricking pain. In, out, in, out.

…is it over? Cod, he hopes it is.

He pushes himself to open his eyes again, and..

they're closing the wound.

It's over.

He can.. Zapfish, he can throw up now. 

Er.. sooner. He still can't move, and one of the doctors that isn't inkstained is injecting him with more drugs. Not the green stuff, but.. man.. he's.. why's the room moving..?

He lets out a groan before it all goes dark.

 

. . .

 

Agent 4 woke up on the floor. He knows he didn't put himself there, because he's flat on his back on the floor, in the middle of the room. He usually presses himself into a back corner and makes himself as small as possible. He's pretty open right now. How did he get here, again..?

He starts to check himself over, but he stops when he sees a dark line of yellow on his stomach and feels the biting surge of pain.

Right.

That happened.

The.. the.. the surgery. He remembers it now, clear as day, and really wishes he didn't. He wants to forget it, he wants to forget it so bad, he- he feels sick. Really, really sick. They didn't remove his stomach, that's for sure, but he's pretty sure it's about to evict itself anyways. His body lurches, and he shoots a hand over his mouth. He doesn't know how strong these stitches are and he really doesn't wanna die if they're weak. His body threatens him again, and he knows he doesn't have a lot of time left to choose which part of his room he wants it all to come out of him. 

He hastily shuffles to an unpurposed corner and retches. It burns his throat, but it's not nearly as bad as everything else. He thinks he's done, but he gags and what little food may have been left has been reduced to a miserable rancid puddle in the corner of his prison. Vomit and ink drips from his mouth. He doesn't bother wiping it off. It hurts too much. 

Stomach properly emptied, he groans and flops back onto the floor. He ends up banging his head in the process, but at this rate, he thinks he deserves it.

He's so stupid. How did he let himself get here?

He starts crying again, wrapped up in his apparent incompetence. It tempts his stomach to reject its place in his body again, but he was pretty sure he pulled a stitch or something when he threw up. It was that rough. He was also pretty sure that in a normal situation(even though being operated on while you're awake and watching is far from normal, he hopes it is, at least) he would only need these stitches for, like, an hour before his body did all the healing for him. But this wasn't a normal situation, and when he looked down at the enormous slice down his torso that was supposed to be shut, he saw something that made his hearts drop. A little bit of dark yellow, slightly orange-tinted ink oozing out of a spot in the slice. If he wasn't careful, that little bit of ink could soon become all of his organs and he's dead.

Not. Cool.

He knew these scientists wanted to keep him alive(sometimes, he really wishes they didn't..), so he'd probably get his corpse beaten up if he did die. Shell, he'd probably get beaten up now for insubordination or attempted suicide or something. He'd stay still until the next one came in to fix him up.

It hurts so bad. He wants it to stop, he, he needs to go. Wasn't someone supposed to get him? He's been here for so long, and.. and nothing changed. 

No one's coming to save him. He's going to die here.

It hurts.

Notes:

teehee :)
he sure did OPEN UP, didn't he?
:)

im not sorry.

Chapter 10

Summary:

it hurts.

Notes:

cw: getting beat up

He wakes up and kinda wishes he didn't.

Again.

He can't remember when it started but. he doesn't like the reminder that he's here.

The wound on his stomach is radiating a dull, oozing pain that shoots through him. It makes his arm hurt. It makes his tentacle hurt, and that hasn't happened before. His tentacle healed just fine, but now that he's thinking about hurt and being cut he can't help but think about his first hurt. He barely remembers it, but the scar helps. The scars make him remember. He runs a hand on the first scar, feeling it with a grimace. It makes the parts of the tentacle around it rough and higher up than it should be. The rest of it feels fine, but around where they cut it- it's just wrong.

He starts tugging a little on the other tentacle in front. They've grown out. No wonder he feels so weird.

Other than the. Y'know. Everything else. It doesn't help, alright?

He stops before he hurts himself. They'll get mad at him. He already pulled his stitches, and they'll get mad at him for that, too. He wonders if there's a faster way to heal. Wouldn't they do that, if they just keep getting mad at him for not healing fast enough? He really feels like there has to be. There's gotta be something. Something he's missing.

