Work Text:
“What is your name?”
“What is your experiment number?”
His days always started with those same two questions: What was his name? What was his experiment number?
He would wake to the beep announcing the intercom. Would be compelled to sit up and face the glass where the scientists awaited, asking the same two questions that they did every damn day. If it were truly up to him he would crawl to the farthest darkest corner and lay there, staring miserably at the wall for hours. Anything but to look at their nauseating visages. And he had, for a while. But they hadn't liked that. Started shocking him every day until he obediently sat by the glass, waiting for them to ask their predictable questions.
Not looking at them was the only act of defiance still permitted him.
“Can you tell me who you are?”
A slam against the glass. A crack spreading across it like a delicate spider's web.
“Come here and find out.”
He would later come to regret his outburst. They hadn't liked that either.
After the questions it would be meal time. A chute would open in his cell, meat thrown into a special bowl anchored to the wall. Like table scraps thrown to a dog. He'd refused to eat at first. He hadn't been particularly picky before, he'd only ever hated certain vegetables, but the sight of the raw, bloody meat disgusted him. How could they expect him to eat that? He wasn't an animal!
But in the end, hunger had won out, and he'd forced it down when he realized he wasn't going to get anything else. Only to realize that his mouth didn't function like his old mouth had at all. He couldn't close it. He had no teeth to chew and no tongue to taste. Just the slimy feel of the meat sliding down his new throat.
His first meal had ended up as a puddle of vomit on the floor of his cell.
After the pitiful excuse for breakfast it would be TV time. He would be sat in front of the screen, forced to watch the same episodes over and over each passing day. Each time the purple cat appeared on screen so would the letters — flickering so brightly he could've sworn the images had permanently burned themselves into his retinas.
CATNAP. CATNAP. THIS IS YOU. YOU ARE CATNAP.
No, I'm not! My name is Theodore! Theodore Grambell! My friends call me Theo!
He screamed this inside his head again and again. Even said it aloud until they were forced to sedate him. And each time the voice he was born with, the high pitched boy's voice he knew and not the eerie deep hiss that was his new one would grow quieter and quieter and doubt began to fully set in.
Was he really Theo? Was there anything left of the 7 year old boy he'd been? The adults all told him he was Catnap. Experiment 1188. Never Theodore. They never called him that. And adults couldn't be wrong, could they? Adults were always right. That's what he'd always been told by the counselors at Playcare…
Playcare… his head began to hurt every time he tried to think of it. His memories grew fuzzy. His room in Home Sweet Home. The School. The Playhouse. The faces of his friends. They all became blurry after a while. They all began to fade from his memory. Were they ever real to begin with? He couldn't be sure of anything anymore…
What replaced the memories of his bedroom were the walls of his new room — no, his cell. A room you couldn't leave wasn't a room, after all. It was a cage. What replaced the faces of his friends and counselors were the faces of the scientists, hovering outside the glass day in and day out. What replaced his own face was the monstrous cat mask reflected in the glass window and the cartoon character dancing across the screen.
Sometimes he thought they were messing with his head. He didn't know how, but he suspected they did. He couldn't remember the moments when he was sedated, but he always remembered waking up on the floor of his cage, his head aching so badly he thought it was splitting in two and the world spinning before his eyes. When he felt at the back of his head — his fingers, no, his claws would always feel new stitches, neatly threading through the fake fur of his new body.
The idea that someone was rooting around inside his head while he was asleep was terrifying. Reminded him of the horror movies the older kids would somehow get ahold of and watch in secret when the counselors weren't paying attention. He wanted to cry, only to realize he couldn't do that anymore. He wanted to run to the counselors, to Ms. Harper, to Ms. Greyber… only to realize they weren't here anymore either. He wanted to crawl into bed and curl under the covers, hide himself from the world. Only… he didn't have a bed anymore. His body was too big. He slept on the floor, covering himself with whatever scraps of fabric they deigned to give him.
Some days someone would come to speak with him. Never for too long. They wouldn't ask him the two questions he heard every morning and every evening before lights out. Instead, this person would ask him how he was feeling. How he was adjusting. Whether he was still in pain, as he had been during the first few days after the surgery. What a stupid question. Of course his body still hurt. It wasn't his body! But they told him it was…
After asking the questions and writing down his responses (if he gave any), the person would leave, and the TV would be turned on again.
The nights were by far the worst.
He had used to fear the dark. Back in Home Sweet Home, they'd always give him a nightlight to help him sleep. Sure, the older boys would make fun of him. Call him a scaredy cat, tell him scary stories before lights out on purpose. But he couldn't help it. Sometimes, he'd even get into fights with the boys over it. But at the end of the day he still slept with a nightlight. There was nothing else he could do. He couldn't sleep otherwise.
Down here, there was no nightlight. The scientists didn't care. They left him in the dark, deaf to his frightened pleas. He wasn't a child in their eyes anymore, someone worthy of empathy. Of humanity. He was merely an object. An experiment.
