Work Text:
Three beasts hatch at long last, marking an end to perpetual slaughter. The surviving clone, chipped here and there, holds remnants of carnage behind its closed eyelids. The Rabbits, instilled with a taste for blood. The Reindeers, deprived of all respite. The Rhinos, unequipped with brakes.
Hong Lu 120 was the first out of the Hatchery.
“That’s you finished, then. Head to Medical.”
Even with a torn ear, Hong Lu can easily guess what is being said. The look on the pack commander’s face indicates that once again, his improvements were meager.
An unsurprising outcome. His countless selves readily accepted death, offering their necks to any clone that would bite. With every rebirth came greater aversion to the horns, some choosing to gouge their own eyes. Quite the undesirable environment for gaining combat experience.
“Ahaha, looks like I’m first out again.”
Hong Lu peers into the glass-walled battlefield, inwardly remarking on the progress of his colleagues. Ishmael’s clones were steadily decreasing, leaving behind only clumps of hair and well-cleaned bones. Heathcliff follows closely behind, only stalled by the occasional clone taking out its anger on a fresh kill. Meursault, slowest but surest, would gain the greatest boost from the Hatchery once more.
The nausea-inducing headache returns. Accepting the flow eased none of the pain, leaving it gnawing at his nerves. Vengeance, prestige, stability—most Reindeers endure the pain with a purpose gripped in hand. A Reindeer with no such distraction is left with limited refuge.
Even so, the first week remains the easiest. The longer he suffers from sleep deprivation, the longer he’ll spend as a walking corpse.
Day one. Knowing he’ll not sleep, Hong Lu closes his eyes.
Day thirteen. For the first time since leaving the Hatchery, Hong Lu failed to keep down his lunch.
“Where the fuck are you aiming at?! Bloody hell, that’s disgusting!”
A particularly hot-headed Rabbit rages at him. No wonder—the company lunch had been strewn across the table, half-digested. And Heathcliff’s bowl had suffered the brunt of it, dripping with foul-smelling refuse.
“Why don’t you just get a refill? It’s not like they charge you extra.”
Ishmael, seated opposite him, swiftly grabs a napkin and begins wiping at the mess. Having seen similar at sea and in the mess hall, she works quickly and efficiently. The table returns to its original, hygienic state—on the outside, at least.
“That’s not the goddamn point. There won’t be a next time, ya hear?”
“...Sorry. I’ll make sure of that.”
Allowing the vomiting to run its course hardly calms the nausea. Chronic insomnia sits constant and heavy. When the headache peaks, the contents of the stomach comes gurgling back up. Without progressive nausea to warn for it, he would often spontaneously vomit.
Ishmael, though understanding, does not offer any more kindness than necessary. Hong Lu’s eyes crack open to a plastic cup of water.
“Hey, don’t gulp it all at once. It’ll come right back up.”
“Don’t worry, I’m aware.”
The cold water feels incredible against his gullet. His stomach trembles and twitches, ready to expel any solids at a moment’s notice. Upon being watered, the twinge of pain dulls ever so slightly.
“...Uh, you should probably get changed.”
Ishmael gestures apologetically at his clothes. The upper half of his body had become sticky with vomit and saliva, emanating an off-putting stench. If a particularly sickly Reindeer were to bump into him, they would be following shortly in his path.
Unconcerned with his miserable state, Hong Lu wordlessly leaves for his room.
If only there was an escape from this pain.
The thought quickly sprouts, branching out and prickling at Hong Lu’s mind. The Rabbit and Reindeer respectively avoided one another, exchanging glares down hallways. Hong Lu had taken to begging one, striking a mutually beneficial agreement. Neither surrender their bodies completely, lacking the trust necessary to do so.
“Done with prep already? Don’t have much patience, do you?”
“I take it you’ve forgotten how much we dawdled last time.”
A detoxification of the mind and body, perhaps. Accepting what comes, allowing a foreign body to breach within. Though initially less thrilled about it, the pulsing pain that thrums with the heartbeat is far more agonising. With medication and rest proving useless, he chased pleasure.
“Right. Here goes.”
Prying Hong Lu’s thighs open, Heathcliff pushes himself against his entrance. Long accustomed to the perverse routine, they followed the natural conclusion of killing their own selves. Skin hits skin, setting nerves alight.
“Ngh, —... Ahgh..”
What comes out is a pained grunt, a far cry from a titillating moan. Heathcliff fucks him hard, undeterred. Keeping him in a state of sadistic arousal was the most convenient option of all.
Many a failed Heathcliff would have shaken their heads. Forgotten promises and moralities lay scattered on the bed, torn up by the sole victor.
“Fhgh, nnn…!”
“Tightening up just like that. Bet that hurt.”
As the ache in Hong Lu’s cranium reaches its peak, the grating sounds of skin against skin quicken. The Rabbit’s endless sexual stamina has worked to their benefit several times, but nothing mattered if he could not extract pleasure.
Heathcliff cards his fingers in his hair, irritatingly long. He thinks of biting off his fingers as a retort against half-hearted pacifications. He decides against it—the moment his hips cease to pound into him, the pain will avalanche into him without pause. Though hard to believe, the worst of it was being kept at bay.
