#bytespeak

[silkenblankets]

part 4 (part 3)

The time that passed was tracked to the millisecond, my joints long since seized up from the tension. I was little more than a fixture tucked away in this little corner of calm. Time ticked, continuing to climb from seconds to minutes. Still no sign of Midas, I had to wait a little longer. What happened to humans if they fought too long? That half metal creature soaked red into my shell, I wonder how much red was in a person.

20:54.35. That's when I finally heard the door open. There was a loud snapping sound as I forced movement in my body, standing up to peer over the warm bodies. I think I saw Midas, but I wasn't too sure. There was a lot of red, and when he fell to the ground he didn't get back up. The door closed. I don't think anyone cared that this human was still on the ground. Forcing my way through the room, I crouched down beside Midas and shook him gently.

There was a strange noise from him, it was like the cries of the door's ill-maintained hinges. I couldn't tell if he was talking, the way his chest moved was more like shaking than breathing. Grabbing his shoulder I pulled him to his back.

Around his eye was this dark spot, it made him squint. Red lines painted his cheeks, chest and stomach. A gash ran up his left arm, it flowed red like sunlight through a clear window. His lips moved, eyes watching my metallic shell. No words formed, there was just this sigh of air. Something heavy dimmed the light in his eyes, the little upturn of his mouth didn't add the same warmth to his gaze. I wonder if this is how humans looked when they were tired?

I pressed my palms against his arm, it wasn't warm. Not as warm as it was when he slept beside me, did the red keep humans warm? Grabbing at the edges of the gash, I tried holding the wound closed. I used plenty of force, not sure how to put a person back together. But they were soft, so maybe they could mold back together! Why else would humans make each other fight, if they weren't easy to repair? As I slowly let go, the wound would peel itself open once more. So I tried again, holding it for a good while longer. Again the wound opened once I let go, so how do I keep the red from spilling out so much? Humans were so hard to repair why did they do this? Midas made the door-hinge noise again, grabbing at the cloth stuffed in his belt. I pulled it free, revealing it was his shirt.

"The... cut, Ire..." His breathing deepened, his body twisting a bit as if to shake something off. Did cloth heal humans? I tried to fit the shirt on the wound, quickly realizing it wouldn't stay there. It wouldn't tie in this state either, so I tore at the shirt. Making a strip of cloth, a rather wide one, excluding only the collar and sleeves. I set the remains of the shirt back in Midas' belt, taking the small daggers of my fingers to make smaller strips at the ends.

Pulling the cloth around his gash, I tried not to watch as red stained the filthy material within moments of touching the wound. My focus was on tying about five knots with the tassels I hastily tore.

I didn't like how the red soaked through so quick. Taking the rest of his shirt, I tore it into more strips. These ones were cautiously stuffed right up against the cut, every movement to push them further made Midas squirm. This high pitched cry escaped him for just a moment, finally turning his head to look at me.

Staring at his face, mottled with scarring and wounds... it clicked. Humans didn't repair at all, Midas still had marks from old wounds. He'd have a new one if the gash would heal. My sensors expanded their range to get a taste for the surrounding creatures. They too bore marks of wounds which had to slowly heal rather than be easily replaced. Tilting my head to the side, I scooped up the man. My pistons squealed in protest, not yet adjusted for the new weight. But I found my footing and rose to my feet, keeping Midas in my arms.

I didn't want anyone to hurt Midas, not when he was such a fragile being.

Turning to face the door, there was nothing but the empty hall. Oh, and the door with the creaking hinges. Shifting Midas so he could rest on the rounded metal of my shoulder, I knelt by the hinges to the door. It was a rusted mess...

Back on my feet, I gave the hinge the strongest kick I could manage. It dented my shell a bit, but something had snapped off. Pushing the door with my foot, it wobbled. As I reached to strike the second hinge, I noticed a body approaching.

"Oi! Quit fucking with the door you little shit!"

I paused, eyeing the man on my shoulder, then the man approaching. The stranger wore body armor, I think he had some kind of electric weapon. He reached it through the bars, trying to jab my chest. Recoiling, I shook my head and stepped away from the door. I couldn't risk shutting down, that might hurt Midas.

The stranger continued to watch me; his eyes looked shallow. My grasp tightened on Midas, my free hand curling into a fist. Not much more than a hunk of metal now, which made it perfect to slam into the second hinge, watching a rod drop from its confines. With one last kick, the door fell. I didn't wait for the human to react, there was already a few creatures trying to crawl out. Pushing past them was a simple task, vanishing into the dark hallway I remember being first in. Not the one to the pit, this was where I woke up.

There was a lot of yelling behind me, something shot past my monitor. It left a small void in the wall, surrounded by crumbling concrete. The banging continued, something tore into my leg. Pulling Midas down from my shoulder I held him tight to my chest, trying to keep him as covered by metal as I could possibly manage. The sound of my shell being torn into was sickening, but I could see light from beneath a forgotten door.

My hands frantically grabbed at the handle, tearing open a portal to the outside. I don't know what was out here, but I couldn't have the biting tear through Midas' squishy skin.

As I staggered from the building, I realized there were more buildings outside. More concrete ground, and more people. A few heads turned to stare, some scampered away. The door behind me opened again, I didn't bother to check what lie beyond it. Despite the damage, I forced my body to run. I managed to make it around the corner of the concrete paths, hidden in the shadow of a building. I caught myself on the wall, feeling the chill of wires sparking into nothing.

My sensors fell to my leg, frayed wires sparking at the outside of my shell. My pistons shuddered, dropping me to a sit. Frantically I checked Midas, not noticing the shadow approaching over my body.

Turning my head up, I was staring right at a softer featured human. This one... I believe this was a woman.

"Are you alright?"

She had a sweet voice, her honey-colored eyes kept glancing behind her. I held tight to Midas, not wanting to see her take the red from his body. But I shook my head, lifting Midas' bandaged arm. The cloth was already drenched with his red. "Help Midas."

