#aranka naumann

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 04: I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes

Shock + "You in there?"

3220 Words; Rewired AU

TW for isolation, memory loss, experimentation, electrical torture

AO3 ver

This sucks.

Dion glared at the locked door, arms crossed. All of his attempts to force it open had proven futile, leaving him nothing to do but lean against the wall and glare at it.

The room he was in—if it could even be called a room, when there was just barely enough space to lie down—was small, four plain stone walls with a single metal door. There was a single… cot was too generous a word, honestly. It was a slab of metal just barely big enough to lie on, held up by two diagonal metal struts braced against the wall underneath it. There was a drain in the center of the floor; Dion refused to touch it if he could help it. By bracing himself against the walls of the corner, he could climb up high enough to get at the ceiling. But the panel over the single small light refused to budge, no matter how hard Dion tried to pry it off. Spots still danced across his eyes from his efforts.

The only ventilation came in the form of four small slits in the door. There was a slot at the bottom of the door, as well, but the panel covering it wouldn’t budge. If Dion were more resourceful, if he had a better idea of what was going on—

But he wasn’t, and he had no idea. He’d been handling groceries out in town, on his way back to camp—

And then he was in here, in this barren room, with no way out. The jacket he’d gotten for his seventeenth birthday was missing, as was his wallet, pocket knife, and compact. Whoever had taken him and put him here had gone through his pockets, and the knowledge left Dion feeling violated.

But there was nothing he could do about it, and that, more than anything, crawled under his skin like so many wriggly spiders. The inaction grated against him, his leg bouncing in agitation. He needed to move, to get up and do something—

But he couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Not until the door opened, or he found out what the hell was going on, or—something, he didn’t know.

This sucked. Dion glared at the door from where he was sitting on the slab.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes, and his vision swam worse than it already was.. He didn’t recognize the voice speaking to him, the words spinning through his head uselessly. He swallowed, but the nausea remained.

Still, he spoke. “Dion Aquato.” Son of Donatella and Augustus Aquato. Eldest of five siblings. Dion Aquato. I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Meals came in through the slot at the bottom of the door—gross. Even if it was on a tray, it was still being slid along a floor that had been exposed to god knew what. Dion didn’t eat, the first few times, fear of poison and disdain for invisible concrete floor grime holding him back.

But the hunger pricked at his stomach. It was impossible to sleep well on the slab or the floor. He needed to keep his strength up however he could, if he ever wanted out of here.

The meals were simple. A plastic spork came on the equally plastic tray. Neither the utensil nor the tray could be used to escape, as far as Dion could tell, so he left them by the slot when he finished. The food was…

He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, but he was already homesick. Truth be told, he’d been homesick the moment he’d finished inspecting the room, but the feeling had only built over time. He missed his mother’s cooking. He missed cooking. He missed food that wasn’t bland unseasoned drivel. He’d had his fill of dry chicken and plain mashed potatoes and sad greens. He wanted to eat food, real food with actual flavor that he wasn’t shoving down his throat just for the nutritional value.

How many days had it been? Three? Four? Dion wondered if his birthday had passed already, if he had turned 18 in this cell, away from his friends and family. It had only been a week off, when he’d found himself in this tiny stone hell.

Ugh. This sucked. The food was awful. He had no idea what he was even here for, or where here even was. He wanted to go home. He wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to figure a way out of this cell.

Dion was clean, at least, his hair hanging loose around his face and on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember when the grease had been rinsed out—but he really didn’t want to think about that. So he didn’t.

“An explanation would be nice.” He grumbled. “Wouldn’t mind some fucking answers.”

The door had no answer for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up to a bright light right in his eyes. Where—

He was lying back on a hard surface, at an angle. There was pressure across his legs and chest. Attempts to move were thwarted—oh. He was strapped down.

Dion turned his head to the side to avoid the light shining down on him, cool metal pressing against his cheek. He scrunched his eyes shut, spots dancing across his vision. His head was pounding—probably because of the light.

