Duality was all you knew in your painful life, which didn't hold any memories anymore, other than this precise moment of existence.
On the one hand, there was the absolute calm and tranquil void where you existed. Dark and comfortingly cold, it held your abused body in its careful embrace. Allowing the pain to pass, and your thoughts to flicker and go out like the flame of a sole candle on a windy night. No pain, no emotions, no voices, and no ticking clocks anywhere. Just you and your mind. Slipping into a deep sleep, plagued with dreams that featured faceless people, you could no longer recognize.
Even if you were able to recognize them, what was the point anyway? There was no escaping this time, and for once, you didn't want to fight it, you didn't want to try, you just wanted to be left alone in your pathetic existence.
How much you loved those instances where you existed deep into the waters of the river Lethe, protected and alone and oh so comfortable.
Because on the other hand, you were flooded with bright lights, pulling your consciousness harshly into the now. Into a reality that everything was scorching hot and mind splittingly painful.
These were the moments where you'd find yourself surrounded by light.
Bright medical lights would be shining above you, hindering your already diminished eyesight to the point where you could see nothing but colors. There was white, and there was royal blue, mixed with black and amazingly vivid amber hues flickering in and out of your vision. Noise prevailed all around you, screams of anguish and torment splitting your eardrums in half, and you didn't need the way the fire consumed your skin to know they came from you. Seizures would envelop you, making you writhe, crack and break bones, blazing your voice to the point you could no longer produce a sound, left mute to endure the scorching flames. Someone would be speaking; the sound would be but a murmur, so alike the rest that infiltrated your mind, yet you could not make out anything. Tendrils of static and darkness would then snatch your heart, and you'd be pulled under once again.
Deep into nothingness.
Deep into long-awaited relief.
You would dream of being inside a warm house. Everything around you would be in grey colors, but deep into your heart of hearts, you knew it used to be warm. The lack of colors didn't take from the feeling or the peculiar familiarity of the place. In there you would meet other people, who were just as familiar and warm. Their faces would be lacking characteristics, voices nothing but static, but you knew these were once your family and friends. A deep-rooted feeling of sadness would then poison your heart, mixed with nothingness. You knew them all once upon a time, shared fond memories with them, but there was no longing or even a speck of these memories within you anymore. Only the calling of your Master and the static blooming from their voices, drowning out any emotion that dared to linger.
After, you would dream of lonely, snow-covered roads. Of abandoned houses filled with wandering souls that were now cursed, of laughter and anger and pain and blood that covered everything. Dreams about old warehouses, of silver liquid and moving shadows that called out your name from the corner of your eyesight. Never letting you forget your name, never letting you forget in general. And how could you forget? How could you forget the woman with the white mask and the tired, light-fearing eyes underneath, who was equal parts threatening and tired as she provided again and again and again? Who would forget the tall, imposing, hooded man with the forever frowning hood, who at the same time lead you all true and away from danger? Forget the white-masked man with all the sweet lies at the tip of his lips, the half-lit cigarettes, and the bags under his eyes? Or forget the grinning, laughing, ticking man with the orange glow that could equally terrify and awaken you? Who always came when you called, breaking you apart roughly but never – ever – doubted your words or intellect?
Then there were the dreams about an endless, black forest. Enormous black trees, bereft of any foliage, would tower towards the silver skies above you. Ancient and haunting as you stood among them on a small path that led straight towards the deeper parts of the forest. No life around you, other than your own heart; no warmth, only the chill running down your spine when you know you look upon something deadly and dangerous. Eyes watching you at all times, whispers echoing in your thoughts, in languages long ago forgotten.
You shouldn't be here.
You must not remain here.
None must be here other than Him.
The next time you surface, there is a voice calling your name.
'______'
Trembling, your eyelids open and your (e/c) eyes are assaulted by pure white light.
At first, you don't know what you are looking at; your body feels sore, but the pain is no longer there, and as you blink a few times, you realize two things: first, your eyesight is restored -probably courtesy of Master's powers- and second, those bright white lights belong to the ceiling of a sterilized, white room.
You are lying flat upon a cold, metallic surface if you were to judge by the uncomfortable feeling and the chill, at the same time your strangely heavy breaths tangle with the sounds of various machines breathing as if alive from somewhere around you. One picks up as you blink again, and you vaguely wonder what it is, but you are too tired to make any moves. In truth, you have no other feeling other than your breath echoing in your ears and your eyes blinking; there is no feeling left in your body, puzzling you even more.
But before you managed to form a coherent thought, a black-teared blue mask invades your field of vision.
'It appears the effects of the morphine have worn out faster this time. Our specimen is awake, Anastacia.' Eyeless Jack leans over you, flashing your eyes with a small medical flashlight, unemotionally addressing his helper; Halloween most probably 'Reacting to the light. Are you lucid _____?'
Genuinely, you try your best to answer him, but your throat has something lodged inside, and your lips are too parched.
'Ah, but of course.' Jack tilts his head to the side, studying you with feigned interest 'The acid that reached your vocal cords is preventing you. Blink twice if you understand me, human.'
The-the WHAT now? Somewhere in the back, the beeping skyrockets, but gathering your thoughts, you blink twice.
Jack hums darkly 'Good. Very good. Quite resilient for a human female. Although we did bring you back four times within the timespan of a week.'