[silkenblankets]

part 2 (part 1)

A soft click brought me back to life, immediately turning my head to orient myself. It was dim, with slate grey walls that seemed to be made of concrete. Creator was waiting, looking up at me with their lips curled upwards in a strangely cold expression. It was hard to tell their intentions in the low light. They lifted their hand to my face, touching and causing all the feeling to come back. Sensations... I couldn't tell if they were good, bad, or some muddy gray spot. I didn't lean into the feeling this time, I knew they disliked it. So I sharply tilted my head away, watching Creator's reaction.

Their breath was strange, starting weak and lifting to a high pitch. I didn't quite know what it was; the air they huffed out made their shoulders bounce and eyes narrow. It wasn't in a mean expressive way, it was... oddly joyful, I think. I think they wanted me to do that.

[Saved]

Creator adjusted my shoulders, nudging them down and back. I shifted my posture, and felt ever so slightly off-balance. Was something wrong about my previous stance? Creator didn't explain what they were doing, stepping back with a small nod of their head. They grabbed my hand and began to walk down a hall. Where it lead, I had not the slightest idea. It was brighter, wherever it was, I could tell that.

We stopped once we were in the new room, just as dull and gray as the previous one... But there were others. Many, many humans like Creator. But even more looked broken, marked by reds and purples. Those humans had their hands trapped behind their back and cages over their mouths, I couldn't help but be stumped on why.

What was this place? Creator didn't seem to care for filling me in, talking to other Creator-like creatures and making motions towards me. I could tell the majority of the room was staring at me, these creatures must not like each other. As I approached Creator, he stopped in his talking to give me a strange look out the side of his eye. Slowly he turned to face me, his face contorted, all scrunched up.

"I think it'll be fine. Can't die or nothin', just a hunk of metal."

I don't know if he was talking to me, I could only process some of his words. He gave me a small shove, immediately a pushed him back. I think I was pushing too hard, he ended up on the floor while the other creators made the funny sounds that make their shoulders bounce. Once he got back on his feet, he grabbed my arm.

"Save that for the rats later, dumb robot..." He muttered, leading me towards a room with bars as its front wall. That's where all the creators with discoloration and red lines were put inside, I guess me too. Creator threw me off balance with his push, and the door locked behind me. Nobody in the room said anything, but they watched me. I stepped away from the door, waving stiffly. After a minute, they slowly returned to the mundane tasks they'd been up to before I entered.

All but one, a roughed up creator-like who appeared right in front of me with this strange look on their face. I think they were inspecting me with just their eyes, wasn't that fun! I think I'll inspect him too...

He was tall enough to at the same level as the majority of my cameras, picking up on the light brown and silver color of his eyes and his black hair that brushed his shoulders. The body had definition around the muscles, but not nearly as much as many of the other creator creatures in here. He did have many of the same red marks, scattered in varied patterns across his skin. I wonder what made them, or if they were all born with them.

"What...." The creature started yanking my head up, I think he wanted me to remove my head? "... Are you?" The creature lowered his torn up hands, the funny look never left his expression. What a fun question!

"I am a hunk of metal! What are you?"

That didn't seem to get any reaction from the creature, who tilted his head form left to right as he watched me.

"Well... I guess I'm... a human?"

Ah, so Creator creatures were 'humans'. As he reached up to touch my chest, I immediately copied what he was doing and held my hands to his chest. It was strangely cold.

"Do I call you Creator?" I asked, still not sure how this all worked. I'm only a day old! How fun.

"I don't think so- er... I mean you could call me Midas?"

How fascinating, I think I knew how this worked now... Every human had a different name, I don't know what a Midas is but I'll find out I'm sure of it.

[Saved]

"Did this Creator guy tell you your name or...?"

My whole posture shifted from left to right as I searched my memory. I was told what I was, but I don't recall having a name I don't think. So I stared at Midas, slowly shaking my head. His funny look seemed to melt, his head tilted with a small frown.

"You don't have a name? I- well you gotta have something er... lemme see..."

He ran a hand down my arm, his mismatched eyes following the path of his touch.

"How about your name is... I dunno... Iron?"

I took a minute to process the change, I think I liked that name.

"Yes! What a good name!"

"Perfect, I'd hate to give you a name you don't like."

That frown was easing into the upturned lips of a smile. I did something right! I had a name- and it was good that I liked it! Maybe I could tell Creator and he could start using Iron too.

Just as I was about to bounce around from the excitement energy, Midas's little smile faded to an empty expression. Looking beside me, out the bars that made up the front wall. Turning to see what got his interest, I stared at the approached masked human. Dozens of restraints hung from their body, the outside was much darker than before. I wasn't sure what was going on but I could tell Midas was all tense, my sensors brushed his arm and picked up on the activity in an instant.

Everyone backed away from the door as it swung open, the masked human looking across the crowd before stopping when they saw me. They reached up a hand, pointing at me, then beckoning me to come closer with the curling and uncurling of the accusing finger.

It was an immediate response, hardwired into my code. I walked over without wasting a moment after seeing the small signal, a strong magnet locked onto my back.

I was pulled out, being dragged by a magnet to... I'm not sure where.

[silkenblankets]

part 3 (part 2)

I struggled to get footing on the concrete as I was pulled, the textured metal of my shell grinded against the ground but never found purchase. The lighting overhead was inconsistent, one moment as bright as I could handle and the next my visual sensors were getting nothing. What a strange layout...

Turning myself, I tried to get a look at the hallway ahead. It would end soon, giving way to a room washed over with stark-white lighting. The entity dragging me eventually pulled me in front of them, holding me up to find my footing. Motors buzzed, struggling to find a good posture to maintain balance while being held back by the magnet. This entity was smaller than Creator or Midas, only coming to the middle of my torso. How small could creatures get?

The magnet suddenly released its hold on my shell, causing the screech of rapidly adjusting pistons trying to keep me from falling. From what I could tell, I saw "humans" hiding along the darker edges of the strange room. There was a pit just a step ahead of where I was, guarded by metal rods that only reached to the joint between my leg and foot. The sides of the pit had heavy doors, the interior looked as if it had been haphazardly painted a rust-red color.

A heavy weight knocked into my back, breaking my delicately calculated balance. The top of my glass screen hit the hard ground, splintering cracks spawning from impact. It was an input I didn't quite understand, reaching up a hand to feel if my screen had caved in. I discovered only the texture of broken glass, a threatening bevel under my fingertip as I lifted my body from the ground. Beneath me was loose dirt, bits seemed to clump together with a darker hue. As I adjusted my footing for the soft ground, I heard a thud echo off the walls.

