A heaviness is attached to your body. This isn't death and you know because of the soreness that hums in your muscles. With that theory eliminated, you realize the heaviness is an actual physical object. Immediately, your mind latches onto the thought that The Grand Highblood is on top of you, close, looking at you. Your eyes fly open-
No.
They stay closed. Your worst nightmare; thread twisting through your eyelids, rendering you sightless, identical to the bars that imprison your tongue. Two of your five senses have been ostracized, increasing the terror that courses thickly through you. Panic flares your nostrils and you struggle to fight through it. Thoughts crowd your mind, possibilities and explanations, questions and confessions. Things you've never acknowledged about yourself. You should have tried harder for Karkat, maybe volunteered more, tried to get over your mental issues. Did you leave the oven on at home? How nice it would be to crawl into your bed right about now. Has anyone noticed you're gone yet? This isn't real. It never was. You never existed. Reality is but a figment of your imagination.
A voice, wise with having been through this experience, reminds you that calmness is necessary. You take a deep breath to clear away your muddled thoughts. Another to clean them away. Once the dirt and trail of uncontrollable emotions is out of the way, you focus.
Use your fingers.
Warm steel presses smoothly against your fingertips. You are flat, on a table. There are cuffs around your wrists, ankles, forehead and waist. The air licks hotly at your bare skin, your back sticking to the table beneath you with sweat. There is nothing else out of the ordinary in your anatomy; he hasn't done anything to it yet besides his initiation with the needles. A wetness cleaves to the air. Confusedly, there is something resting on your legs, the unknown object you had first noticed. Whatever confines your lower half is extremely hairy. You try to wiggle the tingling in your toes away and, failing, take another deep breath.
What do you smell?
Iron. Perhaps the soggy air is not wet with water but with blood. The various smells of the hemospectrum seize your nose all at once and make you gag as you attempt to comprehend it. Most dominantly, you smell a low blood. The musty stench of liquid bronze. It's everywhere, painted on the walls and cohering to your skin. Maybe you're in a box of blood and rotting carcasses. Maybe you're one of the rotting carcasses. You must stay calm, avoid such ridiculous (though possible) fantasies. You are not a rotting carcass and you are not dead.
Listen.
HONK
Only the hair spread out around your head neglects to stand up in alert. Your lungs trap your breath. You're body turns to gelatin. Soft thuds are heard from afar, but not far enough. As they gradually get louder, your ears prick to attention. Your armpits dampen and your upper lip moistens with sweat. Your nose alone cannot contain your rapid breathing and your ribcage threatens to explode with the pace of your heart. The thuds come even closer. Then they stop. The smell of mixed blood is stronger, heavy breathing bleeding into the crevices of the silence not already occupied by your terror. He's right beside you.
You want to widen your eyes. You want to cry, scream, fight back. You're trapped. The thoughts racing through your head do not omit the fact that you have some pretty shitty luck. The Grand Highblood's voice, deep and intimidating, invades your mind. "Kazkia, why do you look so distressed? I brought you home. Mother fucking home! I'm saving you. Again!" Suddenly there is cool steel slicing quickly between your eyelids. You flinch, causing the small scissors to graze you nose. The Grand Highblood tisks. "Squirming around... Only makes it mother fucking worse!" His voice lashes at you from the inside and as your free eye widens, you see him. Exactly as before. Completely unchanged by the mental care he had undergone and his time, apparently not well spent, in prison.
He looms over you, his face unreadable behind the clown makeup that masks the black tentacles hiding beneath. Purple blood sprays his face in an easy line from his left eye to his chin. His eyebrows are raised and cluttered with metal; you remember looking at them from Mituna's closet. Piercings shroud his face; bars jut from the bridge of his nose and encase each eyebrow, a thick hoop hangs from his septum, silver balls line his cheekbones, and three sharp spikes in a row protrude from below his bottom lip. His earlobes hang almost to his shoulders with the size of his purple gauges. There is a smile that is pointed at you, but you stare into his eyes, taken aback by how normal they seem now that the adrenaline of the capture must have lifted. "Thank you for holding my friend. I'm sure he mother fucking appreciated it!" You had forgotten about whatever was resting on your legs, but he picks it up to remind you. You were right about the brown blood being the most adamant; it drips from the stump on the bottom of Tavros's head. Rufioh will be completely morose when the news reaches him. Gamzee's heart is shattering and you can hear it. Hell, you can even see the sadness in the dead eyes of the head swaying in front of you, the large horns smeared with blood. The Grand Highblood, with one hand tangled in the bodiless head, flicks your innocent friend's small septum piercing with the other. "Look at mother fucking that! We match!" Not without more gigging, he tosses the slobbering decapitated head to the side. The flurry of emotions crowds your brain. The anger takes away your sight again, the horror rendering your entire being frozen, and finally, the abhorrence leaves with your consciousness.