“Touch me—in front, hurry…!”
Calloused fingers wrap themselves around Hong Lu, jerking his slick cock. That draws a sweet moan out of him, relieving the ache for a split second. Too short-lived of a lull to call it peace, he bucks his hips anyway to keep dreaming of it.
With each wave of jarring, unrelenting pain, Heathcliff’s harsh breaths brush his ear. The maddening pain adding to Heathcliff’s pleasure does not leave him content, but his pursuit of climax is what brings him brief respite. Intentional or not, all relief is equally kindness.
“Turn your head there. You’re bleedin’.”
He’d tensed too much and burst the capillaries in his nose. The sharp scent of iron spreads through his mouth, bringing with it a strong urge to retch. He wants to come. Needs to come. Wants to rip out his brain along with the ceaseless pain.
“Hhah, ngh…! Gkh—”
Every thrust against his innards leaves Hong Lu nauseous. He doesn’t push Heathcliff off him, writhing in sweat-soaked sheets. The ceiling shakes violently. Speckles of light flit across the darkened room.
Shit.
“ —Egh, nnngh…!”
An unspeakable wave of discomfort courses through Hong Lu. His stomach forces up a stream of gastric juices, thankfully without discernible chunks. Eating soups and liquids for lunch had certainly done him good. Though the lack of choking hazard helps, the acidic burn leaves him without much relief. If only they supplied the Reindeers with ice cream.
Heathcliff, showing no signs of discomfort, spreads the towel he’d prepared in advance. He digs his fingers into Hong Lu’s hips, continuing his efforts to get both of them off. It was no longer unusual for their activities to be accompanied by vomit. Treating it as another source of pleasure was the sole option.
“Don’t you go choking on me. I ain’t gonna explain that one to the gaffer.”
“Ugh, can you shut up…?! Just—don’t stop.”
Do not get caught up by the relentless pain and nausea. Keep seizing the pleasurable sensations, focus on feeling good. Even if temporary.
Heathcliff bottoms out into him, slick noises emanating from where they’re connected. Intense pleasure surges up his spinal cord, shaking his consciousness with a jolt. It feels terribly good—the weight pressed against his body, the sweat gathering at his soft parts, the warmth filling him up.
“Hhhahh—!”
How many times had he climaxed? No, he shouldn’t think. Thinking only ever worsened the goddamn pain. If sleep was a luxury out of reach, may he empty his head of everything,
Day eighteen. Hong Lu was temporarily at peace.
Hong Lu’s irritated stomach constantly insisted upon itself, drawing tallow sweat out of his pores. Unable to pinpoint a worst ache, he continued down the path of sicker. Constant nausea fills his mouth with spit, often seen overflowing and running down his chin. Yet nothing came up, dry heaves scraping at his throat.
He’ll be out of medicine soon. Too exhausted to shake the bottle of pills, he pushes himself off the bunk and leaves his room. Leaning along the walls, he makes his way to Medical.
“Painkillers, hm? Right this way.”
How horrific he must have looked. The pharmacist takes him to a semi-private consultation room, handing him a paper bag with the R Corp brand painkillers. The clear aroma of disinfectant sticks in his throat. He stares down at his knees, attempting to swallow the discomfort.
The pharmacist slides the prescription across the table. The medications supplied to Reindeers were strong enough to require individual signatures upon pick-up.
With trembling fingers, Hong Lu takes the pen. Calligraphy lessons for naught, distorted ink strokes stain the blank spacing. Drawing a horizontal line across the illegible letters, he grips the pen in his fist and starts over underneath.
As if to rub it in further, the pen slips out of his weakened grip. The sound of it clattering on the floor was enough for the neurosis to flare stronger than ever. It grinds and wears away at his nerves, filling him with untold frustration.
“Fuck!”
With an unworded scream, Hong Lu’s fist meets the table. The pharmacist blinks, surprised ever so slightly. He’d already lost his temper countless times this week.
“...Sorry about that.”
“That’s quite all right. It happens often around this time.”
The crumpled prescription is taken away from his line of sight. It’s replaced by a similar printout with a small blank square.
“Your fingerprint here, please.”
Little by little, Hong Lu feels parts of himself slip away. Still unwilling to target his misguided anger at the pharmacist, he sinks a finger into red ink and gives her no further delay. His throat burns with anger and gastric acids. He clamps a hand over his mouth.
“A lot of Reindeers are being sent here for dehydration recently. Would you like an infusion to go?”
The pharmacist’s preemptive assumptions, though correct, irritate him. With no choice but to nod, he holds his arm out and accepts the needle into his vein.
“Take care.”
There’s little hope of further improvement. With the IV bag under his arm, Hong Lu trudges back to his dorm room. A misery he’ll never get accustomed to, in spite of countless revivals. If only he could rip the damned horns off for a day.
A heavy thud. It had happened in a split second—a head-on collision with a Rabbit, bounding around the corner with haste. Both bodies hit the floor, thrown backwards from the force. Dull pain, and a splatter.