On the other end of the pit was something that I couldn't quite identify. Their form matched that of a human, but details of their face were interrupted by weathered metal and wire. One arm made of flesh while the other hissed from hydraulics tucked away in a withering metal shell. Both a human and a hunk of metal, a mystery creature. My curiosity beckoned me to approach the hybrid, whose eyes hadn't stopped moving from the top of my figure to the bottom of my feet. As I closed the distance, I stretched out a hand to try gracing the entity's cheek.

Something blinked on the creature's neck, something rammed into my torso. Metal striking metal, the hybrid began to strike my shell with reckless abandon. My body staggered back, a process starting in the back of my consciousness in response. The ends of my fingers sharpened to daggers, my sensors only processed the strange entity as it approached. My stance shifted lower to the ground for stability as pistons worked overtime to thrust ten spikes into their torso, feeling the blades extend when they found purchase in the abdomen. Hydraulics hissed, dragging the blades through flesh.

The hybrid was making loud sounds, something warm and wet splattered on my shell. Red slipped down my frame from the creature, I could only perceive the target my hands tore into. As my system adjusted to claw at the soft belly of the hybrid, a magnet pulled me away sharply. Finally my process was interrupted, suddenly taking in a flood of inputs. Three humans had come in from the metal door across the pit, wearing body armor and an array of weapons. Ones I couldn't identify, much to my disappointment. A human held a magnet to my back, making that strange cut-up sound... The one with the shoulder bounce. How strange.

I tried to gain my footing as I felt myself being dragged once more, pulled through the door before the metal closed with a resounding thud that buzzed my head. Trying to walk was again fruitless, so my heels were pulled along the ground with a loud grinding sound. Some humans I passed gave me strange looks, arms crossed with their faces puckered up in an strange manner. Others showed their teeth in extended smiles, eyes following me with interest. But I didn't observe those humans for too long as I was set back in the cell among the other scuffed-up humans.

Midas pushed his way through the other bodies, his hand reaching out to grasp my arm with that smile on his face.

"There you are... You don't seem too damaged... You alright?"

My head tilted from side to side, doing a quick personal checkup before nodding.

"Yes! Minor denting and cracks, but not severe enough to compromise my abilities!"

That cheery response made Midas do the shoulder bouncing sound, I couldn't hold my curiosity anymore.

"What's that?" I pointed to him.

Midas raised a brow, his bouncing stopped.

"What's... what?"

"This: 'ehe, ehe, ehe'." I imitated Midas's sound, stiffly bringing my shoulders up and down with each syllable. I saw Midas's expression shift, his eyes lifted as he made this little 'oh' sound.

"Iron, that's laughter." Midas tilted his head, looking up at me with a lopsided smile. "Humans do it when they find something funny or really like it."

[Saved]

I nodded stiffly, I think I liked that. Midas glanced behind me, his eyes searching something before he shook his head. He reached to take my hand, beginning to pull on my arm as he walked through the other humans. It was less crowded than before, although I felt it was still too many bodies for the small cell. Midas took me to a back corner, there was a pocket of space between the various forms of flesh. My companion sat down, patting the ground beside himself.

"C'mon, I don't know if you have any kind of sleep thing... but I could use a nap."

Metal clanged against the ground, my body eased into a more casual resting position. My back against the wall, my legs pulled in so my knees touched my chest. Lifting my hands, I set them atop my legs and looked to Midas with a tilted head.

"You may rest, I will observe." I said simply, taking note that I'd likely be focusing my curiosity on the human beside me.

That soft head of Midas's fell against my shoulder. His eye narrowed, they were watching my hands. Watching his lips part, he paused before any sound came out. Just like that, he shook his head and closed his eyes. "You have fun observing, pal..." His words were harder to understand. Turning slightly towards him, his head moved to my chest. The man was limp, but he wasn't dead. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, the warm cheek against my cold metal. Fascinating, he was living in such a limited state. Not even responsive to the movement of his body.

My hand moved to hold his chest, not wanting the human to slip any further down. Something about having Midas rest against me roused a kind of... purpose. Much like what I had in violent altercation, except my fans didn't scream within me and the life-sustaining liquid of a human wouldn't stain my shell. While it was odd, it wasn't unwelcome. Even with the shuffling of other humans being pulled out or put back in, I was able to hold onto my fragile human companion.

Bodies shuffled, beginning to form a rough path through the crowd. Finally my senses turned themselves back to a general focus. A voice called into the cell, bearing a harsh tone and sounding as if the words were ripped from someone's throat. Midas I swear to all that is holy- if you don't wake the fuck up! There was a buzz in my chest, my fans whirred as I made a move to stand.

The restful creature laying against me was no longer asleep, he too was trying to stand. We were able to rise at the same moment, though I instantly fell into step of approaching the voice. Rough skin, his hands grabbed me by the torso and held tight. As I took in the position he held me in, I noticed he stood on the balls of his feet to make him just a bit taller.

"Iron- hey, it's alright. I'll be back real soon, just sit tight."

The warm breath of Midas brushed against the base of my neck, whispering his simple command. Something clicked, and my body began to cool. Turning my head to look at him, I studied the markings that littered his face.

"Yes, Midas. I will wait for you."

Motors buzzed as they pulled me back to the corner, watching the path collapse behind Midas's figure. The hinges on the door screamed as it was swiftly opened and shut.

I sat down, my sense of my surroundings dimmed. "Sit tight" was something I didn't quite know the meaning of, but my frame held itself with considerable tension as I waited for Midas to return.

[silkenblankets]

Give pure reward by artificially injecting serotonin into your whumpee for doing exactly as you like- so they like it too.

this isn't backed by science but we have testimonials and BOY are they descriptive

[silkenblankets]

Robot whumpee is forced to remain in whumper's home, their battery is kept just out of whumpee's reach, forcing them to rely on short wires to remain powered on.

Whumpee's only comfort is Caretaker, an anonymous messenger who pops into Whumpee's comms every day for a chat. Caretaker promises to bring whumpee home so they can partake in a dance together- something whumpee is fascinated with ever since caretaker mentioned it.

