This was written for a close friend of mine who requested Jack/Big Daddy non-con. There's violence too. And blood.
I don't condone rape or anything of that nature.
Borrowing the title from Fight Club.
I am Jack's Raging Bile Duct.
The radio on his belt crackled into life.
"You know, boyo,"Jack gritted his teeth at the over-exaggerated curve in Fontaine's voice. "All that 'would you kindly' business. You weren't the first. We needed to know that it would work before we tried it out on our little Jacky-boy now didn't we?"
Jack's feet didn't slow as he moved through the Little Wonders facility. He could hear the scratch of metal against the ceiling and every so often a shadow flickered over his head, but he didn't stop, he needed EVE. He had just enough, along with ammo, to last him through a fight if he needed to, but he wasn't going to take any chances.
"It was successful, you know. Worked a treat. We spent hours with him. Seeing just how far we could push him. And you know what we found? He'd do anything. Just like you did. You remember that time you killed your own puppy, just like Suchong asked? I don't suppose you do. This guy, we had him killing men, women, even Big Daddies at three simple words."
Through the atrium, up a flight of stairs, Optimized Eugenics. Fontaine dropped his Atlas mask.
"And you know what, kid? He's still here. He's still playin' to our tune too."
Round a corner. Through a door.
"He's not 100% like he used to be, sure. What with that big diving suit he wears now-"
Desks, nothing. Cabinets, nothing. Mangled corpses, nothing.
"-What we did to you, you should think yourself lucky. Having your organs ripped out and grafted into a diving suit? What kind of life is that? Not that this guy minded. Nothing a little 'would you kindly' couldn't fix."
There was a deep chuckle and something else that was almost lost through the radio's static and Atlas was back momentarily.
"What's science if you're not going to have a little fun, eh, boyo."
Jack was barely listening. He could hear the slow, dull thumping that he'd learned to recognise. Big Daddy. Ignoring the radio he cocked his head, brow creasing, straining. Listening out for a Little Sister. I can see angels dancing in the sky … Mmm, I'm ready for dream time Mr B … Wake up Mr Bubbles! Wake up! But nothing. If there was a Sister then maybe any Splicers could be distracted until he'd found a hypo and could get some of the ADAM for himself but … just the dull stomps of a Daddy. Jack pressed on. There had to be a hypo somewhere.
"... and I'm pretty sure he'd like to meet you. Would you kindly?"
Jack had left the office into the hallway and ha! There- just beyond that bloodied corpse, two Splicers fighting over a glowing blue hypo. He kept to the shadows as he stalked closer, the hissing laughter on the radio not even registering as he raised his shotgun. The almost rhythmic sound of the Big Daddy got louder and the Splicers heard, looked up, distracted briefly and caught glimpse of Jack, crouched and aiming. He took his chance, sending out an electro-bolt to stun the closer and shooting the other, blowing away half his skull and rendering his body useless. Re-loading before the stun effect wore off, he raised the shotgun and fired again, blasting shrapnel through the second Splicer's chest and sending him crashing into the wall.
Jack leapt forward for the forgotten hypo, left arm already outstretched, ready for injecting, when his senses caught up with him. The thudding has grown louder and the footfalls had grown faster. The floor beneath his knees was shaking harder with every step.
But there wasn't a Sister. Jack hadn't heard a Little Sister. And the Big Daddy was coming from behind him, he was certain that he hadn't shot in the direction of one and -
"Shit! Shit, fuck!"
Jack had looked over his shoulder and then ducked, just avoiding the heavy drill of the charging Daddy, which went just over his head. Jack span around, clambering to his feet as the Daddy fought to wrench his drill from the wall.
What the- Jack's thoughts had been confused enough as it was recently – Atlas, Fontaine, Ryan and now, now Big Daddies were glowing red and charging him for no reason.
Wait, no, what had Fontaine been saying over the radio just now, he'd mentioned Big Daddies … no, a Big Daddy. A Big Daddy, grafting, organs … grafting organs. 'Would you kindly?' A Big Daddy and 'would you kindly?' and fuck, Fontaine's got a Big Daddy under his control and he's got no EVE now, thanks to those Splicers and he's short on ammo. Fuck.
Jack skittered through a puddle of blood and something equally unpleasant as he heard the definite steps of the Big Daddy turning and he cried out internally as he fell onto his hands and knees in the stuff, something soft squelching between his fingers and the floor and the Daddy was charging again and there wasn't the whirring of the drill this time but a whooshing as something was pulled through the air and now Jack's face was in the mess of body fluid and there was an intense, dizzying pain shooting through his skull. The rivet gun, the Daddy had just cracked his head with a rivet gun.
