Chapter Text
The dark weight of unconsciousness slowly but surely lifted its claws from WX-78‘s mind, allowing their processor to blink back to life.
And quite frankly, they were pissed.
The very last thing that they remembered happening was approaching that weird looking wormhole, and…
Very cross and already planning their twisted revenge for whoever or whatever had pushed them, WX tried to yell ‘WHO DID THAT?’
Except… when they attempted to engage their voice box, a different reflex kicked in. A diaphragm constricted, air rushed up through an esophagus to filter through vocal cords, and those fleshy strings vibrated to produce a sound that was far too deep and wrong and… just… wrong.
“Who did that?!”
Everything stopped.
Their mouth had moved.
Fleshy lips and a spongy tongue and hard, chunky teeth had all rubbed together inside a wet orifice coated with slimy spittle.
It was so repulsive bile surged in the back of their throat, which was even more sickening.
Oh God, oh God.
No.
No.
The voice that had come out of them… It was a voice they hadn’t heard in a long time.
A voice that wasn’t theirs. A voice that didn’t fit them, a voice that was too masculine, a voice that they hated more than anything, hated and hated and hated and wanted to tear out like the vile infectious growth that it was.
They had worked so hard to find something that fit them, something that sounded like themself, and now it was gone, it was gone…
The situation got even worse when the pounding in their chest let itself be known, the wildly spasming organ squeezing and squeezing and squeezing tighter and tighter as the lungs around it wheezed breaths in and out, faster and faster.
It disgusted them, the frantic undulations of it all, the way everything was falling apart so easily, and they just wanted it to stop to stop to stop, and yet it kept going faster and faster and faster and they couldn’t think they couldn’t breathe, they were dying, they were dying, they were dying!
In a careless jerk, WX tried to sit up, only for bindings around their chest and stomach and legs to rigidly hold them in place.
Disorientation sloshed inside of them as they recovered from the impact of realizing that they were tied down, their face - their fleshy, disgusting human face - scrunching up and finally opening its wet, gooey eyes.
Bright light speared down into their retinas, burning their sockets until a scream escaped them - a scream that wasn’t theirs, a scream that they despised.
Twisting their head to the side to try and escape it, WX stared instead at blurry white walls, at the blurry edge of the mattress they were strapped to, everything blurry and refusing to focus - blurry because, they realized, their glasses were not perched on their nose.
Of course. One of their many stupid weaknesses, the need for a stupid pair of stupid lenses on their stupid face, just to see out of their stupid broken eyes.
Where were they?? Why were they… not in the right body anymore?? The squishy, fleshy, disgustingly wet organs squirmed around inside of them, gurgling and pulsating and thumping in sickening harmony, like live maggots wriggling around in their innards searching for a meal.
God, they were starving. Like they hadn’t eaten in days.
The sensations were so overwhelming, so nauseating, their gut responded in the worst way possible.
Acid flooded up their esophagus yet again, this time gushing up into their mouth, stinging their tongue in a repulsive burst of vomit. WX was lucky their head was already turned to the side because the liquidy bile spurted out of them without warning, leaving them coughing and spitting with streaming eyes and a mouth full of the worst taste they’d ever tasted in their life.
There wasn’t really anything in their stomach to throw up, leaving them heaving and coughing and writhing in their bindings. All the sensations were so much, all at once, it made tears leak down their face as they tried to keep spitting the awful, awful, awful taste out of their oral cavity, hating it so much, hating life, hating their gross organic body, hating everything about existence.
They didn’t want to be like this. They thought they’d escaped their human body.
How were they back?
WX tried to calm their stupid emotions and think, but their head was a storm of upset and frustration, so overwhelmed by the taste in their mouth and the acid splattered on their lips and the awful, awful, awful squelching and pinching and rippling of organs inside their horrible organic body. It made WX just want to keep crying, but even crying was a terrible sensation. The wet trickles that traced their way sideways down their face and seeped into their ear-holes were one thing, but the snot that oozed out of their nose and made slimy trails down their lip made them want to cry even harder.
Sobs kicked their way out of them, no matter how hard they tried to stifle the sounds, leaving them helpless and disgusting and pitiful.
WX wanted to die. Right here, right now.
They would rather die than live in this organic body for a second longer.