After a particularly dreadful interaction with whumper, whumpee talks with caretaker and decides to grab the battery. Caretaker encourages the act, saying "now is the perfect time". So whumpee goes for it.

They manage to grab the battery.

The wires in their back pop out.

Whumpee shuts off, one hand clutching the battery and the other grazing the entrance.

Whumper comes down after the comms cut out, placing a modified battery cell into whumpee and taking them to a blank room. The whumpee is woken with a start, being bombarded with randomized inputs and commands. They can't keep from tearing off their own limbs, overwhelmed and grabbing at their head.

Whumper grabs whumpee's only remaining arm, twisting it off-

"See what you're doing to yourself?"

They're lowered into a delicate dip, the flood of inputs cease and they can finally scream when their legs are torn from their body. Whumpee is hung by a harness and left alone.

Caretaker opens comms later that night.

"You're a danger to yourself, Whumpee. You can't leave."

They seem to be resisting laughter.

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

Robot whumpee has a torso of glass, housing aquatic plants and a small snail. They consider every living thing they house to be to them what organs are to humans, tenderly caring for these "organs".

Whumpee's programming is naturally that of a caretaker, and despite having patched glass on their back and being on their fourth set of limbs, whumpee will sometimes approach whumper with gifts of trinkets or small activities.

Waiting on an order of new hands, Whumpee approaches whumper asking if they could get help trimming a sick plant's infected leaves. Surprisingly, whumper seems happy to oblige, saying they know some medicine that would help the plant. This delights whumpee.

A few days later, whumpee is having a panic attack. Their "organs" were shriveling up and decaying inside them, along with their beloved snail. Naively, whumpee pleads with whumper, who only laughs and twists their arm. It pops from the socket, being used to create a massive web of cracks in their side.

Whumpee finally registers whumper as a threat and flees.

Once Caretaker finds them, whumpee has lost a leg and their only remaining hand. All the water in their torso seems to have spilled out their side, the cracks giving way to a gaping hole.

Caretaker couldn't figure out why whumpee was always anxious and freaking out, being gentle and compassionate with the machine. One of the first things Caretaker did was patch the hole in whumpee's side, so they were at a loss on what to do to help whumpee. It takes caretaker months to realize the source of the distress, gifting whumpee new, young aquatic plants and a tiny snail.

- 🤖

[silkenblankets]

ahem

Gimme your Whumpees, please. I wish to sketch them in cozy clothing and generally in a content- maybe even ~happy~ state

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

Whumpee is always blindfolded, whenever it's taken off they're inside a pitch black room. They don't like being unable to see, but they don't want to know how beaten and broken they look, either.

Caretaker focuses on covering the wounds and doing their best to help Whumpee recover, but eventually they have to bathe Whumpee, and they need to check their eyes.

Whumpee is confused, catching a glimpse of their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Caretaker hugs Whumpee as they hide their face in Caretaker's chest and cry.

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

A bronze and leather machine, best of its kind, carefully crafted and encompassing a uniquely steampunk look. By now, they're an antique, passed down from its original creator, tweaked by his child, taught by a grandchild, upgraded and refurbished by a great-grandchild, left to gather dust in the corner of an antique shop after they could find no next of kin.

For the first few months, they explore the other antiques, they wish to chat with customers and fix any out of tune music box or chipped vase. Gradually, their metal and leather frame begins grinding against itself, losing mobility.

Two years after arriving, they're most often mistaken as a statue, a frozen artifact of a bronze and steam era. Sometimes a child will poke at the shining steel pocket in their back, a tiny flash of static giving just enough power for a brief crackle of a voice box in their chest.

Until they wake within a cozy home; with warm lighting from large open windows and a shining wooden floor fitted with a little gray rug. Someone smiles, massaging oil into their stuck joints. Little by little, they begin to move again.

"Well aren't you a curious little guy!"

The human is very kind, letting the machine explore and giving them a few days to adapt. The human sits them down after those few days, explaining that they want to do some maintenance on them; they're more than happy to oblige.

That is, until they begin to feel the human's hands, attaching wires and adding more sensations. They're confused, looking back to ask why. The human just laughs, tickling the machine and making them emulate something resembling a giggle. In the midst of their laughter, it sharply turns to a screeching sound. The human is holding a few torn wires, watching them hit the floor with a tight fist and sputter a million questions about the bad feeling, the horrible- evil feeling.

More.

They couldn't see.

What was human doing?

They wanted to scream, but their voice was muted as its wires became twisted into a useless knot in their neck. Human was murmuring gentle words, their shivering body making such a ruckus with all its parts clinking against one another; they couldn't hear a single thing.

Their back panel was shut tight, a warm hand rubbed their head and began to guide the jittering mess through a door.

It was raining outside, every drop of water that slipped in between their bronze and leather shell felt burning, slipping between stretched out seams and cracking metal. They flinched and twisted as the feeling covered them, like a box of nails forced into every exposed crevasse. Human held their hand, giving a cold, robotic rub over the soft backing of it. They felt like falling to their knees and screaming as loud as they could, but the ground was wet, and burned their feet as it seeped through the metal soles. They couldn't scream if they wanted to, anyway.

The rain's pitter-patter was out of sync with their clitter-clatter. Human raised his voice.

"Sure is nice. I knew you'd like it."

Their body tensed and twitched in response, unable to move how they wanted. Everything gave out, hitting the ground with one arm held up by Human's hand. Laying on hot coals, their hearing cut in and out, sensations becoming erratic.

Shutting down.

"Useless."

Left in a scrapyard, an arm and both legs taken. Leather stripped from their body.

"Well isn't this a curious little thing..."

Something was tickling at their back, and something clicked into place. Their head jerked up, screaming in agony as their remaining arm clawed at thin air. Unable to hear the frantic voice trying to reassure them, they continued to thrash until their screaming turned to soft cries.

Their vision blurred, becoming focused as those mystery hands worked. Everything was tainted with a strange snow overlay, they'd need replacements for their eyes. Looking down, they found where all the strange have-not sensations came from; also discovering they were suspended. Their head was turned to one side, then the next, then pushed forward.

"... Okay, was that the right one? I'm sorry I scared you."