The door opens again, and he fails to hold back a sob. He doesn't want to hurt again. He doesn't- he doesn't want to be Agent 4 anymore. He doesn't. It hurts too bad. It's been too long. He just wants to go home. He just wants to go. He can't do this anymore, he doesn't want it.

They don't hear his thoughts, and wouldn't care if they could. He can't stop crying and he just. He knows that surgery's gonna scar, and he's gonna be forced to remember it, and he just wants to forget it.  

They're not a soldier, so they probably won't make it worse. Cod, he hopes they don't make it worse. He already messed it up when he threw up and. He doesn't wanna die. Not slowly and painfully like he probably will down here. 

The researcher checks his stitches, immediately noting the damage he did to himself accidentally. He tried to hold it in. It didn't work. He still feels sick enough to do it again, but the shock has dulled enough that he can hold it down for as long as he needs to. 

They check the extent of the damages by touch rather than sight, and when they write something on that Zapfish-clammed clipboard of theirs after he whimpers he knows they didn't have to check them that way. 

They get up and leave. They'll come back. He's just glad to get a moment to himself, again. It can't hurt if he's the only one there. He barely even remembers what got him here. Something stupid, no doubt. If he's an agent and he got captured, he's definitely a big dumb stupid idiot. His dog-fish memory is certainly a large contender in the dumb category.

They're back, as expected. They're carrying things but he doesn't look at them to see what they are specifically. He shuts his eyes, instead. He still can't swallow the sobs. Crying makes it all worse but he can't stop it. He curls his hands into fists as he tenses waiting for the pain. They're probably gonna–

Agent 4 nearly jumps and bites his tongue to muffle his yell. He can't- he can't struggle this time. It hurts so much more than it did the first time. The second prick comes through and he tastes ink. He shuts his eyes tighter and tenses harder. It's so hard not to move, not to scream that he lets himself grunt through gritted teeth. This is- he can’t, he can’t. 

It’s just-

It’s just-

Going in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out and in and out and in and out and

in 

and

out.

out.

Out, cod, it's done. He's desperately gasping for breath, trying so hard not to move his stomach so it doesn't hurt even more. The doctor makes him sit up and wraps a thin layer of gauze and bandages around his torso to guard the wound. It's secure. They check something off on their stupid little clipboard and leave him alone to cry. He can't even really do that anymore. He doesn't wanna hurt himself again. His time alone usually has a lot of self-contained movement, and that sort is the last thing he needs right now.

He lets the tears flow down his face and drop. He tries not to hiccup, tries to breathe steady, but it's almost too much. He keeps failing. It isn't too much because he manages to stay mostly quiet, at least. Too much is when he almost starts screaming but stops himself before he can get beat up for being annoying. Too much is when he almost throws up from crying so much. Too much is when he has half a mind to bang his head on the wall himself for being so stupid. This isn't too much. This is barely anything. He can do this much. Even if it feels like too much. It isn't. He isn't having a too much moment.

He isn't. He'll be fine. If he isn't fine he'll probably die. He'll be fine.

Cod, he's gonna die here, isn't he?

 

. . .

 

It's been a while since he got patched up. Soldiers still came in a lot, but the worst they did was slap or punch his face. His face hurt a lot. Sometimes the doctor octolings would come in and check under the bandages. His arm didn't get this much attention and care. It was weird. Really, really weird. He was just glad he could sleep, and stop crying. He wished it would be like this forever.

But Agent 4 never gets his way.

No, no, he never would, because one day, a doctor grumbled something under their breath in Octarian when they checked him. And the next day.

The next day a soldier came in.

And when they asked for his name.

He didn't know the answer.

He didn't know his name.

he didn't know his name.

How did he-? He didn't know.

“Did you not hear me, めiю? Your. Name.” The soldier spat, accenting their words with a kick to his leg. There was that word again. His word. “i-i heard you, i'm-i'm sorry, i'm sorry-” He mumbled, trying to remember his name. The soldier propped a foot on his leg, pressure gradually increasing. He didn't want to hurt anymore. He'd tell them this time. “i'll- i'll tell you i swear just- please-” He scrambled for time, the soldier's boot getting heavier and heavier and why couldn't he remember?!