He heard footsteps to his left. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

There was a woman standing there with a clipboard in hand, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Dion blinked.

Nope, she was still there, still regarding the clipboard in her hand through cat eye glasses. A pen floated over the clipboard.

Dion turned his head to look to the right. The room he was in had… six walls? No, wait, it was eight, wasn’t it? Yeah. Eight. Eight plain white walls that went up to… he couldn’t tell, with the bright light looming above him. He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his head back to his left, opening them as the woman walked over to a shelf taking up three of the walls.

The room gave him an uneasy feeling. The bright light reminded him of dentists; the lady’s labcoat and the sanitized room reminded him of hospitals. There was even a counter back to his right that took up three of the walls, with a sink and cabinets.

A binder floated off the shelf and opened in front of the woman. She flipped through the pages inside for a moment before the binder returned to the shelf.

Dion opened his mouth. He was so done with his stupid little cell, with this bright light searing down into his eyes—but most of all, he was so done with not knowing what the hell was going on. He wanted answers, dammit, so he opened his mouth and spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

The woman’s head snapped around so fast that Dion almost thought it might fall off. She was regarding him, now, and Dion snapped his mouth shut. He felt like a bug under her gaze, like a number on her clipboard that wasn’t what she expected.

She walked over to him, lips pursed.

“At least say something!” His mouth moved before his brain could process what he was saying. Her brow furrowed, and Dion tensed.

“You,” she loomed over him, close enough that he could see the gold of her eyes, “should not be up.” She held something small in her hands, and Dion strained to make out what was surely going to be used to hurt him—

One click. Two clicks.

Dion never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

His head swam. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again. “Dion Aquato.” Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato I’m an acrobat I’m a brother I’m Dion Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

There were holes in his memory.

Dion almost didn’t notice them, at first. Day and night blurred together in his cell, with nothing to mark the passage of time. How long had he been here? How many days? Had he turned 18, here in this cell, away from his friends and family?

All of his street clothes had been missing when he’d woken up here—he was dressed in a simple shirt and pants made of a rough fabric he couldn’t identify, the light gray seeming to melt into the stone around him.

(But hadn’t he searched his pockets when he’d first woken up here? He remembered them being empty of his things—)

That was the first clue. The second was the collection of plastic sporks in the corner of his room—he was sure he’d put them there, but he couldn’t remember eating that many meals. The third clue was that he still didn’t know how he was clean, despite being in his cell long enough to start to smell.

There were holes in his memory. Once he finally realized this, he realized the danger he was in. Panic spiraled in his brain. What if he forgot everything? What if he forgot his family? His home?

But what could he do? He’d never even left this cell.

(Had he?)

Still, he needed to remember. He thought back to his life outside, to home—

He could remember his mother’s face, at least. Could still remember every member of his family, from his parents to his Nona to his siblings. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Raz. Tala. Queepie. Could remember the circus, the blue and green stripes of the Aquatodome.

He glared reproachfully at the door of his cell. His name was Dionysus Aquato. He was the eldest of five. He was 17—no, he was probably 18 already—and he refused to forget his home and family. He’d die before he let that happen.

“You’re not keeping me here forever.” He whispered. “I’ll get out eventually.”

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up strapped to a table.

There was a bright light overhead. His head swam, a pounding headache behind his eyes. His mouth had that awful taste that it always got when he overslept.

This wasn’t his tent or the caravan, though. This was an octagonal room, the ceiling obscured by the light bearing down on him. There was something familiar about the room, but he couldn’t fathom why.

He turned his head to his left. There was a woman standing there, regarding a binder floating in front of her through cat eye glasses, hair pulled back into a bun. There was someone next to her in… a pantsuit? The woman was wearing a lab coat, which some part of Dion felt was far more appropriate for the sterile setting.