Jack lifted his head out of the muck, spitting out the blood that had managed to seep into his mouth. His hair was clotted and his hands slipped as he tried to lift himself up. The Daddy was behind him … motionless. Not completely, the sound of the spinning drill had returned and Jack nearly dropped his head back to the floor, resigning altogether. Now the Daddy was just toying with him.
"Now, now, play nice," Atlas was back. "You don't want to break him now, you've only just met."
Jack was on his knees. His head had been tipped back and his eyes closed. He had been ready for the blow of the Daddy's drill, ready to just stop. His eyes opened and his head tilted forward at the sound of the radio. He eyed it on his belt. Fucking Fontaine. He couldn't let it be easy. After all of this, after everything. He was going to draw it out.
"We wanted to see if we could breed them. So we saved a few parts, tried out a few female subjects, it didn't turn out so well."
Jack could feel the cold blood soaking into his jeans.
"Women, heh, what are they good for?"
Jack ignored the thick red drops that intermittently fell from the hair that hung in front of his face. His eyes were unfocused, somewhere on the tiled floor beside the foot of the misshapen Splicer who's blood he could taste. Dull throbs reminded him in the back of his mind of the hit he had taken already and the slow whirring of a drill reminded him that there was more to come.
Again, Atlas was swapped for Fontaine.
"This guy, he's got the saved parts. And boy, Jack, are you about to find out."
Something clicked in Jack. His eyebrows furrowed and the metaphorical light bulb in his brain flashed on. Organs. Saved parts. Grafting organs into diving suits. A ghost. Two ghosts. Seeing your breath cloud up and ice and crates and you don't fuck Fontaine. Fontaine fucks you!
"What do you say, Daddy? Want to have some fun?"
Jack swayed for a moment before he lurched forward onto his hands and kicked his knees out, boots slipping, trying to find purchase on the wet tiles. Jack almost thought he had a chance before "would you kindly stop the fucker" the Daddy moved again and brought his huge gloved fist down on Jack's back, slamming his body into the floor. The air was punched out of his lungs and his head rang as his teeth clacked together when his chin met the floor. He reached forward, hands on the cold surface of the tiles that weren't stained red, dragging his body through the mess but thick fingers wrapped around his ankle and easily pulled him back.
"He's not gonna kill you, Jack. He's just going to teach you a lesson in obedience."
Jack kicked at the Daddy with his other foot, writhing to get away and only managing to soak up more of the congealing Splicer blood.
You don't fuck Fontaine. Fontaine fucks you.
A stray kick landed on the Daddy's helmet and it growled as it brought the fist holding Jack up into the air, pulling Jack backwards, so he loses his balance on the ground. The Daddy threw Jack's ankle and instead took hold of the neck of Jack's sweater. Jack grabbed at the material, choking as he was pulled to his feet and then slammed into a wall. Dazed, he fell backwards but he was again grabbed and forced against the wall. Wincing at the small cut he'd just bitten into his lip, he tried not to stagger backwards again.
Not much ammo, but where the fuck was (you don't fuck Fontaine) his shotgun? And the hypo, where was the hypo now?
"Enough foreplay, would you kindly get your cock out and fuck the son of a bitch already?"
Jack tried to twist away from the wall. Resigning, giving up, was one thing. Death would have been a blessing at this point. He would embrace it, gladly. Rape? He'd rather have that metal fist drill his face through the wall in front of him.
The Daddy caught the material of Jack's sweater with his one hand and then jerked his drill straight into the wall by Jack's left side, through Jack's sweater, pinning him there.
Jack could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, although he couldn't be sure that it wasn't blood. Whether it was his or the dead Splicer's, he was also unsure.
He ducked and started tugging on his sleeves when he heard the clack-clack-clack of a thick zip. Horror had him frozen for all but a second before his movements started again, faster, hasty, erratic and he almost had an arm free but the Daddy slammed his body against Jack's, rubber and metal against the thin defences of his own clothing. He couldn't move, the Daddy was crushing him against the wall, hardly allowing him to breath. The huge gloved hand pushed itself over Jack's chest though, moving southward and Jack struggled all he could, desperate, his body not giving up this time but in the back of his mind there was a darkness that knew. And the darkness kept repeating and the voice was ever changing and it was Fontaine fucks you! You don't fuck Fontaine, Fontaine fucks you! and it was going on and on and it was the ghost and it was the Splicers and it was Ryan and Suchong and Tenenbaum and Atlas and his own damn voice inside his head, Fontaine. Fucks. You.