Cod, Four, remember! He has a name other than Agent 4 he has a name. He's crying, he can't breathe, he, he, he can't remember.

He doesn't.

He doesn't know what his name is. 

Agent 4 doesn't know. 

The dam fully breaks. He can't hold back the sobs, and he can't hold back the screams when the soldier hits him and kicks him and. He can't find enough air to beg, to tell them he can't remember, he doesn't know. He can't breathe.

He can't breathe, and it isn't the pain in his head that knocks him out.

 

. . .

 

He wishes he didn't wake up. He realizes now that he's never going to get out of here, and it's never going to stop hurting. He knew it before, but he didn't think about it. He thought that, as long as he held out hope, maybe it would be okay. Maybe, maybe Marie would find him. Maybe she would- maybe she would care enough about him to save him from this, this codawful place. 

He tries to stop the wheezing, quick breaths along with the bad thoughts. No, no, no, she cared. She had to. He may never get out of here, but Marie will remember him. She's probably given up by now, but, but, she hasn't forgotten. He forces himself to smile. Yeah, there's someone out there that knew him. Maybe she didn't even give up! She might still be looking! Maybe- maybe this place is just super hard to find. Maybe it- maybe it hasn't even, even been that long. He doesn't know what's in those clear syringes, maybe they, they slow things down for him or something, and, and he's only been here for a week or two! Maybe this is all a hallucination!

Maybe he actually knows his name.

And maybe the door didn't just open.

He starts crying again. He can't convince himself that the pain from the beating soon to come isn't real. He can't, he can't.

The soldier approaches.

They grab a tentacle.

And they punch him in the face.

Again, and again, until finally.

“Stop whining, めiю. Tell name, will be better.” They said the second part like it was that simple. Like he was a little kid asking how food works. He thinks he needs that explained again. They gave him a break, the slightest, tiniest break, so he could open his mouth and say

“i-i don't know.” He sniffled. The crying made his nose stuffy. “i d-don't know my name.”

The soldier scowled, and he whimpered. “You. Don't. Know?” They growled, and they grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise, pulling him close enough he could feel their breath. “You don't know? Your NAME?” They laughed, tightening their grip so much it was so. hurt so much. “You need to be better at lying.” Was what the soldier said before they put a boot on his chest, still holding his arm.

“i-i'm sorry, i'm not- i swear!” His begging was useless.

“Shut up, scum.”

And they pulled.

Agent 4 screamed. It felt like they were ripping it off, trying to make his flesh tear. He thinks they could.

“I'M SORRY!” His pleading came out as a screech, falling on deaf ears. 

The boot came off, and he was forcefully lifted to his feet by his burning arm. He barely had a second to stabilize his trembling knees before the soldier struck him in the stomach, hard. He went tumbling to the ground, hitting his head and throwing up all the precious food he'd had the day before in one fell swoop. Everything hurt and burned so much and. He gagged on the bile from the first time, retching again, empty acid coming up that burned his throat. Ink dribbled on his chin.

“Pathetic.” Said the soldier, and he heard his door shut. He wanted to go home, he wanted to go home so bad. He wanted Marie. He didn't want this. He shut his eyes tight, trying to pretend he was somewhere else, anywhere else, but the poison on his tongue kept him in his room. 

He cried himself to sleep, despite it all, he managed to sleep.

 

. . .

 

A scientist-doctor shook him awake. They were surprisingly gentle. He woke up and stood as fast as he could bear to. He noted their back tentacles were tied back. He's seen this one before. A lot. He held back the urge to throw up again and just prayed they wouldn't take him to the clean room again. Every step he took to follow the octoling was pain, and when they grabbed his forearm to force him to keep up it agitated his bruises and he sucked air in through his teeth. He was crying and they didn't make any moves to make him stop. He was struggling to move his legs one in front of the other, but the vast fear of even more pain kept him walking.