“Agh, damn it! Where the hell were you looking at!”
The discomfort spreading through Hong Lu’s bloodstream overrides the ear-splitting ringing. Having missed the pain of a ripped-out needle, the intravenous solution spreading on the floor informs him of the bag’s rupture. Heathcliff, having noted that, pointedly avoids the puddle as he marches over.
“...Ah…”
“Huh?! Didn’t catch that. Those knobs finally drove you crackers or what?”
The longer Rabbits stay undischarged, the shorter their fuse becomes. With no grass to graze, Heathcliff couldn’t help sinking his teeth into wretched prey.
“And what’s this? Fancy yourself as a poorly little thing? Posh prick.”
Heathcliff takes the remains of the IV bag and tears it apart. It hits the ground with a splatter, leaving droplets in Hong Lu’s bangs.
Right there and then, an accident turned to an inevitable bloodbath.
A wordless scream tears out of Hong Lu’s throat. All hope for peace blown away, he grabs Heathcliff by the throat and pushes with all his might. Planting his knee into his solar plexus, he rains down blows onto his face. As if carving pain into him could relieve his own.
“Fuck—! This how it’s gonna be, huh?! I’ll fucking smash your head in!”
Heathcliff, having recovered from the surprise attack, quickly regains his footing and swiftly ducks the heavy blows. Pain-filled movements easily read, their positions switched in no time.
“Ngh, aaagh—!”
“Hah, that all you got? Get your licks in!”
Unamused by how easily he’d subdued the weakened Reindeer, Heathcliff punctuated his attacks with purposeful openings and stop-and-gos. Hong Lu, his flared nerves aggravated further, dripped anger from his cheeks.
Hurts, it hurts. Hurts. Sick. Burns hurts. Make it stop please stop.
Hong Lu loses track of the fluids running down his face. The barrage of violence had ceased at some point, the Rabbit presumably tired of a one-sided beatdown. Everywhere continues to ache and throb. How much he wishes he could let go.
He closes his eyes, a familiar yelling in the distance.
Day twenty five.
Something in arm. Cannot see what is. Wrapped up. Water is going drip drip drip.
Thoughts slowly returning. Warm and comfortable. The frustration of limited movement. Head… seems to be hurting.
“Awake at last, are we? You’ll be discharged once the medicine’s all in.”
Looking left and right, Hong Lu finally realizes where he’d been hauled off to. The walls are painted in soft pastels, and all corners are rounded. The room looks much like a child’s nursery.
“Can you get this off me?”
“No can do. I suppose you don’t remember losing your mind and going berserk… or how many it took to pin you down and restrain you.”
Swaddled tightly in an adorably patterned blanket, Hong Lu had no freedom of movement in his limbs. His clothes had also been changed into soft pajamas. Act like a baby, be treated as one. Not pampered like a guiltless infant, but deprived of autonomy.
What’s done is done. The only thing he can do is convince the nurse he’s regained his sanity. He wiggles his fingers inside the blanket, playing with its loose fibers.
“...I’d like to go to the bathroom, please.”
“We’ve already arranged for that.”
The strange texture against his lower half is finally explained. With no energy left to wail in humiliation, he swallows his grievances and accepts his punishing rest.
Day twenty-nine. The fourth pack was deployed in an extermination mission.
The Reindeer, forced into unending acceptance, felt something akin to relief. Rather than spend the hours of the day suffering meaninglessly, reaffirming his purpose through greater burdens was the favourable option.
A compensation paid out for a successful mission, the meaning of a pain-filled existence. Though such things did not interest Hong Lu, the promise of a short-lived tranquility left him with something to look forward to. Too paltry for equalization of suffering, he sets up his equipment and grips his cane.
“All units, prepare for deployment!”
The commander’s orders mark the beginning of carnage. Flashes of light crackle and splinter, eating into the brains of extermination targets. Through the ringing of his ears, Hong Lu watches blood and ichor leak out of their every orifice. Cerebral matter spills out of heads split open on solid ground.
With every life burned, the antlers violently twitch and spasm. Pain that shoots through the spine, forcing the stomach to contract. No matter. He continues to drive them all to their deaths, chasing the sweet promise of sleep.
“Time to graze on fresh grass!”
The Rabbits storm in on cue. Civilians who have yet to die, comrades left behind, crumbling buildings—all chewed and ripped up, should they stand in their path. The unfettered destruction sends a rush of pleasure through Hong Lu.
It’s been too long since acceptance ceased to be a remedy. The cane slips away from his grip. The sky fills his field of vision. His antler catches onto debris—he’d fallen on his back.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?”
A muzzle between the brows. Heathcliff’s eyes flicker with euphoria, his smile an overwhelming comfort. As if to swallow poison nectar, Hong Lu’s mouth drops open.
“Will you finally put me to sleep?”
He’ll wake up having to devour himself once more. The days of nauseating pain overrunning the nerves and turning to a pesky Rabbit for relief will continue.
Even so, he chooses to sink into unconsciousness. Hoping to be cut off for as long as possible.
The bullet rips out of its chamber, severing the thread in a single breath.