And yet all they could do was lie there in their leather bindings and endure, baking alive under the blinding light bulbs, everything so blurry in the white room, tasting nothing but blistering acid as they hiccuped and whimpered and leaked tears into their hairline, mucus pouring from their nostrils in thick rivers to add to the despicable, unbearably disgusting mess they had become.
They had never felt more miserable and helpless in their life.
“H-Help…” WX croaked out, even though they hated the sound of their human voice, “Help… please… anyone…”
No help came.
For an unknown amount of time, WX-78… if they could even call themself that anymore… laid there strapped to that mattress, neck aching from its cramped position facing the wall. The blazing lights above sent crackling red veins of pain through their eye sockets, the places where the leather straps tied them down raw and damp with sweat. The restraints were tied so tightly over their body that it was nearly cutting off their circulation, scarcely leaving enough room to move and certainly not enough to expand their chest all the way and take a full breath.
WX tried for a long while to escape, writhing and kicking this way and that, but found that not only were the straps along their chest, abdomen, and legs far too tight to give any wiggle room, they also were cuffed to the bed by both the neck, wrists, and ankles. They couldn’t wipe away the snot and tears and vomit that had gotten all over their face, allowing the mess to fester and seep into their pores, the sludgy puddle that had formed on the mattress’s sheets dampening one side of their cheek and their hair when they laid their head down.
It was beyond uncomfortable - it was to the point that WX felt as if they couldn’t physically withstand it any longer. The last few shreds of their composure slipped and snapped after the first hour or so, an uncontrollable, overwhelming upset upset upset swelling upwards through their body in powerful jabs again, again, again, until finally the first cry escaped their cracked lips.
It was a terrible sound, rebounding sharply off the enclosed walls, ringing in their ears, too loud, too loud.
The most horrifying part was; their call was answered.
Another shriek flung out from behind the walls, muffled but still greatly audible, in some distant room of the building they’d been captured in.
There was another. And another. Overlapping and rising in volume, until they were all one great haunting chorus of screams, driving WX to an even further crazed state.
There were others? Were they like them, tied down to mattresses?
Horrible inhumane images flashed through their head as the incredible overpowering loudness of it all drove them to the edge.
Had to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s attention.
So WX screamed with the others, just screaming and screaming out their frustration, their discomfort, their pain, unable to escape it but at least able to release it out onto the world, lashing out in repeated shrieks as they began bucking and twisting and jerking within their bindings, throwing their entire body weight into escape, escape, escape.
And yet, it seemed like no matter what they did, they only made themselves feel worse.
Their throat was sliced raw by their serrated voice, the screams so piercing and sharp in their ears it made tears flow yet again, their struggles only bruising their weak human flesh as they yanked and pulled and wrenched on the cuffs pointlessly.
Other voices joined the chaos outside - bangs of fists against metal bars, shouts of “HEY! QUIET DOWN!” But it did nothing to quell the noise, noise, noise.
All WX managed to do was exhaust themself, finally collapsing back onto the mattress, gulping down breaths the best they could with their restricted intakes of air. The others seemed to reach the same point about the same time that they did, going quiet one by one until there was nothing but silence beyond the walls of WX’s tiny room.
Weeping and feeling worse than ever, WX lied their head back down into the disgusting puddle growing under their cheek, still feeling just as bad - if not worse - than they did before.
By the second hour alone in that room, thirst and hunger made themselves known.
Their torn-up throat tasted of iron as they swallowed around the lump that had formed within it, their mouth feeling so, so dry - and not in a way that was any better than the slimy spit it had been coated in before. Now, the dryness was sucking every drop of strength they still had within them, making it feel like they’d been forced to swallow blisteringly hot sand, leaving them absolutely parched and desperate for even a drop of water.
The hunger was getting worse and worse, reminding them of times in The Constant they’d supplemented by picking seeds off the ground. A continuous, persistent, angry rumble chewed and bit and gnawed at their stomach like a living creature, leaving behind aching, cramping emptiness that weakened them further with each minute that passed without sustenance.
It felt like they’d gone without food or water much longer than the time they’d been awake. The added discomforts only exhausted WX further, making them feel as if they’d fall back asleep despite the fact that they wanted to stay awake and alert to figure out what was going on.