They didn't go to the clean room. They turned left, not right, this time. He internally let out a sigh of relief, shoulders easing only the tiniest bit. The room had a chair not unlike the clean table, but. It wasn't the clean room. He did what they wanted him to, hardly making a whine when they pushed him around and forced him to sit. He thinks he would have fought before this. When he was a good agent. When he had something to fight for, to keep away from them. He takes a shaky breath to stop crying. Stop crying. He manages, only a little. 

The doctors bring things with them when they approach. And they. they do a lot with those things.

Pressing handles of blades into his skin until he squeaks, turning those weapons around and doing the same. Giving him only a moment to pull himself together before they inject him with something once, then stab him with empty needles until he cries. Punching him. Slapping him. Forcing him to listen to an unbearably high frequency that makes him want to rip his ears out of his head.

All the while, writing things down on those. stupid. clipboards.

They do everything gradually. Tolerable to wracking his body with sobs. Pain. Then they toss him back into his room like they didn't just torture him for no reason. None of them said anything during the whole thing. They just watched him cry and wrote something down. Writing, writing, writing. Taking notes on him like he's some, some specimen to be examined. He doesn't even know what they wanted this time, or what he did wrong. He always does something wrong.

His arms hurt like shell after that. They better not ask him to carry anything again.

The door opens, and it doesn't stop. He'll never stop hurting, will he?

Notes:

i wrote this whole thing from scratch in multiple increments all of which when i am tired out of my mind. he is doing fine

marie: man, i really hope he's ok out there
agent 4: (femur breaker screams)

did i make him forget in an earlier chapter idfk i forgor too 💀

Chapter 11

Summary:

Agent 4 finally quenches his thirst.

 

typical cws, getting beaten up, negative self thoughts... not much heavier than the last few! which isn't saying much.

Notes:

just one more chapter until our pissbaby gets the fuck outta dodge ♡

He doesn't wanna wake up. He doesn't open his eyes, he doesn't wanna see where he is, ‘cause then it'll make it real. Even if he can feel the cold tile pushing up against him, even if he can feel the cold chill in the air, even if he can feel his head pounding from the pain wracking his body, he can delude himself into thinking he's somewhere else. Maybe he's outside, on… He's outside, with the.. with the..

It suddenly hits him that he can't really remember what outside feels like. There's trees, right? And buildings, and… 

He has to strain his thoughts to remember any of it.

He doesn't know. 

He can't remember what outside is like. What it feels like, looks like, sounds like, any of it. He forgot. Just like his name. 

How– how did that happen? He just gets a vague impression, he knows it's better than this, but he can't wrap his head around how it's better. Why it's better. He can't– he can't think about this. He can't. Everything will just get worse, and he just. He can't let it get worse. It can't get worse. It can't get worse, because Marie's gonna come down, and…

She's gonna come for him, and, and…

…

Oh, who's he kidding? She isn't gonna save him from this place. She's not coming. She never was. Maybe at first, maybe a little, but she gave up on him a while ago. Why wouldn't she? He's a terrible agent, he spilled everything he knew just to save his own skin and it didn't even work. If, by some delusional miracle, she does save him, she'll hate him for what he did. She'd have to. She'll see how stupid he is.

It'll never be the same anymore, and, and Cod he just. He wants out. He's failing to keep the tears back for something more useful. He has to keep his moisture, he can't just waste it all on some stupid little unattainable daydream. 

…but, it's happening whether he likes it or not. Just like everything else. He just– he just wants a say in something for once in his miserable little life.

 

The door opens.

 

He suppresses a whimper as he startles back, then goes still and quiet as he stares at the wall in waiting. He doesn't wanna, he doesn't wanna, he doesn't wanna–!

Throbbing pain on his face. One side, then the other, then again and over and over again. He can't hold in the cries, the tears, he– “Stop–” They only cut off his whimper with a pull on his tentacles, he yelps with a full-body flinch. He doesn't know why he tried to beg, it's stupid. He's stupid. All of this has showed him how stupid he is, how useless and just, just bad he is at anything. He… he deserves this, at this rate. He– he deserves to get hurt.

