Work Text:
Multi could hear his own heart beating in his chest. He stumbles toward the nearest can of toxic waste and rips the lid off, staring at the glowing, radioactive green substance inside. His hands tremble as he reaches for the gas mask on his face, slowly unfastening it and lowering it. The pungent smell of chemicals immediately hits his nose, and he takes a deep breath.
“It only takes one can to do it, and this will all be over…”
He moves his face closer to the substance, both of his hands on each side of the can for support. The smell is stronger, unpleasant, but he feels that he has to endure it.
“They all want me gone.” There’s pain in his voice, but his lips involuntarily curl into a slight smile. “Nobody believes in me.”
His mind gets cloudier, darker, a million thoughts race through his head.
“I should fulfill their dream.”
He doesn’t break his gaze from the substance, as if he’s mesmerized, like it’s calling to him…
Logically, he knows not everyone on the island is against him. He has Nacho, Katie, Aldo, Quackity — but in these episodes he has, that doesn’t matter. His judgement is clouded, and all he can focus on is how he’s been rejected, abandoned, by those he thought he could trust. Not only that, but the fact that people he was never even involved with want him dead too. If they can’t see any hope for him that they want to resort to killing him, why should he continue? He can’t see an end to this, except to end his own life.
Before he could fully succumb, his trance is broken by a sudden beeping noise coming from his watch.
“Warning, surrounding toxin levels high.”
He blinks, and turns to look at the watch on his wrist where the voice is coming from.
It repeats. “Warning, surrounding toxin levels high.”
Focusing on the beeping and the voice gradually quiets down his thoughts.
“Warning, surrounding toxin levels high.”
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“Kurwa mać!”
He slams his fist on the side of the can. Breaking away from his trance, he suddenly becomes hyperaware of the chemical smell, making his nose scrunch up in disgust. He puts his gas mask back on, and takes deep breaths of the clean air.
“Warning, surrounding toxin levels high.”
“Shut up!” He yells, throwing the lid back onto the can, sealing it up. Then backs away, tense, still breathing heavily.
The watch stops beeping.
He sighs. “I shouldn’t make such rash decisions, especially not in a state like that… Besides, it’s not me that should die, it should be him!”
He turns his hopelessness into anger.
“Even if nobody believes in me, they’re all wrong! It’s their fault for being heretics!”
He goes back into his office to collect his thoughts.“Kurwa, now I’ve fucked myself with radiation. Great huh!”
He sits at his desk, rubbing his temples. “At least it’s not the permanent strand… It will go away soon. I just need to rest.”
A clipboard with a letter he set on his desk catches his eye. He knows why it’s there, what’s written on it, but he doesn’t want to read it. It’s his suicide note. He wrote it while he was having very dark, intense thoughts, and he didn’t want to be brought back to that state by reading it. He picks it up, careful to not look at the words he’s written down an hour ago. He glances at the trash can, then to the drawer.
He figures he doesn’t need it now, but he may need it again another time.
He puts it face down in his drawer and makes a mental note of where it is, for emergencies. For when he finally gets the courage, as he would think.
Before he could let his thoughts wander, a message pops up on his computer. Sent from… Needyourblood.
He sure as hell didn’t send himself a message.
“Fucking clone, why now?!” He forces himself to open the message. He’s not in the mood for it, but it could be something important.
“1203 x -8603 ;)”
It’s a set of coordinates.
“What now, you want me to go on a fucking trip!”
Multi groans and leans back in his chair, feeling like he’s getting more of a headache. “And what’s with the fucking winking face!”
He hesitantly gets up and gathers his things to go outside.
“You want to see me, I’ll fucking show you what I’m like.”
…
Multi gets to the coordinates without too much trouble, and there he finds a rectangular base made of white concrete.
He lets out a small chuckle. “This is where you live?”
He cautiously opens the door and peeks inside, seeing there’s a desk, a few chests, and nobody else there.
He fully opens the door and lets himself inside.
After taking only a few steps from the door, a trap is activated beneath him. Cage walls emerge from the ground, trapping Multi inside.