Dion didn’t recognize her, though. But hadn’t he seen her before?

And the guy standing next to her—Dion had never seen them before. But he knew their face. Didn’t he? He didn’t know.

“Why is it conscious?” They asked. It took Dion a moment to realize that they were talking about him. That… that didn’t bode well.

Her lips pursed. “Because I’m investigating a problem.” She pressed something—

Pain! Dion yelped, his body jerking against the straps. It arced up his legs and arms, through his chest, into his head—

Just as quick as it came, it was gone. His shoulders heaved.

A problem. She’d called him a problem. That couldn’t be good.

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Something. He tried to remember, searching his mind—

Another scream was ripped from his throat as a fresh wave of electricity burst through him. He spasmed, the straps pinning him down. His wrists and ankles were starting to ache—were they going to bruise?

The pain left again. Dion’s thoughts chased each other in circles. His head spun. He needed to—he needed to—

Remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Aquato!

His name was Dion Aquato. He was the eldest of four—no, five. He came from the Aquato family circus.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona—

He screamed as another wave of pain rushed through him. The electricity didn’t stop, even as his voice cut out, even as he continued to spasm. His head swam, pain pounding his brain to bits—

All at once, the pain stopped. He shook, and turned towards the pair.

The woman’s binder had fallen to the ground. Her nose had bled, a red smear on her upper lip.

“Well.” She said, “That’s… interesting.”

Dion didn’t have the energy to question it. He needed to remember, anyway. Mom Dad Nona Frazie—

Something clicked. Once, twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

It sounded disappointed in him. He couldn’t fathom why.

“Dion Aquato.” He was answering the question, right? He was Dion Aquato. It was his name, his identity—he was Dion Aquato eldest son acrobat 17 years old Dion Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

The pile of sporks in the corner was gone. If it had ever been there at all—he had probably just imagined it.

He didn’t know when he’d gotten here. Didn’t know how long he’d been here. Had a week passed? Was he 18, now, had he missed his birthday in this stupid little cell?

His old clothes were gone, replaced with a dull blue shirt and pants the same gray as the stone around him. It was weird, to look down at his legs and see nothing but gray, gray like the walls, gray like he was just another fixture in the room, just another setpiece—

(Hadn’t his shirt been gray? Hadn’t he been wearing his street clothes when he first woke up in this cell?)

His head swam. Lights danced behind his vision.

His name was Dion Aquato. He had a family and a home. His name was Dion Aquato.

(Was it?)

He looked at the door. Metal, like the—well, cot was too generous. More like a slab, really—slab sticking out from the wall, held up by diagonal metal struts. Metal, like the ring around his neck.

(He couldn’t remember when it was put on. He couldn’t get it off. Maybe it had always been there.)

“How much longer?” He asked. How much longer would he be stuck in here? He wanted to go home. He wasn’t even sure where home was.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

He came to strapped to a chair. The room he was in was familiar, octagonal-shape tickling some corner of his brain. But every attempt to recall if he had been here before resulted in fog filling his head. But he needed to remember, right?

There was a woman standing at a control panel-like structure to his left, her mouth moving. He couldn’t hear what she was saying through the panel of glass between him and her. 

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion Aquato. He was 17 (18? 16?). He didn’t know where he was. Home was Mom Dad Nona Frazie Pooter Tala Queepie, it was blue and green tents and a towering caravan. He needed to remember.

He muttered their names under his breath, pushing at the straps wrapped around his arms and chest. As usual, they refused to yield.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie

Dion Dion Dion my name is Dion my name is Dion

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie—

Pain shot through him, electricity coursing through his body until his head spun. Even when it stopped, the room continued to spin, the bright light above him leaving spots in his vision.

He needed—he needed—

Remember!

His name was Dion Aquato. Home was green and blue and Mom and Dad and Nona and Raz and Queepie—

He was missing something. He needed to remember it.

“Shut up.”

