[ There were many men and women at the lab. They did their jobs. Some, she knows, didn't like what was done at the lab. She insisted on showing mercy to one. She remembers his face, remembers the red rage, remember flinging the gun away with a twitch of her head.
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
[ peter waits for a bit before realising that a response isn't coming. he doesn't want to make any assumptions about her response or how she's feeling, other than whoops, maybe that was the wrong response? it's a little while later then that he sends a message, switching back to text: ]
Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
savingthrows) wrote2019-07-31 01:14 am
CW for PTSD, human experiments, flashback
Not all bad men want to be bad men.
But some still are.
They follow orders.
Papa was a bad man.
Papa gave the orders.
Peter wasn't there.
Peter is not a bad man.
Papa was was a bad man.
Papa was bad.
Peter is not.
Papa was.
Papa.
She feels the hands in her hair, short cropped so they can place things on her head. She feels the hands on her arms, so tight they bruise, dragging her through sterile, white dark corridors. She feels the hands on her back, pressing on the knobs of her spine, and the sound of pens scribbling, and Papa deeming Experiment 011 healthy enough.
It feels hands on its shoulder and pricks of needles and hands on its cheeks.
Experiment 011 huddles in the corner of its cell, knees up and face hidden and knows better than to struggle against their hold and their pull and their push.
To Peter's message, there is no response. ]
no subject
Hey, El. If you want to talk at some point, I'll be around. If not, I get it.
Just take care of yourself, okay?
- Peter