The soldier pulls him to his feet by his tentacles. It hurts like shell, but he's had worse. They take him out of the room, and his breath sticks in his throat. They hang a left this time and he thanks the Great Zapfish for being away from the clean room for so long. He doesn't wanna go back there, no matter how inevitable it may be that he'll go there again. Losing his arm was, was horrible, and that– that surgery nearly made him spill his guts in the most horrifically literal way possible. He doesn't even want to think about what they'll do next. Will he even regenerate those organs? How necessary are– were they? He hopes it's not important, cod, he hopes it's not important. He doesn't want to die a slow and painful death from non-existent organ failure. He wants it to be quick and painless, because that's the only way he can see himself leaving at this rate.

They stop, and he sees where he is. They took him to the big water pit again. Are they gonna make his head feel like it's gonna explode again? That wasn't very fun. At least he could climb the ladder this time when they told him to.

barely. He's so shaky and weak and stupid that it's taking him way too long. They let him know with a few good kicks when he reaches the top. That's okay, he, he did take too long. He could have gone faster. They're right. He's just lazy, stupid.  

They tie him up like they did last time, but they hang him by his hands instead. 

His feet go in first. It doesn't feel that bad, if anything, it feels kinda nice. Then the rest of his legs go in, and, ok, it's.. It feels weird, but he could get used to it for the floaty sensation. He's down in at his stomach, at this rate, and now it–

His head is under the water.

He inhales some before he realizes what's happening, and even before it

before it..

 

it burns.

 

It's like it's eating him up from the inside, he feels like– he feels like– he feels like it's pushing against his skin, like the ink inside him is trying to get out–

 

He's suddenly pulled up and out of the water, the force of it nearly making him throw up. He coughs up the burning liquid from his lungs, but he knows there's still some in there. He can't breathe. Not like they care. 

“Do you want to go back in? Go on.”

He shakes his head as much as he can. Cod, no, please, he still feels it. It's taking everything he has to let the grunts and groans come out instead of screams.

“Well?”

“-’m. ’m sorry.”

“Go on, slime, tell us something.”

He doesn't know, he doesn't know, he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. 

“I'm sor– I'm sorry–” He chokes on his own voice. And probably the water. “I'm sorry, I-I don't– I don't–”

“Don't what, がりщeん.?”

“I don't know any-anything. I'm s-sorry, please, I'm so– I'm sorry, I–”

“Well, surely you could tell us your name, Agent 4.”

He can't. He can't he can't he can't he can't he can't.

He shivers, choking out a sob. They're gonna hurt him again. It's gonna hurt again. Just because he doesn't know his own name. Because he's so stupid that he forgot. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, he's just dumb and can't remember anything so why is he even.

Why is he even still here?

Why can't they just kill him already, for Zapfish's sake? WHY NOT?!

“i don't know.” He whimpers. “i don't know. i don't know, i'm sorry, i'm so-sorry, please, i don't…”

He's being lowered again. He doesn't wanna, he doesn't. He doesn't. The water in his throat mixes with the sobbing that makes it practically impossible to breathe. He can't. Can't breathe. It hurts too much, it hurts. It burns.

They dunk him again, again, again, even when he screams and cries and begs. It's only when he feels like he's gonna pop that he’s dropped onto solid ground instead of in the water, coughing and gasping for breath. “‘m sor–sorry– p-p-pl-lease– i– kh–” He ends up choking on his own words, coughing up more water. He needs to stop crying. The tears are starting to burn, too. But it hurts so much that he can't stop them. He's hiccuping like the stupid little baby he is. Marie should have never chosen him to be Agent 4. 

. .

The soldier that escorts him back after his fit doesn't make him wait. As soon as the both of them are in his room again, they don't hesitate to stop his ceaseless whimpering for just a second. The breath is knocked out of his lungs when they throw him at the wall. And when he sucks in some more just to waste it on a sob, they're sure to let him know that he's a terrible agent for it by stomping on his chest to knock it out again like he's a squeaky toy.