Another bolt of electricity. Another scream that left his throat raw.

He didn’t even realize he’d been muttering. But he needed to remember, he couldn’t shut up, he needed to hold onto everything that he had for as long as he could, needed to hold himself together no matter what. He mumbled their names, his brain struggling through the haze of pain and light dancing behind his eyes. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Tala. Queepie. Mom. Dad. Raz. Tala. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Mom. Dad. Nona—

“I said shut up.” Something clicked—

Dion’s body convulsed against the straps again. His throat hurt too much to scream, the electricity seizing through him.

The electricity stopped. He twitched. The taste of copper filled his mouth.

Remember. He needed to remember. Mom. Dad. Frazie. Queepie. Mom. Nona. Raz. Queepie. Dad. Nona. Tala. Mom. Dad. Mom—

“Fine, then. If you can’t shut up, then you won’t speak at all.”

Something clicked. Once. Twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He wasn’t sure. “Dion.” That… sounded right.

“Who are you?”

They sounded frustrated. He wasn’t sure why.

“Dion.” He was Dion, wasn’t he?

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gray walls stared back at him. He tried to remember any place other than this, tried to remember being anywhere but these walls—

Nothing. Just gray.

He knew he had come from somewhere, though. He had a mother and a father out there, somewhere—somewhere that wasn’t here.

But what did his mother’s face even look like? How did her voice sound? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and she seemed all the less real because of it.

How many siblings did he have? Did he even have siblings at all?

His head hurt. Lights danced behind his eyes. He clutched his face in his hands, massaging his temples. Nausea threatened to spill out of his mouth and onto the floor below. He choked it down.

His name was Dion. He had a mother and a father. He couldn’t remember their faces. He needed to remember.

Did he? He couldn’t remember. His head swam.

He pitched forward, his hands hitting the concrete floor as he fell off the slab. His name was—he was—

He retched.

Shoulders shaking, he leaned back. He rubbed his mouth, not caring about the bile and spit on his arm. He looked at the door.

“I’m—” He needed to remember. His head was swimming. “Where am I?” Who am I?

The door had no answers for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Bright light loomed above him, searing his eyes.

Exhaustion weighed him down more than the straps holding him still. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat.

A woman’s voice floated over to him. “Shutdown, Test 24-2.” The light was blinding, he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from—

Pain arced through his limbs. Something in him clicked. His head pounded, pressure like a vice—

Something clattered on the floor.

“Stop now.” The pressure receded at the woman’s voice. He couldn’t fathom why. He was too exhausted to care, his eyes slipping closed. Light danced behind them.

Click.

Click.

Click.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He had no answer.

“Who are you?”

Why were they asking? He wasn’t anybody.

“Who are you?”

The voice was starting to grate against his head. Nausea danced in his throat.

“Who are you?”

“I—” Who was he? Was he anything?

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes. At once, the answer came to him.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“Yes, you are.”

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shock #''you in there?'' #psychonauts #zaz writes #isolation tw #memory loss tw #memory alteration tw #electrical torture tw #experimentation tw #rewired au #dion aquato #aranka naumann #well. maybe. #i don't really want to come up with a new scientist oc though so we're goign with my girl aranka for now #this was so so fun to write #but now i'm rushing to post this so i can catch the bus home LMAO #anyway 💅 four days in and i'm FINALLY writing about dion suffering

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 20: people don't change people, time does

Found Family

4390 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for child abuse, attempted murder, unethical experimentation, blood mention

AO3 ver

“Gisu!”

Gisu looked up at the sound of the door slamming open. Dion let his leg fall back to the floor, his arms securely wrapped around the book he was carrying. Gisu felt a trickle of amusement as Dion stalked over to her, slamming the book on the desk.

It had only been two days since Raz ran off. Dion had come to surprisingly quickly after being thrown like that—maybe it was an acrobat thing. But he had had the worst headache, so it was nice to see him moving with his usual energy, again.