Jack remains silent and immovable, staring down at you with his face covered by his mask, never betraying any of his thoughts or emotions. Out of everyone in the mansion, even above Hoody himself, Jack was the only one utterly in control of his self, rendering it impossible to read him. Suddenly, you realize these are the first coherent thoughts you have formed in a while; (e/c) uncertain, you try to take a look at your surroundings, but your body doesn't obey. The movement seems to put Jack back into motion, snapping his head at you.
'For three weeks, I have placed you in a medically induced coma. The acid gave you third-degree burns along the entirety of your body.' He says calmly as if he's talking about the weather.
Bringing one of his scalpers and examining it to the light, 'Epidermis and dermis are almost non-existent; the nerve endings in certain areas destroyed. As a result, you have now permanently lost all sensation at said parts. Blink if you understand me.'
Too much information in one go! Your brain struggles to comprehend what is happening as you blink twice, and Jack continues, a hue of fascination entering his otherwise cold tone.
'Inhaling the acid led you to lose your vocal cords, along with part of your eyesight; a tube had to be inserted, to aid you in breathing.' He says.
'Previously inflicted wounds only escalated the rapid advance of the acid, reacting poorly to my attempts to stop the spread. Infections were to be expected, and you went into cardiac arrest four times; we revived you by injecting you with adrenaline and shocking you.'
'Jack.' An unknown, low, female voice interrupts the ramblings of the man 'Brain activity is escalating.'
It reminded you of the whispers of the wind coursing through the forest, but you are struggling to breathe, and your chest is constricting with the raw panic blooming through your body, in great numbers that keep you from placing it. A buzzing fills your ears and tears bloom in your vision. The machines connected to you are going haywire, but the sadistic doctor pays them no mind as if he barely even hears them.
Jack looks up towards the voice and nods 'Ah, of course. Thank you, Anastacia.' He looks down at you again and chuckles lowly, the sound amused and deranged beyond any comprehension 'Let us see if we can cause you a stroke shall we?'
If you could spit on him, you would have done, but unfortunately, you are trapped to listen to his yapping without the ability to sock him.
Alas, the arrogant male chooses to torment you mercilessly 'Melting of the skin was prominent, so removal of tissue was unavoidable; skin grafts from donors will be provided, in time. The Marks you received have heightened your healing abilities but also hindered the correct restoration. Sight and speech are restored, but, excessive surgery will be needed in the future.'
He nods sharply at Halloween before leaning down towards you, bringing his mask inches away from your face; in the background, you can hear the sound of wheels moving against the floor as the female probably moves something towards you. From the proximity, you can smell the rot, blood, and decay emanating from the man's presence. Turning your stomach and making your brain focus on not throwing up; unable to avoid it, you stare deep into the black, gooey holes where his eyes once used to be, and it is as if you are staring into the eyes of a demon. Tilting his head, he studies you. A puff of air comes from underneath his mask, and you are aware it is the first time you heard him breathe. There is too much horror within to provide you with a witty thought; there is no humor left in you to battle the horrific situation you are in right now. There is only pain and anger...fear. Fear of being at the mercy of the undead Killer; he might have done Master knows what to you, and you're not even aware of it. Could he and Halloween be the traitors? No, you would have been dead already if that's the case, but this will not stop him from exploiting the situation to its full capacity.
Especially with what he says next.
'If you survive both your injuries and the Proxy Mark, ______, you will be one of my greatest experiments. Second only to Halloween.' He muses, and his tone is no longer cold and emotionless; on the contrary, it is deranged and excited, like a mad scientist before his greatest achievement. A Frankenstein before his Monster.
'Nobody knows you are here, so none can keep me from turning you into a masterpiece. You must feel honored. My medical abilities are at your disposal, but if you survive this, you are going to owe me a favor.' Tilting his head to the side, his next words chill you to the bone 'And I always get what I am owed.'
Jack leans back, revealing an enormous mirror that Halloween has placed above you in the timespan of your conversation with the Killer.
Nothing would have ever prepared you for what you saw in there.
Nothing.
All machines connected to you instantly go berserk.
Your body arcs off the medical table, muffled screams tear through you, despite the tube occupying the inside of your neck. If you were not strapped down, you'd have fallen to the ground.
Tears fall from your eyes as you struggle to comprehend even for a split fraction, the horror with which you are presented.
Nothing is left on your visage from your previous self.
Somebody has turned you inside out. You look like a muscle anatomy chart. Like someone took Deadpool and put him through a meatgrinder. Freddy Krueger can't hold a candle to the horrifying appearance you now sport. You look like the next level up of Two-face, only in full-body; like you belong to the Hellraiser franchise.
Screaming and writhing; your eyes glued to the gruesome reflection of what was once your body. Now, what is left of you in the wake of the torturous acid poison, is nothing sort of horrifying. There is absolutely no (s/c) skin left; the acid has burnt through the multiple layers of your skin, reaching down to your bones in quite a few places and blistering the rest sickeningly. The skin is raw, red, or entirely charred in spots that cover your body from tip to toe. No hair left. No lips or nose. You can see Jack's attempts to keep you looking as close to human as possible -your general characteristics are there- but your flesh has melted down like a candle, leaving only your (e/c) eyes to stare back at you.
Nobody would ever be able to recognize you now; hell, you can't even recognize yourself as your brain struggles and gives out under the horror and pain and the insanity of it all.
Struggling against the restraints, screaming and throwing the surgical room in the utter chaos of cries and alert beeping from the machines, making Jack reach for a syringe and stab you straight in the chest.
Heart jumping out of your ribcage.
Pain and suffering the only things you know.
Cursing the ones responsible for turning you into a monster.
All before you gasp and darkness invades your vision, bringing everything to silent a stop.