You haven't been out for more than a minute and the table you're still strapped to is now almost vertical with the floor. Your other eye has been released and so you are free to make both of them as wide as consternation will allow and you see a mutated troll. That's the first explanation that you can grasp onto. A hornless troll with hair the color of marshmallows and skin a similar off white. Its head rests on a board, it's hands on either side of it with another board over his neck and wrists, crouched forward. Its eyebrows, the same shade as its hair and eyelashes, are cinched, but that is the only way to tell that its awake; its eyes are still sewn shut. Most disturbing is its mouth; it's held open by hooks jammed through his cheeks. The skin at the corners of his mouth is torn slightly, blood crusting it. Blood that's the same color as yours. Is that what happens to trolls with mutant blood? It doesn't even have ears! What happened? Did his skin fall off? The creature is propped to the side of you, dripping with sweat and trembling slightly. You do not know whether to call it a he or a she because whatever the thing is dangling between its legs is awfully foreign and furry. Or maybe it's an alien. "I need to give him his glasses back; I shan't be mother fucking stealing!" The Grand Highblood explains, slipping a dark pair of shades over the used-to-be troll's eyes. He flinches away from the sudden touch, his trembling increasing. He has wide shoulders pressed against the wood of his trap and thin legs, covered in white hair. Even in this dire situation, you note that the mass amount of hair on this dude is just plain weird.
Your ears prick as The Grand Highblood moves around your table, and then you're shoved forward harshly. "Do you know what that was, Kazkia?" You press your lips together as if they'll start flapping at their own accord. "That's called a mother fucking human. I stole them from their pathetic mother fucking planet that they were destroying. Saving the day again, as usual. What would anyone do with out me?" There is a lot more you know everyone could do without him, but you try not to think about the vast amount of reasons just in case he can read your mind. He pushes you through a dirty hallway lined with doors. His pace is leisurely as he continues to talk. "I know why you think I sew your mouths closed, but you're wrong. None of you mother fucking deserve my religion. I do it because, like mother fucking usual, I'm here to help. And this species needs to shut their grand protein chutes to stop the mother fucking bullshit and lies," The few wane lights ahead that work flicker, the dust in the air floating peacefully easily seen. "But that one... that human had lips too stoic," he stops at a door and begins to dig around his vest pockets. "He has the truth deep motherfucking within him and he keeps it to himself. So I'm teaching him to open his mouth moreand expel the mother fucking truth,"
He yanks a key out of a felt pouch near the hem of his vest and thrusts it into the silver knob. His hand pauses. "You still have much to mother fucking learn. I'm just sorry no one has taught you anything yet," he opens the door and a blaring yellow light blinds you. You are wheeled only a few feet and still blinking back your vision when you are turned and then once again stilled. The whiteness fades and you see The Grand Highblood straining against his seams with a grin. "I wanted to take a detour - a mother fucking wonderful detour! - and show you something," his voice fingers your brain, sending shiver of violation across your skin and leaving tremors of fear that you had thought you had long gotten used to. In all four corners of the room are umbrella lights, shining on another... human. You assume that this one is female to the lack of a... thing... dangling between her legs, just the patch of thick, curly hair.
Piercing the entire outline of her body are, unsurprisingly, hooks, holding her above a giant sheet of paper, as white as the ceramic floor. Skin the color of caramel drips with blood, the same color blood as yours. The human's silhouette of hooks only comes to her shoulders, where it is interrupted by a transparent plastic box, also attached to the ceiling by grungy gray rope. Inside the container, parted only by a plastic wall, are two small rooms; one containing six or seven rats, thin, panting heavily, and the other the girl's head. Beneath her wire rimmed glasses you can see that her eyes are electrified with panic, a brown so deep they're almost black. Budding out over her bottom lip, behind bars of yarn, are two buck teeth. Hair, long, curly, dark brown, is bunched inside the compartment it shares with her head to the side. Inside your own head comes a giddyy tittering, twigs that feed the newly constructed fire of terror inside of you. "They haven't eaten in a mother fucking long time! I thought I'd give them a treat when I got the time. A really good mother fucking feast!" He brings his face away from the rats and towards you. "And you're the mother fucking guest of honor." His voice is low and calm, almost deceivingly sane, as if he really were inviting you over as the guest of honor to an innocent tea party. Only, in this tea party, the strange looking almost-troll is the main course. The Grand Highblood steps around the other side of the alien so he can remove the wall barricading the rats and the human. The frenzy begins.
All at once the rats pounce on the vulnerable extremity. Her body thrusts around wildly, hooks ripping from flesh. Blood paints the paper underneath. Tiny, dirty claws puncture her cheeks, mangled yellow teeth shred them. "She was an animal lover," You watch as the throats of each rat swells with the meat moving smoothly down. Red speckles the rats' snow-white coats. "She didn't actually have anything to learn, I just needed a new piece of artwork," The girl's head moves side to side violently. Occasionally a rat cannot extricate its teeth from her fast enough and are tossed with the rapid movement of her face. Muffled screeches and protesting squeaks fill the room. "I thought this was a creative – a mother fucking artistic way to get my new masterpiece," You can't look away. Oh dear mother grub do you want to, but the tails trailing blood and flicking away stray pieces of pink meat act as a glue. You can't look away. No, no, no, you can't look away.