It’d be even nicer if Raz hadn’t run off, but still.

“I know where Raz went!” Dion exclaimed. “Is trying to go. Whatever. But I know where it is!” He flipped the book open, revealing it to be a photo album. Gisu got only a moment to glance at what she assumed were Dion’s baby pictures before he flipped to the page he wanted. “There.” He pointed at the picture of the family all assembled before the Aquatodome—it must have been a few years old, because Gisu couldn’t see Queepie anywhere, but she could see a much younger Mirtala held aloft in Donatella’s arms.

“Cute photo.” Gisu commented, totally not focusing on the massive grin on younger-photo-Dion’s face. “What makes you think Raz is going there?”

Dion pointed at the photo—at the background of the photo, Gisu realized, his finger tapping the mountain dominating the landscape. “When Raz hit me with his… psychic thingy, I think…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Psychic bullshit involves mind stuff, right? Like thoughts and feelings.”

“Yeah…” Gisu nodded.

“And I’ve been seeing the same fucking mountain since he hit me,” Dion continued, “Which means it’s probably, like, an afterthought of it.”

“After-effect,” Gisu corrected.

“Yeah, that.” Dion agreed. His hands moved as he spoke and paced around, and it was utterly fascinating, even as his words kept coming out stream-of-consciousness style. “So I keep seeing this mountain, and it’s so familiar, like an itch in the back of my mind, yanno? So I start digging through our old albums, because I swear I’ve seen this mountain somewhere before, and I know it’s important, so I kept searching and—”

“And then you found it?” Gisu asked, trying not to let too much fondness creep into her voice. A little bit is okay, but it’s too early to be getting sappy.

“Yeah!” Dion nodded emphatically, once again by the desk and tapping the photo. “It doesn’t look exactly the same but I know that that’s the one. That’s the mountain that Raz is going to.” He looked at Gisu with so much intensity that she thought he might burst, and said, “I keep feeling like I need to go there.”

Gisu leaned back in her chair. “Do you?”

“Yes!” Dion threw his hands in the air. “No? I don’t know!” He paced a small half-circle, “But that’s where Raz is. Is going. I’m sure of it!” He turned to Gisu once again. “I don’t know what to do about this.” He admitted. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to tell.”

“Well, I think—” Gisu stretched, getting out of her chair. “—that what happens next is obvious.”

“Really?’ Dion lit up. “I knew you’d know what to do! You’re really smart like that.” His face flushed, and Gisu had to take a moment to fight off the butterflies in her stomach and the heat on her own face.

“Yeah.” She smirked, grabbing Dion’s wrist. She started pulling him back towards the door.

“We’re going on a field trip!”

+=+=+=+=+

Three huffed as he leaped up over a boulder, his levball making the jump easier than climbing up by hand. Even still, this was exhausting.

But it needed to be done. He only had a little bit further to go, anyway—it had taken him a week just to get this far, and the sun had long set behind him, and he couldn’t waste anymore time.

Really, though, did Ms. Naumann have to build her lab halfway up a mountain? Three had his levball to help, but this was ridiculous.

Still, there was nothing Three could do. He just had to get there, and make everything right. So he’d do it, even if it was tiring.

He had to.

+=+=+=+=+

“I think we made pretty good time!’ Gisu chirped. And really, they kind of did. Five days to make a trip spanning across a few states—thank god for comprehensive bus routes. And her levboard. Couldn’t forget how important her baby was to this whole operation.

“I’m still not sure how you convinced me to go along with this.” Dion muttered, staring up at the mountain looming before them, the sunlight behind him casting his face in shadow. “Or why we’re doing this alone.”

“Because it’s faster that way.” Gisu offered, already setting up her board. Sure, they could have a nice little hike up the trails, but they were here on a mission. Raz had a two-day headstart—they couldn’t waste time. “C’mon.” She held out her hand, and Dion took it. Grumbling under his breath but joining her on the levboard regardless. “Let’s go find Pooter.”