They had no idea how they were in their human form again. But how had they gotten into this place? They were pretty sure there was some sort of heavily barred and locked door at the foot of the bed, though it was hard to see past the blaze of the light bulbs. The room was small, way too small, and the only other feature besides the lights and the door was some sort of table in the corner next to their head, which had nothing on it. Were they in some horrible prison? That might make sense - they hadn’t gotten the materials for their experiments in the most legal ways. But what prison would treat their inmates like this? Weren’t they supposed to speak to a lawyer or something??
WX tried to think back to their memories before they’d woken up… the wormhole… how sick it had appeared…
WX had been trying to scan a rabbit for an acceleration circuit when they’d taken notice of the odd wormhole. It was one they’d marked on their maps before, but… it appeared sickly, its hairy skin a pale purplish bruised color with its toothy maw oozing black bile that resembled nightmare fuel… it might very well have been nightmare fuel, actually. And then something… or someone… had pushed WX inside, when they’d approached to investigate.
Then… darkness.
A thought hit WX, the flow of tears briefly stemmed.
If WX had gone through that wormhole… were they currently insane? Was all of this currently an elaborate hallucination, and in reality they’d ended up on the other side and were writhing around somewhere in the wilderness, waiting for their fr - allies to find them?
Though the idea was horrifying… it was also somewhat comforting.
That all of this wasn’t real. Wasn’t something to worry about.
A moment passed where hope briefly flickered in WX’s chest.
But then, the reality of these disgusting sensations… of the thirst, the hunger, the plastering of vomit and snot and tears against their face and hair, the restraints holding them to a mattress in a blurry room… all came back to them.
No matter if it was a hallucination or not, it was still unpleasant. More than unpleasant.
And WX wanted it to end. Now.
WX tried to shout something helpful, wanting their allies outside of this hallucination to find them quicker, but just as they hollered, “HEL - !” They broke off into a fit of coughing, which felt like someone taking a shard of flint to their throat and slashing with the intent to reach the spine.
Their voice was almost totally gone after all the screaming, the thirst making it ten times worse, vocal cords painfully folding in on themselves as WX tried to ride out the coughs.
Once they could breathe, they vowed to not try that again, grimacing and squirming in discomfort. The bruises they’d given themselves during their struggle had blossomed thoroughly in the places the restraints touched, making everything so much worse. Their empty stomach groaned in a pointless plead for food, their tongue feeling like a sheet of sandpaper in their mouth. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to live. They just wanted it to end already. They just wanted to be back in their perfect metal body. They’d never take it for granted again.
Just as they reached the third hour in this state, a jingling of keys at the door made their eyes snap open.
WX lifted their head, the strain on their sore muscles making them wince. The barred door… after a rattling of the lock, it swung open to reveal the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man in a white uniform, his face unseen behind the glare of the lights and the blur of WX’s terrible vision. A tray was held in his hands, a glass of water and a bowl set out next to something blurry that looked kind of like a spoon and a generous amount of napkins and towels. Something else was moving further behind him, but WX didn’t get a good look at what was beyond their cell due to their poor vision. Besides, it wasn’t long before the man had entered the room and set the tray down at the end of the mattress, turning to use a jingling ring of keys on their belt to close and lock the door behind him.
WX squinted, trying to get a look at the man’s face, their heart kicking uncomfortably inside their ribcage like a jackalope trying to escape a woven trap. By now, he was close enough in the tiny room to see a blurred outline of his features, just barely. The man regarded them with a stoic, almost bored expression, picking the tray back up and moving around the mattress in the small room until he was at WX’s head, setting the tray down on the empty table that WX hadn’t known the purpose of until now.
WX had so much to say - curses, pleads, questions - all of it seemed so much, too much to get out with the fleshy orifice they’d been reduced to. But they somehow managed to get over their surprise at finally seeing another person, pushing the words out of their scratchy throat;
”…W-Where am I?”
WX meant it as a demand, but it came out as a cracked, hoarse whimper.
They didn’t even know why they were trying to get answers. This was all a hallucination, after all. It had to be.
But something pushed them to solve this puzzle. To get out.
The man blinked at them, picking up a white towel and wetting it slightly with the glass of water. Instead of answering, he took the wet towel and used his free hand to lift WX’s head up.