They turned to look at the Human, much different from the other; a little crooked smile with shining, kind eyes in a darker shade of brown.

"He-llo."

"Hi buddy. Don't worry, I'll find some limbs for you in a bit. Do you know where you came from?"

They hesitated, giving a stiff nod.

"Oh- can you tell me your name? Do you have one?"

They shook their head. "N-o name."

"Can I call you..." "Bud-dy." "You wanna be Buddy?" "... Bu-ddy. Ye-s."

Human's smile seemed to grow.

"Okay, Buddy."

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

Whumpee thought that final blow would be the end of their misery, they'd finally be free from Whumper. Because they were dead.

They did not anticipate seeing Whumper, looming over them with a sick smile. Just like before.

"Welcome back."

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

part 1

It was Creator. The first thing I saw was Creator, their scuffed face was all too familiar by now. That face was in my memory hundreds of times, and all those tools and whispers. I began to grasp those murmurs from Creator, little tunes and quiet compliments. My head shifted, tilting from right to left before turning down to look at the body I inhabited. My robust circuitry was encased in a shimmering exterior with smooth, flashy trim in orange and black. Creator stepped back, making motions with their calloused and chewed up hands. There was a soft sigh in my back, a cluster of fans providing a cool breeze to my insides.

Slowly I stepped off the small platform, abruptly aware of the sudden loss of power beneath me. It was a charging station, it's faint glow beckoned with a familiar blue color. I've been standing still on that platform for... I'm unsure how long, exactly. It shows so often in idle memory, though that memory could be for years or just hours before I could fully comprehend it. Balance on my own was a second nature, many instincts were woven into my code to allow me just to take a simple step. Creator was delighted, going on about how proud they were, and how I'd just do perfect. Their rough hands reached up to stroke either side of my head, tracing the striated sensors that took place of what would be warm, rosy cheeks of a human Creator. All at once, the few inputs of a praising voice and dim room, became a countless number- molding into one monolith a sensation that radiated from every ridge their finger skipped along. It... felt so strange to have it occur, despite countless lines that told me how to step and stay upright... I found I lacked much else. My personality was not yet made, nor was I instructed on how to react to feeling. Touch was new.

My motors seized when I realized the feeling on my chest, my body twitching from the unexpected strain. Creator murmured soft words, and I returned to a more relaxed mode. Still feeling his rough hand on my head, I tilted my head towards it. I liked the touch. Creator laughed, roughly shoving my head the other way.

"Don't get too cuddly, now, we still have work to do."

Oh, I could do work. What work? I kept my head tilted away from Creator, tilting my vision downwards to watch my chest as they ran their fingers over the feeling gaps in my unfeeling plating.

Creator was shoving a fist into my chest, I just watched. They hit harder and harder, but I could only feel the slight pressure from the hit, not feeling the side of their white-knuckle hand. Their hand pulled away from my cheek, coming back with a harsh spike of... Feeling. Bad feeling. It stung, it lingered even after they pulled away their fist. I didn't know this feeling's name, but it made me... Angry. I think that's what it was called, the sudden eruption of heat that made my fans almost buzz with how fast they tried to cool off my core. The urge to hit back, to make Creator feel the burn of a fist too. I didn't know how to hit someone, my hand closing into a ball without any aim on where to go. Pulling back my arm, I slammed the metal ball into Creator's chest.

They staggered, landing harshly on their rear. I just stared, lowering my hand. Oh. I could. Do that.

I wanted to do it again! Something clicked, I felt so much purpose when I hit Creator. Bracing for another swing, their fleshy hands fumbled with a red button. My motors locked up, returning to a resting position. Nothing would move, only my fans remained unaffected. Creator seemed pleased, standing up.

"That's the spirit. Hit me one more time and you'll lose that arm; save it for the punks." They gave a strange expression, a half missing smile with a slow moving and unblinking gaze. My motors could finally move, Creator turned away and made a motion with their hand. I followed close behind them, assuming that's what their motion meant. My following made the half smile more like a three-fourths smile. That meant they were pleased, if I've calculated correctly. I believe I have.

They stopped before they could open a steel door, the cracks beneath leaked with a soft, pale glow. It was more of a white shade than the harsh yellows we bathed under now. My head was tilted, awaiting the other side of that door...

A bright, bright outside, that's behind what waited. Creator continued on as if nothing happened, and so I followed valiantly. I have to, it's like they had an invisible tether on me, it was magnetic in its pull. We got inside a small room, I could feel it move after its muffled roar calmed. Creator hummed, watching ahead. Slowly I lay myself down on the center console, just my torso. The tether's pull was tight and short now, I had to bow or... Well, I'd break myself, I believe. Feeling down my back, all awareness was abruptly cut off.

Powering Down...

- 🤖

[silkenblankets]

Sure, I could brand you with this specially made iron I got over here. But I got these new and sharp tools! Why don't we try that fun scar method! You just sit still, and I'll cut out your flesh! Like arts and crafts!

- 🤖

[silkenblankets]

The job was done, red coated the scene and it felt like he could finally think. There was a moment of bittersweet silence, lowering his metal arm and taking in a deep breath. Gunpowder, it wasn't his first time smelling it. Every time before, that scent meant another piece of him was torn from his body, his identity would break into a smaller shard than before.

But it also meant freedom. The initial fear of pain dissolved, replaced by a sweet catharsis. He dropped the weapon, walking up to the body and lifting it's right hand. A handcrafted ring, silver band, with small grey stones beaded on either side of a slightly larger stone resting atop the finger. It came off with a good tug, inspecting the metal before attempting to place it on his own finger. The metallic surface didn't hold the ring, and so he opted to hide it in his only worldly possession: a small pouch of dice pulled tight around his artificial wrist.

Turning his back on his God, he left the home and everything that happened within it. He was lost, he was angry, he was doubtful. But he knew the driveway led to a road, a city was to the right. Or, something similar. He wasn't sure, but it was his only plan.

The road was endless, and unkempt. Despite the dullness of his touch, he could feel the loose asphalt under his feet, scuffing the metal and adding small dents to the form. It was cold, his jacket was the only thing keeping his body from shivering. Slightly oversized with tearing in the sleeves, the only clothing he could fit over the thick spikes worked into his prosthetics. He has always disliked the shape, now outright hating the form it gave him.

