Prologue:
Quiet clicking sounds of metal filled the room. Its walls were immaculately white, looking as if it had just been freshly painted. Even the white tiles of the floor seemed to shine.
The room's occupants were all gathered in a circular formation. They were dressed in robes as white as the room itself. They were covered from head to toe with not a single hair peeking from their disposable head caps. In their gloved hands were a variety of cutting instruments and different syringes holding various types of chemicals.
In the middle of the circle was none other than a young girl who looked to be no older than eleven. She was sitting in a metallic chair with her head firmly held in place by a metal ring connected to the chair, and her hands bound to its arms in order to prevent her from moving about in her unconscious state. Her bald head was cut open, showing her brain for the white-clad people to see.
Unlike the rest of the room, the girl's exposed head was red with blood. It was a morbid scene, really. Her brain seemed to beat in a steady pulse not unlike her heartbeat. It was disgusting- she was disgusting. The people who prodded her brain were all disgusting.
One of the workers went outside their circle and started to prepare instruments that would be used to seal her skullcap back into place, along with surgical threads and needles. He stopped for a moment to look at the child. His eyes softened, and he let himself frown behind his surgical mask as he looked at her in pity.
He shook his head.
It didn't matter how disgusting the act was now, after all, the only remembrance she'll ever have from the surgery would be a nice halo of stitch on her bare head.
The people around her stayed silent as they worked with precision that can only be acquired from doing the same job a hundred of times. Other than the clicking of the metal instruments, the muffled noise coming from her oxygen mask, and the constant beeping of the heart monitor attached to her, everything was silent.
Now only if her head would stop being so damn loud.
Harder, and harder the boy bit his lips. He wanted to shout, to scream out due to the pain, but he refused. He wanted to show them- no, he had to show them all how much pain he can endure, so that hopefully they will stop soon. And so, despite the pain he felt, his face refused to give away a hint of emotion.
His black hair clung to his face as it became matted with sweat. His blue eyes unreadable behind the old glasses he wore. Just a little bit more.
"Turn it higher," a muffled voice from a brown haired man behind a glass wall said.
The person's companion just merely nodded and turned his attention to the complex-looking control panel in front of him before turning a huge black knob clockwise, sending a hundred Del of pain to the boy through the black straps connected to his tiny arms, legs, and torso. He watched as the little boy behind the glass squirmed in his chair, under undeniable pain.
They would have to stop soon, he tries to comfort himself as his breathing became more labored. I hope they stop soon.
He banged his bandaged head backwards on the chair as he felt the amount of pain going higher and higher. He managed to bite his lip hard enough to draw out blood. His felt his glasses slip away from his face due to all the sweat, making his vision blurry as he stared stoically at the two white-clad men from the other side of the glass.
He did good, or at least he thought he did. His (lack of)reaction, however did not seem to please the brown haired man.
"Oh, give me that," the man pushed his companion aside and turned the black knob until the knob refused to turn, signaling that the knob had already reached it's highest peak.
The boy had to scream at this. It was painful, way too painful even for his supposedly modified high pain tolerance.
"Giuseppe! Stop that!" The brown-haired man's companion shouted. "Our job to to test the kid's pain tolerance, not to kill him."
"Shut it, Donato," Giuseppe retorted. "If he dies, then that simply means that he's a failed one."
"We're not supposed to kill important specimens, it would take us years to replicate the abilities of this boy."
"Tsk," Giuseppe knew that he was defeated. "Fine."
Donato opened the door labeled 'Pain Simulator' as Giuseppe turned off the device.
"You did good, kid," Donato lightly patted the asian boy's hair. "Just a little bit more."
Just a little bit more. The boy glared at the sound of those words. Those words had been his mantra for so long already. Perhaps it was the time to give up on those words.
He shook his head at the thought, ridding himself of the doubt inside him. He had to live. He had to endure.
Just a little bit more.