Before he could react, he hears the door of the base open behind him and he turns around. He sees what looks like an exact reflection of himself, his clone, standing at the door.
“So you were stupid enough to actually come here!” The clone laughs. “You arrived so quickly too, it’s like you’re excited to see me.”
It’s weird hearing his own voice come from someone else.
“You will regret giving me the location of your pathetic little base!”
“What will you do about it when you’re stuck in a cage like a fucking dog?”
Multi looks at his surroundings, he recognizes the cage and the small interface pad outside of it. He has made this exact trap.
When the realization hits, his ears start ringing.
“This cage? This trap that I made?” His thoughts are racing again. “You’re nothing but a copycat, a copy of me!”
“And somehow I do it better!” The clone walks closer to the cage and looks Multi in his eyes. “You may be the original, I can do everything you can but better, and there can only be one Multi.”
Each taunt makes Multi’s brain messier and more intense.
“You think you’re better? When you’re stupid enough to use my own tech against me?” He laughs. “You’re nothing but a second-rate, trying hard, copycat!”
He reaches his hand in between the bars of the cage, resting his palm on the interface pad.
“Biometrics verified; Doctor Multi.”
The cage walls lower back into the ground.
The smile fades from the clone’s face and he backs away, but not fast enough to avoid Multi lunging at him and pinning him to the floor with a dagger to his neck.
The clone struggles trying to free himself, to no avail.
“You’ve been running around this fucking island trying to pit everyone against me, what, because you can’t do it yourself? You need everyone to want me dead too?”
Multi’s heart was pounding in his chest.
“Isn’t it right that they all want to work with me and not you?” The clone manages to smile mockingly. “They already like me better, and you’ll be all alone.”
Hearing that triggered unpleasant thoughts in Multi’s head.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I am your god, I created you, I gave you life, and now I’m going to take it back!”
He slits the clone’s throat and blood immediately sprays from the wound.
He’s still moving. Instinctively, the clone tries to cover the wound with his hands, but it doesn't do much.
Multi’s thoughts are clouded. He raises his dagger with both hands to plunge it into the clone’s chest, then again, and again, and again… Blood spills onto the white tiles, some of it splashing onto Multi as he aggressively shoves the dagger in and out of the clone’s body.
He doesn’t stop even when the clone’s hands fall limp.
Multi drops the dagger next to him and pauses to catch his breath, breathing heavily, staring at his own corpse beneath him. His body untensed, knowing there’s no more resistance.
His eyes trail from the stab wounds on the clone’s chest, the deep cut on his neck, to his mouth, slightly agape, and to his wide, rolled back eyes. His brows are furrowed in pain.
He doesn’t look peaceful, quite the opposite actually. But to Multi, this sight in front of him looked… Beautiful.
He continued to stare at the body, thinking, “Is this what I would’ve looked like dead?” While his breathing and heart rate slowly regulate, his hand reaches to gently touch the clone’s face.
His hands trail down to the wound on his neck, soaking his fingers in blood.
He hasn’t fed on blood in a long time — that’s why he always faints.
Even though his clone was also a vampire, he was desperate. He slowly lowers his face to make his mouth meet with the wound, and he licks it. A small moan escaped his lips, the taste of human blood was more favorable, but he hasn’t had any blood in such a long time that this was like ecstasy to him. Knowing it was his own blood added to his pleasure as well.
He presses his lips onto the wound, sucking up all the blood still coming out of it. There’s still so much of it that it drips down his chin. He can feel the warm fluid filling his mouth, and going down his throat.
While his mouth is busy, his hands trail across his clone’s body, from his face to his chest, stopping at every stab wound he touches to gently prod at it with his finger. It feels warm, wet, and he loves it.
When he’s satisfied, he sits upright, still straddling his clone. He admires the work he’s done to his genetic copy, and imagining it being him instead.
He closed the corpse’s eyes with his hand. It pleases him to know that if he were to die, even if it were a violent death, he would be more beautiful than if he were alive — at least he thinks so.
He wipes the blood from his mouth and chin with his sleeve.