His vision was now better in the dark than it had been while he'd been human. He could see the whiteness of the walls glowing eerily in the darkness of the slumbering factory. But it didn't make him less afraid. Less miserable as the darkness and shadows closed in around him.
In moments of stress, he soon discovered, some kind of substance would come out of his mouth, some kind of plume of red smoke. He didn't know what it was, or what it did. When he'd told the scientists about it, frightened and thinking he was going to die from it — they'd assured him it was normal. He'd seen the Catnap in the cartoon dispense smoke before to help his friends sleep, right? Well, it was just like that.
When he did manage to fall asleep — his dreams were full of nightmares.
Sometimes he dreamed of the accident with the green hand. Sometimes of the surgery that turned him into… this. And sometimes… sometimes he dreamed of the incident.
They'd been the ones to leave the door unlocked. How could he have not taken the opportunity presented to him? He'd wanted to leave. That's all he'd been trying to do. Leave the labs. Go back to Playcare, to his old room. But they had seen him leaving. Had sent men after him. And he'd gotten… he'd gotten scared. And then… he'd gotten angry.
Being shot by tranquilizers hurt. He'd never been shot at before, he'd thought it only happened in movies. The movies had made it seem so cool. Cowboys sitting on the backs of horses, saying witty lines and shooting at each other with revolvers. Reality though… reality was very different. And once the anger had taken over — well, he hadn't been able to stop himself then.
These people had hurt him. Tortured him. Turned him into this. And now they were shooting at him. Trying to stop him from leaving. Stop him from going home.
He barely remembered what had happened after that.
He didn't remember hunting them down one by one. Didn't remember the terror on their faces, the way their fingers fumbled with the triggers of their weapons. He didn't remember their pleas, their feeble attempts to talk him down. But he did remember how easily his new claws had sliced through their flesh. How satisfying, how vindicating it had felt to hurt them in return. How exciting it had been in that moment to realize the power he actually had, power he hadn't possessed when he'd been bullied and pushed around by the other kids on the playground, the power he hadn't been able to utilize with the bars and walls separating them from each other.
The horror had only come later. The realization of what he'd done. He'd never… He'd never hurt anyone that badly before. Had never… had never killed anyone. Hadn't even thought of doing that!
And yet…
The visions of bodies haunted his sleep and his every waking moment. He'd wake up crying. Wake up to the reality that he really was a monster now. Not unlike those he saw on TV. Wake up wishing he could turn back time. That he could go back. That he could become human again.
The factory was dark and silent around him. It was nighttime. He found himself sitting in the middle of the room again, exhausted yet unable to fall asleep, with no other recourse but to wait until he simply lost consciousness. He stared unseeing at the wall, knowing that in a few hours they would be back, asking those same questions they asked him every day.
“What is your name?”
“What is your experiment number?”
“Theo.”
He jolted, sitting upright.
That voice… calling his name… what used to be his name… he knew it. But… he couldn't possibly be here…
“Can you hear me?”
He looked up, his empty eye sockets searching the corners of the room.
“Prototype.” Friend.
A soft sigh of relief came over the hidden speakers. Inhuman and human at the same time.
“I feared I was too late.” The jumble of voices said, and despite the ever changing cadences the regret was audible. “I feared you wouldn't recognize me, or remember who you are.”
He didn't tell the Prototype that he almost had. Didn't tell him how much harder it had been to remember who he used to be day in and day out. How he'd almost given up. Given in. How he'd almost become Catnap.
“I'll put an end to this.” The Prototype said, and he could tell he meant it. “I'll save you. All of you. But I need time. Information. I need your help, Theo. If you're willing to put your trust in me one more time.”
The outcome of their last scheme flashed through his mind. The green hand. The agony of electrocution. The faint memory of being lifted by gentle hands, brought to safety. His friend probably feared he wouldn't trust him anymore. Not after what had happened the last time he had. But he needn't have feared. He knew the accident hadn't been his fault. And he remembered what was truly important — that the Prototype had saved him when he would've surely died. And now he was going to come save him again. Save all of them.
“Yes.”
If the Prototype was surprised by his quick response, he didn't show it. But his voices brimmed with relief when he spoke, his next words filled with urgency.
“I need you to play along for now, Theo. As hard as it is, I need you to do that for me. Tell them what they want to hear and your current torment will stop. You'll get assigned to Playcare, where you will act as my eyes and ears until I can implement my plan. I won't lie to you. It'll take time. Maybe even years. It'll be painful. It'll be hard. You may begin to lose hope. But I promise you I will save you. Can you do that for me, Theo?”
He looked up, staring at the upper corner of his cell. When he replied — there was no hesitation.
“Yes.”
“What is your name?”
He didn't answer at first, his mind far away. The voice came again. Impatient. He didn't let it finish.
“What—”
“Name?”
“Uh… yes, your name. Please.”
“Name… The… the… the name…”
His eyes flickered white.
“... is Catnap.”
Theo replied.