Rated M for a brief description of a suicide attempt and mention of self-harm.
Ichor stared at the ceiling. The plain white hurt his eyes. It was a normal ceiling, and most people would only notice the color and flat texture—but not him. He'd been staring at this ceiling for more than a decade.
When you looked long enough, the ceiling was actually a little rougher than at first glance. It cast minuscule shadows across its surface, more noticeable when the light was on. It usually wasn't, though—so the shadows were dimmer, harder to find. But they were there.
He'd counted every crack, every crevice, every slight bump or deformity.
He'd counted it all well over a thousand times. He wasn't the best at math he supposed, though, and since he'd stared at it for so long, it was probably well over a thousand, considering how many days were in a year and how many times a day he counted the ceiling.
He sighed. How pathetic. And how absolutely boring.
Ichor turned his head, looking around the room. He's observed the room as well thousands of times, and could picture everything exactly in his mind. A cabinet sat beside him, with all the dumb doctor stuff inside. They'd taken out most things though, after the one…incident.
He frowned. He still remembered how the needle had felt going into his arm, the overdose spreading through his blood, the minutes after when his heart had sped up until it hurt, how his head spun and the blackness started to cover his vision. The terrifying, yet thrilling pain of his heart stopping.
He'd been hopeful and numb at the same time. He'd barely registered when the doctors and nurses had arrived, when they'd realized what he'd done, and he didn't remember getting revived by them.
Ichor scowled. If only they hadn't kept him alive. If only they'd let him die. Then he wouldn't be in this dreary place, this plain old boring room, unable to move and only lie here pathetically.
After that incident, they'd moved him briefly to a mental hospital, to 'help' him. But it was just so he couldn't try something like that again. That room had been even more boring, with white walls and nothing in the room but a bed. Anything 'dangerous' had been taken out. The single, small window had been barred like a jail cell, and the metal padded door was always locked at night. Most of the 'patients' there could roam around in the day, but he never did—one because he couldn't move, and two because he hated people. And he didn't trust them.
The doctors had moved him back to the city hospital a few weeks later. But now the doctors here watched him more closely, monitored his every move. It was both infuriating and made his anxiety spike.
He looked at the window. The shades were shut, like he liked it to be. He hated to think of the world. He wanted to shut it away, to forget.
But it never left.
The light still shown through the cracks, and he could hear sounds from outside. And every time he closed his eyes, memories started to shove their way to the front of his mind. Every time he slept, nightmares assaulted him. Most of the time he didn't even remember them when he woke up, but it terrified him. He knew the nightmares were of his past, but he couldn't even remember his past—he'd blocked those memories off a long time ago.
He sighed quietly, then closed his eyes, grimacing. He waited a few seconds, then tried to move his legs.
Nothing happened.
As usual.
Despair bit at him, and he shut his eyes tighter to hold in the tears. He could move his arms and head with effort, but his legs were still as useless as they'd been since…since he'd been murdered.
He was working on that, though.
He picked up a book that sat beside him on the bed, flipping it open to the bookmark. Maybe reading would take his mind off things. This particular book was on ancient serpentine interrogation techniques. It had been quite interesting.
Imagine the pain one could inflict? Imagine what some of these techniques could do to Garmadon.
He laughed, smirking darkly. He liked to imagine, daydream, doing some of the things he'd read about to Garmadon. He was probably living happily with that girl, having forgotten all about him. He grit his teeth. That dimwit would pay.
The door creaked open.
He tensed, gaze snapping to the open doorway.
Ashley, one of the nurses, walked in. She smiled. "Good afternoon, sir. How are you doing today?" Her blond, yellow hair hung loosely over her shoulders, and she held a clipboard in one hand. She was young, only in her late teens.
Ichor scowled, heart picking up speed. He chucked the book at her. "Go away!"
She expertly ducked. "Please don't throw the books. They come from the library." She picked it up and smiled at him again, chuckling. "Thanks for the hello, though." She walked towards him. "I'm just here to check on you. Do you need anything?"