The Daddy didn't bother with buttons or zips, it just yanked the denim down and then the cotton underwear, tearing and exposing. The hand moved behind him and Jack shivered, just managing to contain a choked gasp at the coldness of the gloves that touched his skin. His hands were planted stiffly against the wall, either side of his head and he kept his legs pressed tightly together, clenched with tension when he felt the large fingers pressing his cheeks, pulling. A heavy boot knocked one of Jack's legs away and he slipped, falling down the wall, tearing his sweater and a large leg pressed against Jack's, keeping him open as the Daddy's hand left his naked skin and reached for his own.
"I said we were going to teach him a lesson, not that we were going to kill him, which you might with your equipment. Would you kindly prep him?" Fontaine sounded half exasperated and half impatient. And there was something else biting at the edge of his voice.
Jack pressed his forehead and clenched his eyes shut. Sick fucking bastard. Fontaine was watching this. He was enjoying it.
Jack heard the groaning of the diving suit as the Daddy crouched and there was a slicking sound. Jack glanced a look behind him and saw that the dirty glove was now covered with a crimson sheen and – he felt the bile rising, burning his throat and he instinctively tried to swallow it back down.
The round tip of the glove pressed and pushed against his opening and Jack's teeth clenched at the tug he felt when the finger slipped and found what it was looking for. The Daddy shifted closer and the finger pressed in without pre-tense and Jack could taste the blood of either the Splicer or his split lip and it hurt, it felt like tearing or fire and he refused to think about the Splicer's body fluid down there and the fact that he was almost grateful that there was something making the burn a little easier to handle and his eyes felt hot and itchy. The finger started moving then, in and out and back in again and it was so fucking wide and it became all Jack could concentrate on, just the size of it and the pain was lessening and he hated it. As long as the pain was there then so was the anger and he could remember what this was. It was Fontaine.
Jack started up again when the finger retreated, tried again to wriggle out of his sweater, despite the voice that was still on loop – Fontaine. Fontaine. Fontaine. The Big Daddy grasped the hairs on the back of Jack's head and pulled it back before slamming it forward and he crumpled.
Jack's mind was as hazy as his vision and he blinked at the red spatters on the wall in front of him. He could feel warmth on his upper lip and then on his lower lip and then movement between his legs. Something much bigger than that gloved finger was prodding at him and he didn't need a clear mind to know what it was.
As it pushed inside he felt the dams break and his eyes blurred and a wetness spread over his cheeks. The bile rose again and Jack couldn't help but cry out as the Daddy shoved in further, practically taking him dry. The thin layer of blood wasn't enough. There wasn't any fight left in him as he sagged against the wall. Just let it finish, make it stop, get it over with, get it over with, get it over with, make it stop …
He was aching and stretched and there was something else (Son, you're special), crackling, (you were born to do great things), it was as though Fontaine was laughing through the radio, but it wasn't a hissing sound, it was smoother, closer.
Then it was moving back. And forth. And back. And forth. It was getting easier, the Daddy's flesh wasn't catching on Jack's skin as much and there was something warm trickling down Jack's thigh, the inside of his knee and he knew that he was (Son) torn inside and (you're special) he heard it again, there was laughing and he wasn't imagining it. Barely lifting his head from the wall, he looked to his side, to the shadows where the Splicers with the hypo had been arguing. There were another two, maybe three Splicers, watching from the darkness, tittering between themselves, behind masks, scars, open and ugly across the parts of their faces that weren't hidden. He felt his skin crawl at the voyeurism. This little fish looks like he just had his cherry popped!
Jack dropped his eyes again, cheeks pink from shame and exertion and he grunted as the Daddy started moving faster and faster, squeezing more tears from Jack. The huge hand came and held onto Jack's hip and started pulling him down, meeting each thrust and making them harder and harder to ignore, Jack was being consumed by it, his mind blocking out everything but the constant pressure that pounded against him from the inside and he couldn't stop the bile this time, it came and it came and all he could do was move his head to the side and the acid burned his mouth but it washed away the taste of copper.
The drill in the wall started turning then, slowly at first, but getting faster and faster as the Daddy increased speed and then one, two, three, four more hard, deliberate thrusts and the Daddy faltered, he stilled and Jack knew that if he'd had anything else in his stomach he would be throwing up again because he could feel it, hot and sticky, filling him up and he was squashed under the Daddy's great weight, he was pinned and trapped and exhausted and he knew that as soon as the Daddy left the Splicers in the dark would kill him and he didn't care. He was broken.
You don't fuck Fontaine. Fontaine fucks you.
oh god that was intense :|