WX yelped in protest at being touched without warning, but the jolt that ran through their body only resulted in agitating the bruises beneath the bindings even further.
The man’s fingers were in their hair and they hated it, they hated it so much, they wanted him off, off, off!
They tried twisting their head to the side, left or right, yelling hoarsely, “GET OFF!”
The man snatched his hand back, glaring indignantly as if WX had been the one to do something wrong. But still, with WX’s head lifted off the mattress, they used the opportunity to scrub the wet towel into the damp spot of vomit and mucus and tears that had collected there, mumbling something about “Jesus, what did you do…”
When he seemed to decide he’d done all he could, he turned the towel over and smothered WX’s face with it.
WX snarled in protest, trying to squirm away, but yet again was prevented from doing anything about it by the restraints. Their face was scrubbed and wiped until it was mostly clean, the towel lifted away just as suffocation began to set in. WX spat a few curses at the man, but was promptly ignored as the towel was set aside.
What really got their attention was when the man picked up the glass of water.
WX stopped. The man seemed to notice the attentiveness, asking, “Are you gonna fight or be good?”
WX stared at the glass, swallowing dryly.
“…I won’t fight.” They replied.
Nodding, the man lowered the glass’s edge to their lips, tipping it slowly. WX drank greedily, not caring that some of the water slipped out and trickled down their chin, instead focused entirely on the relieving sensation of crisp, fresh liquids gushing into their parched throat. They sipped up every drop that was offered, draining the entire glass and scarcely allowing themself a breath until it was taken away.
It was… it was weird, WX remarked to themself. It had been years since they’d felt the need for water… years since water had felt good while entering them. After so long, they’d almost forgotten what it felt like for water to be anything but deadly poison.
Feeling a lot better but still no closer to answers, WX took a moment to lick their cracked lips, grateful that the acidic sting was finally gone. Vocal cords soothed slightly, WX tried to slip in a question as the man set down the empty glass and picked up a spoon.
“Where am I? Is this prison? I want a lawyer!”
The man raised an eyebrow, then snorted. He dipped the spoon into the bowl and withdrew with it full of what looked like porridge…
WX’s attention swerved away from lawyers, their stomach rumbling ravenously. But… they made a show of trying and failing to lift their cuffed arm, saying, “Untie me, fleshling! I can eat it myself!”
“Nope. Sorry.” The man said with a shrug and a shake of the head.
The spoon approached their mouth. And even though their guts were screaming for something to eat, their dignity still held on with the last of its strength.
“I am not going to attack you!” WX insisted, though it was partially a lie depending on how they felt after eating, “I just want to eat it myself, just let me eat on my own!”
The man put the spoon back in the bowl, a scowl creasing his blurry features, “You look like you’re not that hungry. Are you refusing your meal again?”
With a burst of panic, WX gave in.
“No! No, I’m not refusing!”
The man lifted the porridge-laden spoon again, maneuvering it towards WX. With one last death glare up at the man’s blurry face, WX opened their mouth. The spoon was shoved in a bit too roughly, nearly making WX gag. The furious indignation they felt towards the man was interrupted as they processed the taste - bland, cold, and tasting of watery, stale oats, it triggered something deep inside of them that made their body give a nauseated shudder. Before they knew it, they were coughing up the mouthful, the angry shouting of the man blocked out as they did everything they could to spit it out.
“Goddamnit! Not this again!” The man threw the spoon down into the bowl, hand dragging down over his eyes, all the while WX was still recovering from the disgusting mess that man had the audacity to try and stick in their mouth.
It was something about the thick, oozing texture, something about how it was cold like a corpse, something about the watery stale-oat taste… it was just so revoltingly nasty that WX couldn’t stand it. They’d literally rather starve than eat that.
“THAT was NOT FOOD!” WX screeched at the man, insulted that he’d even tried to put that anywhere near their mouth, “I need something else! Anything else!”
The man glowered down at them, picking up the spoon with another load of the offending porridge, “This is what you’re getting. Eat it or don’t, see if I care.”
“I want a lawyer!” WX snapped back, “This prison is inhumane and unfit to house ANYONE, especially me!”
The man rolled his eyes, sighing heavily.
“You’re not in a prison, you moron.” He told them, “You’re in Miss White’s Asylum for the Insane.”
_