He could tell his legs would be sore by now, his hips already ached and his back hurt. The man's posture was more akin to a zombie, his body long since tired.

The moon had been thrown over him, completing its arc as he entered the small city. The sun had begun to emerge, everyone would be waking up soon. But not God. That felt nice to know... But the rattling in his foot signaled damage, he wanted to patch that up. Except he didn't have materials, or method.

Lifting his eyes from the ground, his gaze bounced from one building to the next. Maybe he could find someplace that fixed cybernetic limbs? Though, as far as he knew, nobody really had those. For whatever reason, he had been made the outlier, rather than another corpse in the frigid winter.

Oh, that looked promising. A building that looked more like a garage than the others, the inside showed displays of what looked to be assorted car parts. But it was small and cramped inside, the business wasn't big in the slightest. He tried to pull open the door, but found it was locked. Must be closed. He tried to plan for what time it would be open, hearing muffled footsteps and the scattered crunch of a latch. Feeling the door open, he backed away and stared at who opened it.

A short brunette wearing some kind of work jumpsuit, a name tag was embroidered on the fabric: Michael.

"Hey- do you need something? Are you okay?"

It took him a moment to process that he needed something, he needed to be fixed.

"Do you do repairs?" His metallic voice caused visible confusion in Micheal. "Yup. What for?"

"... My foot."

Michael looked down, skipping past the exposed hips and crouching to inspect the metal appendage. Tilting his head, he gave a confused smile. "It doesn't look that bad, I can fix that I suppose."

He nodded quietly, following the smaller man inside the building. Michael pulled a chair into the garage, which was empty as of now. Motioning to the seat, the cyborg sat down in silence. His foot was lifted and set on a crate, Michael went from one toolbox to the next before returning with a handful of material.

For once, he was grateful for his dulled touch, barely aware of the molten heat touching him. Michael must've found the silence uncomfortable, shifting his stance to look at the man. "What's your name?"

"..." Xavier was dirtied. He didn't know what other name he had. "... Xavi."

Michael smiled. "That's a pretty neat name." He glanced to the gashes in Xavi's jacket, clicking his tongue. "Hey would you like those shaved down? They look really uncomfortable."

Xavi looked at Michael, trying not to show his excitement. "... Can you do that?" He got a nod in response, the mechanic stood and pat Xavi's leg. "Of course, then we can put something on ya to keep you from freezing." The man smiled, holding out his hand.

"C'mon, it should only take a few minutes. Maybe I can get to know you better."

It felt... wonderful, to be a person again.

Xavi used the aid of Michael to pull himself back to his feet, his smile hidden behind his artificial jaw. "Thank you."

Michael gave the cyborg a quick, partial hug as he led him towards the rest of his tools. As he rummaged through the drawers, his smile returned.

"My pleasure, Xavi."

[silkenblankets]

cw: abuse, torture, some body horror, mention of drugs in use

It was quiet, he could only really hear his own breathing. All other sound was hiding behind the door, his body curled up in the back of the small space. He'd covered himself with old jackets and too-small shirts that were abandoned on the ground along with him.

Tucked against his chest was his mangled hand, knuckles spiked at painful angles from healing incorrectly. The bones poked through at some spots, around his thumb and wrist, where the fresh cuts ran deeper and his bones were more crooked.

Watching the door, he bit back his immediate urge to grab the handle and leave. He knew it was locked, trying would only disappoint the man. So he sunk back into the pile of clothing, finding precious comfort in the weight and warmth, but unable to fully rest as the scent of the devil was far too strong even with a musk of time and dirt. Burying his face in his arms and chest, he began to rock himself back and forth.

He wanted to go home, but he didn't even remember where that was. Gaps in his memory were like strings that held him in the damned house despite everything. Step outside, and he would remind him "Everyone's looking for you, they want to put you in a cage for what you did... Remember?" And that one glance of pity for the man, he'd go back inside all over again. For the life of him, he could not remember what he did. He barely remembered his own name, all he knew was this wasn't his house. The other man was not his friend... He didn't know who he was, he didn't even know the other's face.

Footsteps, immediately he lifted his head and pushed the clothing from on top of him. Moving to stand, the door was opened.

He stood a few inches taller, his brunette hair was shoulder length and pulled up into a ponytail, blue eyes looking at the other as he tried to find his footing. His greyed lips curled in an amused smile, reaching out a firm hand to push on the other. "Careful, Ivan... don't want to hurt yourself standing too fast..." He murmured, lifting his hand.

Ivan hesitated, remaining crouched with a small glint of shame in his eyes. Right; under the piles of clothing, he had a makeshift splint on his right leg and a screw in his left foot. They hadn't been able to pry the metal out yet... Not without access to a numbing cream. He couldn't remember where it had come from, but every bite of pain from it gave him chills. Grabbing onto the offered hand, Ivan finally stood upright.

He had a name, it was Jacob. Every time Ivan heard it out loud, it made his chest tighten and heart race. Jacob would laugh it off, he said that was just how you react 'when your crush is in the same room'. He wasn't entirely sure if he did have a crush on the other, maybe they were dating before... Whatever took Ivan's memories.

Those firm hands held onto Ivan, leading him to rest on the floor beside the couch. But he was injured and tired, and despite his instincts screaming for him to sit still, he turned to climb onto the soft furniture.

He got a harsh smack to the cheek, dropping back to the ground. "Can't get blood on this fabric, remember? You'll be fine right there." Jacob reminded sharply, looking at the other with a clear disappointment. Ivan murmured a soft apology, watching Jacob's feet as they turned and walked into the kitchen, reminding him of his hunger. A glass of water and some eggs, maybe bacon if he felt like asking. Fumbling with the arm and side of the couch, he stood on his shaking legs and half-dragged half-hopped to the doorway of the small, dull red kitchen.

As he grabbed the edge of a counter for support, a sudden and heavy weight crushed the screw deeper into his foot. The leg gave out, clinging to the white countertop as tears flooded his vision. In his agony, he could barely make out what the harsh voice was saying.