He probably sounds like one, too. All the wheezing and screaming is making his throat hurt. He should really stop it. It's just so hard when it hurts so much. He can't help it, the pain is too much to bear. Everything still burns from the drowning, and he just. They hit him every time he makes a stupid annoying little noise, and then it just makes the burning worse, and then he makes a noise…

They stop after they punch him so hard he starts dribbling ink. They mutter something under their breath in Octarian, annoyance dripping from their words as they get up. They give him one last kick before they leave. It's like he's just a mild inconvenience to them.

He can't even cry anymore. He dried up, despite being dunked into water several times. Now he's just gotta feel bad until they feed him next ‘cause he's too dumb to hold in the tears.

Stupid.

Notes:

wow i sure hope all that talk of death these past few chapters doesn't mean anything. it probably doesn't. he'll be fine, chapter 12 is the one where he gets out, after all! and then it's into the next fic where he's recovering! chapter 12 is going to be a walk in the park, comparatively, surely.
right?

Chapter 12

Summary:

Agent 4 gets out.

cw: suicidal ideation, getting beat up, usual

Notes:

oh man, finally it's all over! he must be doing great...

He's sick of this, he realizes, when he wakes up to an octoling kicking him around as punishment for sleeping.

He rolls over in a feeble and mindless attempt to get away, but they stomp on his hand as soon as he stops for even a moment. Hard. Against his better judgment, he screams, and they pull his head up and slap him in the face for that. They kick him for the noise he made from the slap, too. He hates it here. He wishes he'd stop waking up. He just wants to sleep and never feel the pain again. 

He wants them to stop playing with him and just kill him already. He knows death is too good for him, but he just… he just wants it all to stop . He isn't strong enough to be a good agent, he's too stupid. Marie knows this, she has to, it's why she hasn't gotten him. He doesn't deserve to live, not when he's been so stupid and weak. He can't keep his mouth shut when it counts, and he can't open it when he should be able to. He should just die. They should just kill him already. He's not useful enough to keep around, so why–

 

He realizes a little late that he's being taken out of his room.

Maybe he can mess with something. He's stupidly weak, but, but he has to get out. There's only one way out. One way out. He has to get out, he has to. They won't kill him, so he… he… he has to take matters into his own hands. 

Okay, okay, he can do this. He hasn't eaten in a while, his hand hurts like shell, and his whole body aches but he'll do it. He's gotta. He's never felt more determined to do something than right now. 

The soldier hangs a right.

The clean room is that way.

Agent 4 shivers involuntarily, dread pooling in his gut already.

No. No. He can't be afraid, he can't, he can't, not when he's so close. So motivated. He might never get another chance to get out again because he'll be weak and stupid again and just let himself stay here. 

He's tossed in, an octoling in a stupid white coat already waiting for him. They motion for him to get on the table. He nods, and they turn around for just a moment.

He scrambles to the back of the room where they keep their tools, hearts pounding and already feeling lightheaded. He leans against the counter, the hand not supporting his weight fumbling to find something, anything that he can use to end his own suffering. 

His fingers find purchase on a handle.

He points it at the octoling on the other side of the room, at first. It's something sharp, he thinks, his vision is currently producing two of everything and he's already crying so he can't see squit, but it's fine. 

He's able to focus for just a moment when he points it at himself. There's a look of shock on the octoling's face. He has a moment of hesitation. Maybe he could use it on the octolings instead. But then, he remembers, they're always stronger than him. This little medical knife thing won't do anything to them. 

He plunges the blade into his chest.

His senses are accosted by the pain, but he tells himself it'll be worth it soon. It'll be over soon enough. He just has to make it– through– can't breathe–

He hears a shout in Octarian, not an angry one for once, and rapid clicks of footsteps before it all goes dark and he can finally rest.

It's quiet for a little while. It's nice. He can't really feel anything.

. . .

 

Then he hears people talking, and he squints his eyes open to a bright light. He's laying down, and when he's able to focus on the voices

he realizes that

 

they're speaking in Octarian.

 

A gasping, wheezing, cry rips itself from his throat. He gasps for breath, crying too fast to breathe because he failed. He can't stop crying and breathing too fast for his own good because it didn't work. He's so stupid and useless and terrible that he can't even kill himself right. He sits up and starts pulling at his tentacles when he realizes he's not restrained and nobody's beating him up yet. He needs to hurt, he deserves it right now, he's too dumb and stupid and awful and useless. 