+=+=+=+=+

Three crawled through the vents as quietly as he could. Benefit of the lab being half-underground, he supposed—the vents themselves were surrounded by solid rock, making them more than capable of supporting his weight.

So he crawled along, his mental link with Four helping him navigate to the bunks without issue. It took a while, and he had to wiggle a bit to get through some of the tighter turns, but he made it.

The room the clones all slept in was halfway into a natural cavern, of sorts, with a large open space above the beams holding up the lights. Three telekinetically undid the screws on the vent cover, and quietly removed the panel, holding it in the air to keep it from clattering on the ground. He crawled out onto the bunk bed directly below it, the top cot softening the impact. Once he was clear, he replaced the vent cover, but set the screws to the side—this would be his exit.

“Three?” Four’s voice cut through the room—the lights were off, right now, but Three could already feel his brother’s mental presence beginning to surge.

“Four!” Three practically lunged for his brother, his arms wrapping around Four’s shoulders with all the strength he had. I missed you I’m so happy to see you again I missed you I missed you I missed you

“Three!” Four returned the hug, pulses of missed-you and ribbons of golden elation flowing through their connection. I missed you I’m so glad you’re safe I missed you I missed you I missed you

Eventually, Three pulled back. His face crumpled, his eyes stung, and he slammed his face back into the crook of his brother’s neck. “I missed you.” He murmured, his thoughts echoing the notion.

“I missed you too.” Four returned, echoing back the same. He pulled back. “You gotta be quick,” he started. “Ms. Naumann’s been acting really weird lately.”

Three took a breath. Right. No more tears—mission now, sad later. “Weird how?”

Four winced. “Like she’s scared of something.” He mumbled. “I think…” He tried again, “She told me to call you back in a few days. I think… I think she’s going to terminate us.”

Three’s blood ran cold. The world pressed in on him, crushing weight squeezing all the air from his lungs—

Three scowled. “That’s not going to happen.” He declared. “We’re going to get Six and Raz and we’re going to get out of here.” He was done being scared of Ms. Naumann. She was wrong. She was wrong and Three felt none of the respect he’d had for her. She was wrong.

Four nodded. “It’s this way—” he started—

Something fell from the beams above to the floor beside them with a thud and a grunt, making Three and Four flinch back in surprise. The figure uncurled, groaning as it stood—

“Wh—how did you get here?” Three whisper-shouted. “Why are you here?!” Of all the—for the sake of—really? Of all the people who could have somehow followed him, it was Dion?

“Raz.” Dion started, “You have ten seconds to explain—” He stopped short, his eyes darting between Three and Four.

“Why are there two of you?” Dion’s voice went up a few notches, grating against Three’s ears. He was looking back and forth between the two of them, confusion leaching off of him in waves.

Three put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Look, Dion, I promise I’ll explain everything later.” He said, trying to ignore the way Four was starting to vibrate next to him. “When we have time.” He promised. “But I need you to not mess everything up right now—”

“Uh uh.” Dion interrupted, hands on his hips. “No way. I’m not doing anything until you explain yourself.”

“We don’t have time—” Three insisted, gritting his teeth. Why couldn’t he have been followed by someone with sense, like Frazie? Frazie was cool.

“I’m not hearing an explanation.” Dion hissed. “So I’ll ask again: What the fuck is going on here?!” he demanded—

“I find myself wondering the exact same thing.”

Three froze. Dion’s eyes were wide as he stared at the doorway behind Three. Oh no. Oh no.

Three turned around slowly, like the air around him was suddenly full of glue. Oh no no no.

None other than Ms. Naumann stood there, her lips pressed into a thin line. All of Three’s resolve dissolved under her gaze, like a wadded up napkin being tossed into the trash. Oh no.