Dark and damp. Those words would be the first to describe the room. The room was also filthy, with its wall paint chipping at different places mixed with dried reddish-brown liquid that looked suspiciously like blood.
Animalistic growls filled the small, and cramped room. The said sound's source was none other than a young blonde boy lying and strapped on a metal table, constricting his movements.
On his arms were various tubes imbedded on his skin with sterile needles. Each tube seemed to contain different chemicals, most of the liquids looked like acids that could easily eat away his veins.
He felt his muscles contract, and his bones move and rearrange in a slow, agonizing pace. He bit his lips and tasted blood as his sharpened canines pierced through his chemical filled skin.
It hurt like hell. He wanted to kick, he wanted to flail, he wanted to thrash around. He wanted to be free, but he's not stupid, he knows that freedom was still a faraway dream for him. He wanted to do so much, but he can't. And so, he was reduced to making animalistic noises whenever he felt the need to thrash due to the pain.
He hated his growls. He hated himself. He hated the people who made him this way.
He wanted to stop.
I want to go home.
The thought made him stop squirming for a while. He felt heat fill his eyes. He saw his vision blurring.
Tears pooled on his eyes before falling freely. His tears weren't one of pain, but of loneliness and confusion. He wanted to go home...
But...
Where exactly is home?
Five years, two months, three weeks, six days, sixteen hours, thirty four minutes, and a few seconds. He's been counting- not that accurately, of course. But he's counting.
He could feel his right eye getting gently tugged out of his eye socket, but still connected to him by a thin lines of nerves? ...skin? He did not know. It did not scare him anymore, he's already used to this. In the span of five years, he's already done this five times. Besides... His body was already drugged with anesthesia that was supposed to knock him out, although he thinks that it's doing a pretty shitty job at keeping him unconscious considering the fact that he is still aware of his surroundings.
But no matter, at least he can't feel the pain of the surgery they were performing on him, the pain on his heart, however, was a different matter all together.
The doctors' hands were gentle, they had to be in order to not destroy five years worth of research by accidentally pulling his pretty little red eye out.
For a little while, he was reminded of the gentle touch of his mother. The way she would run her fingers through his blue hair, the way she would hug him whenever he would go home crying due to some childish feuds, and the way that she would kiss him goodnight as she wishes him sweet dreams.
He was brought back to reality when he felt his eye getting tugged a little harder than what was needed. Through the mess consisting of the reprimanding shouts of the other surgeons, he remembered.
He doesn't have a mother anymore. The only thing running through his hair was a piece of metal locking his little ten year old head, the only thing hugging him was a bundle of chains wrapped around him in case he 'woke' up from the anesthesia-induced sleep, and the only thing kissing him were the gloved hands of those pathetic excuse of a human that they call scientists.
He did not even dream anymore... Why should he when his days were already a living nightmare?
The noise of the surgeons soon died out, until only the beeping of the heart monitor connected to him remained.
In silence, he continued counting. Five years, two months, three weeks, six days, sixteen hours, fifty minutes, and three seconds... four seconds... five...
And in a month, his eye would finally heal from his last surgery. Add another month to that and he would be sure to master the new ability that his eye would give him.
Two months, all in all.
...And in two months, he would escape.
Finally.
Welp. I've finally posted this. Hoorah!
Anyways, this prologue is set five years before canon!KHR buttttt the first chapter of this story would start ten years before canon. Oh, and this would probably be darker than the original KHR since it would start at a pre-canon Estraneo arc.
Yes, this is a MukuroxOC, but it would focus more on well... the family and friendship between them(I mean Mukuro, Ken and Chikusa). I would also include lots and lots of Ken and Chikusa because I absolutely love them and I think that they're horribly underrated. It would more or less stay as MukuroxOC unless, y'know... the readers decide that they would want a different pairing(as long as it's a possible one)
Oh, and don't worry. My next chapters wouldn't be this short (hopefully...?)
- romeoandcinderella