Why is nobody hurting him?

He tries to open his eyes to see, but all he gets is a stupidly bright room with a few silhouettes because he's too stupid to stop crying over being alive. He doesn't want to be alive, they can't even let him have this one thing. Just one thing, please. He doesn't want anything else from them, he just wants to die.

Gloved hands push his arms and body down, forcing him to lay back down. He doesn't want it, he just wants to get out of this stupid place. He's too tired to protest after his idiotic little outburst, so he just goes limp while the ugly sobs make his whole body shake. 

He just wants out.

. . .

He wakes up again on the floor of his room. He leans up just to make sure it's where he is. There's a soldier standing watch over him from the opposite corner. Same old cell. He lets his head fall back down, and closes his eyes. He feels something on his chest similar to the thing they put on his stomach after they practically gutted him. Maybe they'll be gentle on him for the next few days, he might've managed to do some damage still. Positive thinking… He doesn't feel anyone kicking him or anything, so he thinks that might be true. He relaxes a little. He must have gotten really close to getting out, if they put a guard in his room. 

Agent 4 still cries himself to sleep, even with that nice thought in his head.

. . .

He managed to get some rest and quiet after that for the next few days, comparatively. The octolings in coats just did minor checks on him with their dumb little clipboards instead of, like, making him want to die more than he usually did.

But then.

Then he woke up to being kicked like he usually did. 

And that, after getting a taste of a little less pain for a few days, really hurt. So he cried. A lot. Then they kicked him for that, and the daily cycle was on yet again. He really wishes they just let him bleed out on the floor of the clean room. That would have been so nice…

But nice things never happen to him. He doesn't deserve them, not anymore. He doesn't get that luxury. Not when a soldier is dragging his limp body out of his cell, left, left, left, lots more lefts than usual. The floor isn't quite smooth enough to make the ride bearable. He could just walk, but he's so tired. He lets the tiles burn his skin, lets the soldier drag him along even if it hurts his wrist a lot. He's so heavy, he can't lift himself up anymore. Maybe it's just because he's tired and weak, he doesn't care anymore. 

They drop him off in the middle of some sealed room. He gathers some strength to sit up. They hate it when he's lazy like this. His legs already burn from getting dragged along the floor the whole way here, so there's no way he's standing , but.. Anything to make it better, even just a little. 

One of the walls in the room has a little window, and two octolings are in there, looking at him. There's some vents in the room, and he puts his gaze back on the octolings. One of them does something and then there's a hissing noise. Not again…

He looks at one of the vents, seeing that inkstorm-looking mist ooze out of it. He sighs, resigned. There's nothing he can do, really. He's too lazy to even move right now, so what would he do? He tears up before the stuff even reaches him, ‘cause he doesn't wanna deal with the pain again.

He holds his breath for a second or two when it does reach him, the burning sensation eating away at his skin and making his eyes burn. But he's dumb and weak, so he takes a big gasp of air, but right now the air around him is all pink-purple so he can't breathe because it burns and he's holding out until they stop it, he has to hold out.

It doesn't stop.

It keeps going. It hurts so much , it's burning him inside and out. It doesn't stop, it just keeps getting worse and worse but he can't fall over no matter how much he wants to. They hate it when he's lazy, no matter how much it hurts. The pain doesn't matter even if it's all he can think about, the magenta haze burning his skin and clouding his mind, he just can't. He can't let it– he can't– he can't do this anymore. He has to, though.

But then

then it

it

it hisses again, and

and the burning is just residual now.

He keeps his eyes closed a few moments longer, then rapidly blinks the tears and magenta smoke out of his vision. 

He can't see any silhouettes in the room, either room.

Notes:

i was listening to viva happy by mitchie M when i wrote this whole chapter and adjusted 1-7. feel free to reread the fic listening to that song its probably really funny

go read home at what cost now its way less traumatizing. and if its out yet the third one too. yea therell be a third one.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of home au