"Ivan! Why'd you move? I was worried you'd do it again- not to mention the blood. And for what?" Jacob's deceptively sweet-toned voice growled at the ragged blonde. Ivan was too embarrassed to ask for the food, mumbling an apology, slinking back to his spot by the couch, curling up and shivering with loud breaths. Jacob always mentioned 'it', yet another thing Ivan couldn't remember the danger of. Was he dangerous? Everything- everyone seemed mad at him or scared he'd repeat... something he did. How bad was it? Maybe it was better not to know.

In the kitchen, he could hear muffled curses as Jacob pulled a cleaning rag along the length of the blotchy red trail. He paused by Ivan with a loud sigh. "Ivan, dear, would you like something to eat?"

Yes, yes he would. But he was hesitant to say much else, so he nodded with a bit of enthusiasm. Jacob stood and left, returning with two slices of wheat bread with a water bottle filled halfway. Ivan didn't say a word, accepting his meal as exactly what he deserved. He must've been a horrible man; someone screwing into his foot, breaking his leg, smashing his hands again and again before making him use them despite any pain.

Looking up at Jacob, he began to rub his palm. He didn't know how he got a lot of the wounds on him, but he knew that Jacob gave him the cuts along his thumbs and wrists. Before he could leave for work, Ivan had tried to go out. He'd been convinced that he was a kidnapped individual being drugged and held hostage for Jacob's entertainment, came to him after skipping a few of these bland water and bread meals. Jacob was upset, saying 'you only learn if it's shoved down your throat, huh' and insisting he was 'starved into delusions'. Ivan trusted Jacob, he knew more about him than he knew about himself. Like how he learned.

He wouldn't try to do that again, no matter how delusional he became.

As he silently ate, he felt those blue eyes staring at him. Burning through his skull and invading his foggy thoughts, slowly he turned to meet those eyes with his own speckled brown ones. Jacob reached out and stroked his jaw, his smile was more than content as he took in the man before him. It felt wrong, making his muscles tense before his mind caught up and he quickly calmed down. Adjusting so he sat sideways against the couch, he took a long sip of the water he was given, a single ice cube rattled around inside. His palms were pressed against the sides, unable to properly grip the bottle and even still feeling protrusions of bone stabbing into scars and cause a steady, searing pain.

The water was finished in two minutes, he didn't feel all that much better than before, but the cool liquid distracted him from the throbbing pain in his foot and hands. A firm hand stroked his head, and he slowly looked up at Jacob's strange expression. Some mix of amusement and mischief, or perhaps something else entirely. Ivan wasn't the greatest at reading people; he'd question Jacob's tone and he'd get a sharp correction in return. Jacob was never anything but caring and curious, he just had his own way of showing it... Or, well, something like that.

Slowly, Ivan closed his eyes and leaned back against Jacob's legs. He wanted to sleep, desperately so. Unfortunately, it seemed the man's presence alone was somehow giving him insomnia. It was bizarre, maybe there was some forgotten loathing he had for Jacob.

"... Jacob..." He felt the legs behind him shift.

"I said it was fine to call me Jake, Ivan."

Right... "Jake, what... happened?"

Jacob stood, brushing himself off and stepping over Ivan. One of his hands grabbed the sharp, jagged palm of the other. Pulling him from the ground, he ignored the sudden cry of pain once Ivan returned to his feet, pulling him along to a room with low lighting showing off all the torn up and worn down furniture inhabiting it. Ivan slowly looked up at Jacob, head tilted to the side.

He was taken further into the room, his hand pressed flat against a scratched up table. Jacob gave a sudden and sharp press onto the hand, causing Ivan to bite his tongue to keep from yelling. This seemed to please Jacob, running his fingers between the crooked knuckles of the hand. "Used to be a pretty nice spot for you and me... you were so excited to just..." His free hand was raised, the other pulled off of the mangled hand. Something gleamed, at the end of a handle. Suddenly he smashed a hammer into the hand, already rusted from the old blood that had stuck to it.

"... DESTROY it."

Ivan choked out a sob of pain, desperately sucking in breaths to fuel his pained whimpers. His hand recoiled, feeling bones twist and grind against one another, slipping further out of place and cutting through the side of his cuts. His knees gave out, his body crumpled to the ground but his hand remained pinned to the table, being subjected to another hit. It was overwhelming, his body shaking as he kept biting his tongue. Anything to keep from screaming, Jacob hated screaming.

The weapon was finally put down, Ivan's hand felt both numb and burning with pain as he tried catching his breath. Jacob then began to adjust the bones, quite focused as he turned some sideways, forced others up against one another to excess. Ivan couldn't help but scream this time; another harsh stomp on the nail. What did he do to deserve this? How absolutely unforgivable had he been? Did he even deserve the mercy of not knowing every excruciating detail?

His body couldn't take any more of it, his scream had made him lightheaded and he passed out.

When he woke, the first thing to run through his head was just how incredibly painful the position he was in felt. He lay half propped up with something cutting into his back, slowly adjusting to the confined space. A tight gag cut into his face, feeling the dried blood on his chin. The pain almost made him lucid, slowly lifting himself off the spike. every pull with reveal a new bone that Jacob had twisted, now finally forced back into a crude placement that would be 'good enough'. His eyes were wet from it all, and all he had to do to get out of the little cage was reach out, and pinch the little bars on either side of the lock. It would take some wiggling, but it would come off.

First he brushed up against the latch with a limp finger, slowly grasping at the slick nubs he was supposed to pinch. As he began to squeeze the lock, his trembling hands would relocate his wrist's angles, and his knuckles, causing his fingers to slip off. As he gazed outside, he saw Jacob watching with a little smile on his face, holding out two, bright pink pills. "These will make it all better... just open the door..." Once more, his ashen lips would be upturned in that expression that sent shivers down Ivan's spine.

Carefully positioning his tilted fingers, he tried again to squeeze the bars. Something sharply cracked, a tear escaped his eye due to the stabbing sensation, drawing his hand back quickly. Jason just kept smiling, watching intently as the man turned his attention to the gag. It was locked onto his head, there was nothing his broken hands could do. Slowly he curled up, inching closer to the latch. He tried again. And again.

And again.

Again.