He’s still breathing heavily, not anymore because of his anxiety, but because of how aroused he is from the sight in front of him.
He touches his clone’s lips, gently pushing his thumb into its mouth, feeling around the wet cavern and pressing down on its tongue. It didn’t have a forked tongue like he did, since it was a modification he did on himself and not a trait that could be carried over genetically.
He then dragged his finger over the clone’s sharp canines, not pressing too hard on it to avoid piercing his skin. His own teeth looked just like this.
He slowly leaned down again to press his lips onto the clone’s. They were soft — it charmed him more to know that kissing himself would feel this good. He held its jaw open to push his tongue in, the two ends of his tongue moving independently of each other to explore its mouth, licking its tongue and teeth.
The way that the clone — the corpse he’s kissing — isn’t responding to what he’s doing makes it even more appealing to him.
He lets out little moans and groans, feeling himself become more aroused. The thought of doing these things to his genetic copy made a million more fantasies enter his head. After all, he was only attracted to genetically perfect beings — himself. If his clone didn’t choose to go against him, maybe he would have treated him like a lover.
He pulled away, softening his grip on its jaw to gently cup its cheek. He observes the green vein lines it has trailing from its eyes to its cheeks, just like what he has. It was an effect of radiation on both of them.
He sits up, and starts unbuttoning the clone’s shirt to better look at the stab wounds he inflicted on it. He counts them… 16 stab wounds. He’s not proud of how impulsively aggressive he was, but the result did look amazing. It was barely a chest anymore, just holes and more holes, all red.
Multi undoes his belt and pants, letting his hard, pierced cock spring free. He puts his tip right up to the stab wound on the center of the clone’s chest, and presses into it.
He slowly inserts his full length into the wound. It’s wet, warm, and tight. It was the best, most pleasurable environment for a cock to be in. He gets into missionary position, and starts out gently thrusting into the wound.
It’s loud, the squelching, Multi’s soft moaning and grunting with every thrust, drowning out the humming of the fluorescent lights — which were previously the only thing audible.
Multi was a little sick in the head, but even he knew that what he was doing in that moment was fucked up. He couldn’t resist it, seeing a reflection of himself vulnerable, lifeless, at his disposal, he couldn’t not do anything with it.
A part of him wished for that reflection to be himself, for him to experience it with his own body. Seeing his identical genetic copy die by his own hands makes him imagine himself in its place.
At the same time, he believed the only thing deserving of sharing physical intimacy with him was himself. He didn’t have a chance to do anything like this before with anyone else, nor did he even want to. But seeing how pretty his clone looked — how he looked — it was even better than looking at himself in the mirror. He could touch it, interact with it, do anything he wanted with it — and that he did.
As he was getting closer to his climax, he clenched his fists, moaning slightly louder and thrusting more aggressively.
His eyes shut in pleasure. “God, I’m so fucked, this is why people want to kill me…”
His breath hitched as he came into the wound, thrusting deeply one last time. He could feel his cock pulsating, and he emptied himself before pulling out, opening his eyes and looking to see his lower regions covered in blood.
He got off of the clone and sat next to it, catching his breath. The floor he was sitting on was covered in blood but he didn’t care.
He looked at the body. It stayed still — as a dead body would, but it was mesmerizing to him.
He wished that was all done to him instead.
After a moment, he put his — now soft — cock back in his underwear and zipped his pants up. He didn’t have anything to wipe the blood off with so he thought he’ll just wash it when he gets home. He’s already covered in blood all over anyway.
His breathing regulates. But before he gets up, he pulls his camera from his inventory and snaps pictures of the body, at a distance and up close, the whole torso, zooming in on the details of the wounds, photos of its face in different angles… He moves its lips apart with his fingers to get photos of its teeth. Opens its eyes back up to get pictures of those. Multi rearranges its hair a little in between shots to make sure it looks good. What’s he going to use these photos for? That’s between him and God — well, himself.
He grabs his dagger from the floor and puts it back in his inventory along with the camera. He sighs. “Come on now…”
He picks up the body and hoists it over his shoulder.
“Let’s bring you back to the lab.”