He tensed more when she came closer. "No. Get out!"
"I will in a minute. You aren't lonely at all in here, all by yourself?"
"Nope." He briefly considered chucking her out with his power, but his power was a secret. And it had to stay that way—they'd kick him out, and then he really would be defenseless. Or, Wu and Garmadon would find out he was here. That couldn't happen.
"Hmm. Well, Patient 661, you seem to be doing well. I guess my checking-in on you can be done."
"Hmph. Give me my book back."
Ashley stopped by him, handing him the book. "Of course. Hey, I was wondering something…"
Ichor snatched it back, then scooted the few inches he could manage away from her. "Haven't I told you not to ask questions?" he growled.
"I know. Sorry, I'm just curious… You've never told us your name." She watched him.
He opened the book, purposely being rough with it. "I already said, I prefer '661'. That's it."
"But it's just a number…you don't want to be called by an actual name? Even by a fake name?"
"Nope."
She sighed. "Alright. Suit yourself, I guess. Do you have any book requests?"
He hesitated. "Yes. Bring me more serpentine history. Like this one." He showed her the cover. "And those ones on interrogation and torture."
Ashley rose an eyebrow. "You sure are odd…"
"Hmph." Curse, is more like it. "And remember those ones on elemental power? Get me some of those too. And get that one book on medicine, the one about—"
"Paralysis?" She frowned sadly. "You've already read that one hundreds of times. What are you hoping to find? I know your ability to move a little after ten years has given you some hope…and it's a miracle, however that happened…but you may be happier if you learned to accept what happened."
He scowled, looking away. "I probably missed something in it. It's better to read it again, to make sure." Besides, my recent experiments have been working. His power was becoming stronger—it was healing him. He knew it. And that book was going to help him.
She sighed. "Alright…" She watched him for a moment. "I wish you would talk about what happened to you. If we knew what happened…maybe we'd be able to help more."
Ha. Like I'd ever tell YOU about that. It was better that no one knew. He needed to lay low. If Wu or Garmadon or the elemental masters found out he was alive…he wouldn't be able to get his revenge. And who knew what they'd do to him? He didn't trust any of them.
"Well…I'll get you those books tomorrow, okay?"
Ichor nodded once. "Now get out."
She smiled a little, amusedly, and walked to the door. She glanced back at him. "Goodbye, 661… If you ever need some company, just ask. I'm always here." When he didn't reply, she left, quietly shutting the door.
He relaxed slightly. Now that the danger was gone…he picked up his book again. Hopefully no one would 'check up' on him in another few hours. He knew why Ashley had come—to make sure he hadn't tried anything stupid, like trying to take his life. Or hurt himself—he'd been caught doing that too.
Jerks.
Didn't they know they'd be better off without him here?
He started reading. Whatever. When he healed himself, he'd be out of here. And he was never coming back. He didn't want to see another hospital for the rest of his life.
When he did get out of here, he had a plan. Or at least, the beginnings of one. First, he'd try to establish his own gang, his own crime group. The other ones he'd just been a member—but this one he would lead himself.
He smiled a little, excitement thrumming through him. He would be the one in control. He would call the shots, he would be in charge, he wouldn't have to bow to anyone. For once, he would be in control, have complete power…and he would let no one leave. He'd have a death sentence for that. Or torture. Maybe both.
He hadn't thought of a name yet, for his gang. But he would—or he'd leave it unnamed. It would be harder to track, he supposed…
And when he established this crime group, he'd get his revenge on Garmadon. For everything he'd ruined, for everything he'd done, for everything he'd taken from him.
His eyes narrowed.
That pathetic jerk would pay for everything.
Author's note: Thought I'd give some more background to Ichor. I wrote this a few months ago, then realized I could probably post it on here. I hope you liked it! I know some people don't like fanfics where an OC is the central character, but I figured it doesn't hurt to post it XD