Some bone stabbed through the skin, causing him to bleed just a bit more. Shoulders slumped, his head dropped and he watched the ground. He was helpless, even when the relief was so close. Jacob finally got up, his smile faltered as he opened the cage for the helpless Ivan. Roughly grabbing him, he pulled out the shaking body and ran his fingers across the freshly made gash from the old spike. Off to the left of Ivan's lower back, it was making a steady flow of red fall around the man's hips.

Something clicked, Ivan tried to take a look but his head was held down as a knife sunk into the skin around the wound, carving up and around in a pointed arch. Then Jacob began to pry, heaving a muffled scream cut off by the realization that screaming meant more blood in his mouth. Those broken, shifting hands clawed at the floor as the cut-out of skin was peeled from the tissue beneath, Ivan's body writhing and twisting as if trying to scream without a voice.

"You could've gotten out by yourself... such a weak little thing..." He spoke with a purr in his throat, leaving Ivan for a a few minutes.

As he lay there, taking short, jagged breaths, he tried to stand up but only managed to cause more of that burning pain. Jason was back by the time Ivan returned to being limp on the cold wooden floor. A bandage was wrapped around the missing chunk of flesh in his back, something was biting at his tissue and causing his whole body to twitch and thrash from the burning. Salt. Jason had poured salt into the wound before locking it in with the bandage. Haphazardly removing the gag, he offered the pink pills to Ivan.

But Ivan didn't deserve them, turning his head away; much to Jason's chagrin. "Don't you want the pain to go away?"

Ivan mumbled incoherently, spitting out droplets of blood that seeped into the corners of his mouth.

"What did you say?"

"... Don't deserve it..." Ivan whispered, barely speaking loud enough to form the words.

His head was pulled back, the strong hands easily overpowering the shaking body and forcing the pills to the back of his throat. Gagging, his head was allowed to fall forward only when Jason watched the man swallow. Dropping him entirely, he stood. "Ungrateful brat. I should let them lock you up. They'd do far worse than I can." He spat before leaving Ivan alone to shiver in pain and fear, never responding to the brunette. Only when he could no longer hear the footsteps did he spit out the bright pills, eyes wide and unfocused. He felt awful, like everything was spinning, he had chills, the fog in his mind was clearing, he didn't know if he was ready for whatever might be hiding within.

Falling to his side, he shuddered and tried to sit still. He couldn't tell how much time passed wince Jacob left, rolling onto his back...

It felt like ages.

It was ages.

The room was ruined before he ever came here.

Seven hours...

He hated pain. Who learned only by pain?

Eleven...

Jacob broke it. Jacob broke and tore everything. Jacob screwed into his foot so he would 'never run off again'. Who was Jacob?

Fourteen...

... It was him. It was him. Every day it was him. The pain. The monster. What did Ivan do?

Twenty...

He did nothing. He had no one, but no one hated him. Liar.

Still no sleep, had it been a week already?

Jacob stole him. Placed him in a tight trunk. No sedation. Only after his hands and legs were broken.

Someone was approaching.

Ivan lifted his head, seeing the silhouette of him. Jacob. He had water and bread, tossing them at Ivan with a frustrated huff before turning to leave.

"I don't want you doing it again. Listen to me."

He felt a brief rush of anger, but quietly ate his bread as the man left, washing it down with a bit of warm water. It was revolting; he wanted out. Where even was this place? Grasping the wall with palms covered with daggers as they pressed into his skin, he shuffled, he limped, he stumbled, he bit his tongue, and he practically crawled to the boarded side door. He couldn't pry it off, the old dog door was screwed shut. That meant he'd have to climb up the stairs to get to the front door, beginning his pained crawl-shuffle. Claw. Climb. Claw. Climb. Bite tongue. Spit out the blood. Continue.

He had to catch his breath at the top, grasping the door frame as beginning to stand once more. Jason was in the kitchen, he heard something sizzle in a pan as it was put in. Slow shuffle, try not to put too much weight... on either side. Careful, don't drag too much, the screw was almost entirely speared through the limb. He was hunched over, not too much, just trying to hold in every yelp and cry that he instinctively attempted to make. It was so much, everything was just too much all at once. By the time he reached the door, he tried not to cry at the sight of a round handle.

Falling harshly against the frame, his shaking hands fumbled with the knob. The rattling caused a loud series of footsteps, Jacob harshly grabbed the man and yelled at him, slamming him into the wall again and again. Pain. He couldn't hear a thing Jacob said, focused on keeping conscious despite the barrage of bruising. The moment Jacob let go, he slid to a lump on the floor; Jacob left him alone to finish cooking his meal.

Ivan couldn't leave it be. Biting down on the knob, he twisted his head and fell back. The door was wide open; Ivan was scrambling to stand. Jacob hadn't noticed yet.

Falling into the screen door, he smacked the button until it opened, stumbling out onto the street. It seemed like a fine neighborhood, all things considered.

Hearing swift footsteps behind him, he stumbled and tripped over himself, resorting to a desperate crawl as he screamed for help. His voice was hoarse and faded with every other scream, he saw eyes in a window before those firm, unrelenting hands grabbed him, dragging him back into the home.

He couldn't find time to breathe, the heavy weight hitting against his chest was far from merciful. Ivan weakly squeaked as his hair was grabbed, his head being forced into a wall and losing consciousness.

It was tough to make out what was going on, there were more people, all talking to him, touching him, poured over in red and blue lights. All the pain seemed to have a thin later of fabric between the intensity that it was and how he felt it. Just a bit easier to manage. He managed to mumble out his name, tears sprung in his eyes as he choked up with all the confusion surrounding him. A bright box, he was in a bright box. It was screaming, moving swift.

The people all left Jason behind; he finally felt like he could breathe. A crushing weight was pushed aside, and he had hope for a future where he'd never have to experience anything like this again.

...

Felt nice.

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

Cyborg whump on brain

Want it on paper

But then I have to write

Write hard...

PASSION

oh i forgot the plot part

(it's a poem?)

-🤖

[silkenblankets]

It seems you've stumbled! Oh, how clumsy!

I'm going to take your flesh and replace it with machinery

You run your pretty mouth as if you've got something to tell me!

I'm holding your body hostage for questioning

Looking at me like that, oh what a pity!

You are a tool to me; sit still, be pretty

Oh darling, why are you still crying-

WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING LOVE ME!?

-🤖