#'he' tries to threaten binah by putting her loved one at risk

[binah-beloved]

Intertwining Threads

Binah x Reader Lobotomy Corporation Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Descriptions of blood and torture

~ * ~

The life of an Arbiter revolves around torture, as is fit of the prime assassins of the Head. Whatever is ordered shall be done, they all had vowed at the start of their service; threats, collection, removals, extermination. It’s all part of the cycle. There’s nothing to be done or changed, so why not relish in the destruction? Garion was no different, her hands stained with blood and the countless lives she had torn apart. Even when she was gutted and splintered, laid out in a chair to have her brain picked and prodded; when she was forced to cling to her dying breath, listening to every crack of bone with iron red dripping from her mouth; when her name was taken away and replaced by something dull and false so he could control her better, she remained the same, as an Arbiter mimics the City. Binah. What a fitting name. Meaning to contemplate, to understand. She could do nothing but think, after all, being locked away beside a well of madness, alone. Yes, she had much time to contemplate, her task of drawing water slowly driving her insane, as there was no one who could do this but her, no one else who could withstand it. This was her punishment, for everything. Hah, punishment. An Arbiter being tormented instead of doing the tormenting. How laughable. The people around her come and go, living and dying and returning with each new cycle. She’s the head of some department or another, except she can’t leave, not ever. The doors were barred and shut for her, for all of them, long ago.

The agents and clerks beneath her always await her instructions. She used to purposefully lie, watching with sharp eyes as they fell screaming to the monsters or the sounds or the images flashing across their eyes. But he disliked that, sending her back to the room with the well and making her draw more and more water as a form of discipline, and soon she found no joy in watching people crumble, only boredom. They all call her Binah. But she’s not Binah, she’s Garion, and will be Garion forevermore. It’s difficult to tell the time down here amongst the machines and shadows. The only signs are any new employees, fools who join the ranks of the facility because they are very stupid or very desperate, or perhaps a bit of both. She’s long since given up the need to remember any of them; all her energy is spent maintaining the last threads still attached to her sanity, the ones that never seem to snap even when she wants them to. Perhaps that’s another layer of this punishment, to be forced to bear it with lucid eyes. The Arbiter feels nothing when an Abnormality breaches containment, sitting and listening to the shouts and cries for a few moments before getting to her feet. A fight would be a welcome break from the well, anyway- even at her weakest she’s still a formidable opponent for even the worst creatures from the depths. But perhaps staring into the waters has made her sloppy, her skill degrading along with her mind, because the Abnormality is only caged after a long gash is opened on her arm, the blood dripping thickly onto the floor. She exhales. There is no pain. She is an Arbiter, after all, unafraid and strong.

Yet it still stings and burns. “Binah!” A voice rings out and her eyes open with a slight jolt. The sound is vaguely familiar, something heard in passing and no more, but somehow it feels different- concerned, frantic, warm. Her head tilts in its direction, gaze landing upon one of the more recent hires assigned to her department, looking worried and a little fearful at the sight of her blood. You fuss over her wounded arm and she can do nothing but let you, staring blankly as she’s pushed in the direction of the medical bay, the other agents scattering and the memory of your voice filling her head. Binah. It was so gentle, the way you said it- But she’s not Binah. She’s Garion. But who is Garion now, after being chained to an endless web of madness and despair? Nothing but an empty husk. The Head of Extraction has begun to linger near you once working hours are over. You’re often the only ones left in the main room at that hour, your pen constantly scratching against whatever file you’re currently working on, and she remains a short distance away, watching carefully. Occasionally you can smell the tea she drinks, your lips twitching into a smile at the lighthearted thought of your Sephirah truly enjoying something before there’s the sound of footsteps and a light clink as she sets her teacup on the table beside you and asks that you do not mind her sitting so close.

You blink, looking up from your papers and into those dull black eyes, and you smile. Her heart thumps once, merely humming and taking a sip of her tea to disguise her surprise. It’s easier around you, being locked in the depths. The few strands of her sanity become stronger, untangling themselves and weaving into an organized display in your presence- how? You must have some secret ability, some tool used to manipulate the senses, for not even bloodshed and slaughter could make her feel so warm. And your voice, when you speak that name she’s been given- ah, she almost feels like she could smile. Almost. Not quite, but almost. The sight of the Extraction Sephirah and a certain employee becomes commonplace; some even call you her favorite, but when you ask she merely tilts her head, a faint glint in her usually cold eyes, and presses a finger to her lips. It was only natural for him to notice, for the change in her behavior to catch his gaze and hold his attention in an iron grip tight enough to make him panic. You’re the cause of this- some random, low-level employee who gave a fragmented Arbiter a spark- and with rage in his voice he threatens her and you in one sentence, scrambling for some semblance of control. Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, the air seemingly dropping a few degrees from her flat, icy stare. She is strong, can handle any torture or agony or suffering- but you are fragile, a bird she wants to cup in her palms and whisper her sorrows to and keep safe, safe for as long as you live and as long as you breathe. Her own blood she is willing to see spilled, but not yours. Never yours.

She is Garion- … No. She is Binah. That’s right, you called her Binah. She is Binah, a broken, useless shell of an Arbiter- and yet you say her name as if she’s a star in the night sky, bright and beautiful, giving her hope and warmth. So she is Binah, and it’s her own name, not for anyone to control. And Binah, the ex-Arbiter, speaks to him in a smooth, cold voice. “You will not hurt them, for I shall go mad if you do. The insanity that creeps into my skull and eats away at my senses is only restrained by an Arbiter’s will. It can and will crumble at any moment, within the blink of an eye, and the world will turn to blood and dust. So you will not hurt them. You cannot, unless your wish is to lose everything.” Binah. To contemplate, to understand. Yes, now, finally, she understands.