You sit clenching your fists, unable to move and not just because of the restraints. Eventually, their nails graze bone. The rodents, fat and licking their paws, spread out around the cage, somber and still. The girl sputters, gasps; a few of her threads have broken, tinted red. Her skull is completely revealed, only her gnawed nose completely in tact. Both of her eyeballs have gone missing, stuck in the guts of the ignorant animals. Behind their empty sockets you can see the pulsing gray folds of brain matter. Her glasses hang loosely from one ear, bent. Craters of watery meat shine in the areas of meat that haven't been completely devoured, little of that there is. A leg dangles, unburdened by hooks. Tremors crash through her body, which strains against the new weight change. As she takes shallow breaths, releasing raspy sobs, The Grand Highblood claps pleasurably. "This will make a fine mother fucking piece for my art gallery!" He bends down at the corner of the sheet of paper. There is a series of crackles and a harsh bang as the girl flops to the floor, followed by a wave of rope, hooks and dust. Her back arches as the breath is knocked out of her. The Grand Highblood keels over with laughter, holding his stomach in an almost comical manner. "And now it's a grand mother fucking master piece!"
The girl suddenly stops sobbing. From her comes a throaty, breathless, "No." And it sends the dungeon master into another fit of laughter. Her chest stops moving,"Oh mother fucking yes! This is far more than what I expected, well done, Jade!" Is that her name, Jade? It must be. As The Grand Highblood moves to roll Jade off of the paper, you're able to turn your head away. Immediately, your stomach cinches and sends bile stinging your throat. It bursts between the vice on your lips, dribbling down your chin and from your nose. The rest of it stays on your tongue, making the nausea kick your stomach with a spike in its heel. You have no choice but to swallow it, shivering with the disgusting maneuver. It tastes rancid and feels like slime as it goes back down. "There, look at mother fucking that..." The Grand Highblood purrs, grinning at the blood-splattered paper. You, in fact, do not look at it and instead keep your eyes closed, focusing on not vomiting again. "Aw, Kazkia, you saw it, didn't you? I can't recreate the beauty of what just mother fucking happened," You continue to tense your body, breathing shallowly through your bile laden nostrils. A series of tsks flows through your mind, condescending, and you're rolled away.
You've become numb. The slaughter of Jade still speckles the forefront of your mind. There is nothing inside of you. Even your thoughts are bland and undramatic. No reason to open your eyes any longer, though they twitch with your instinctual need to assess the situation. There is nothing to see, nothing that you want to see. The toys and bones that you're driving through don't want to see you either. You attempt to meditate, focusing on your body, assessing it instead; the bile is crusting, no longer stabbing you with its sour smell, you're breathing normally, your skin pools with sweat, your body vibrates along with the movement of your makeshift vehicle. Whatever happens next is out of your control. Everything is out of your control. Not that you had anything to control anyways.
You offer no reaction when you stop. Another door of horrors is opened, and you only squeeze your eyes. You don't want to know or see what happens next. Your rolled farther into the room then spun around. "Open your eyes, Kazkia, this is where you will be spending the night. Say hello to your roommates!" Your eyelids twitch. "I said mother fucking open your eyes!" Despite your previous refusal, you open your eyes wide. The Grand Highblood glares down at you then moves away, gesturing to the new room. There is yet another human, this one with beige skin. You know it's a female because the only thing between her legs is a patch of stubble. She sits on a small stool leaned against the wall, bare, her small wrists bound behind her and her legs to the chair. Greasy, shoulder-length blonde hair sticks to the sweat sheeting her entire face and body. Her stomach curves outwardly as if she's spent too many years drinking. Beside her, on a table that you can only imagine is similar to yours, is Eridan, propped up. Your eyes widen as they land on the seadweller and you want to shout to him. You want him to look at you. You wish that his eyes weren't sewn closed so that you could make eye contact. Your excitement dies as you realize there's nothing to get excited about. So you see a familiar face. That means nothing, you stupid girl. You look at the ground. "Well that was mother fucking interesting!" You glare at the ground now, mentally cursing this insane fucking clown. "I wish all of you sweet dreams," He says, and you watch as he uncurls a mattress in the opposite corner of the room. He strips off his vest and his shirt as well as his pants and collapses onto the mattress in only his boxers. The wane yellow light above you still shines. Is he afraid of the dark?
I got rid of the chapter titles because, while this is supposed to be super cheesy, chapters with corny titles are just pointless. It also wouldn't hurt to leave comments or criticism, anything really. Hurt a lot LESS actually, if you ask me. Hope this didn't offend or scare anyone and instead caused you some kind of weird pleasure :o)