“And who are you?” Ms. Naumann turned her attention to Dion, who looked as much like a deer in headlights as Three and Four felt.

“...very confused.” Dion admitted.

Ms. Naumann raised a hand to the bridge of her nose. “Right.�� She sighed. Her hand moved to her temple, her look of resignation turning to one of concentration.

Three yelped in surprise as an arm wrapped around him, lifting into the air in a single burst of motion. Ms. Naumann shot a psi-blast, and Dion ducked under it to slide out the open door behind her, not once losing momentum even as he leapt up into a run, Three and Four tucked against his sides.

“Which way do I go?” Dion demanded, as Ms. Naumann’s footsteps echoed behind them.

“Left!” Four shouted, even as Three’s head spun trying to remember the layout. Dion skidded to a near-halt at the next intersection, deftly using his shed momentum to pivot into a turn to the left. “I still want an explanation!” He nearly screeched, following Four’s directions to duck to the right.

“Later!” Three reminded him. He squirmed in Dion’s arm until he was facing backwards, watching as Ms. Naumann came up behind them. “She’s gaining!” He shouted, and Dion picked up the pace.

“Do something then!” Dion made another turn, his grip on Three and Four tightening to keep them from slipping free.

Right! Three concentrated, lining up his shot—

Ms. Naumann’s eyes widened in surprise as Three fired. She ducked to the side, and the shot only grazed her—but she ended up stopping entirely, so Three still allowed himself a moment of silent victory. He was useful! Another shot brought down a light fixture, blocking her path. Even more useful!

Dion slid to a halt, the sudden stop jarring to Three. He squirmed, trying to see what had brought them to a halt—

“How do I open this?” Dion demanded, and Three managed to turn around entirely. They were blocked by a door—the playroom door, it looked like.

“Get me to that keypad.” Four said, and Dion moved to hold him up in front of it. Four tapped in the code—

Four hissed and pulled back his hand. “Dammit.” He muttered. “She changed it again.”

“Language.” Dion snapped. Three stuck out his tongue. Who was Dion to decide if his brother could swear? “Hurry up,” Dion added. “I don’t like how quiet it is right now.”

“I’m trying.” Four shot back, trying another code. Another angry beep as the pad flashed red. “Ugh, she changes them way too often.” He grumbled, moving to try another one.

Probably because someone’s just a little too clever. Three suggested, trying to squirm out of Dion’s grip. Four ignored his comment in favor of focusing on the keypad.

“Uh uh.” Dion adjusted his hold on Three. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re out of this mess.”

Three crossed him arms. He really wished it was Frazie who had followed him. How did Dion even find him?

“How did you even find me? You were out on the floor when I left.” Three poked Dion’s side.

“You’re the one who practically showed me where you were going.” Dion muttered, like it was somehow Three’s fault that he’d shown up to mess everything up.

Which… maybe it was, now that Three thought about it. He hadn’t even touched Dion when he’d sent him flying—if it was a burst of unfocused psychic power, then it probably ended up pushing Three’s thoughts into Dion’s head. Whoops.

Four hissed at another failed attempt. Dion tapped his foot against the floor impatiently. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Three gasped. “Ms. Naumann!”

“Okay, time to go!” Dion decided, pulling away from the door.

“Wh—no!” Four shouted. “Six is in there!”

“We’re not leaving him behind!” Three added, “Him or Raz!”

Dion froze. “What—”

The world tilted, and Three fell to the floor. He had only a moment to catch his breath before a telekinetic grasp grabbed ahold of him, too, lifting him up into the air to join a struggling Dion and Four.

“That’s enough of that.” Ms. Naumann declared, already turning on her heel. The hands followed after her, dragging the three of them along through the air.

“Well.” Four muttered, “shit.”

+=+=+=+=+

Well, shit. Gisu scooted further into the shadows. She and Dion had only found Raz—though apparently he was going by Three?—by chance, and then Dion had fallen down into the room the moment he spotted his brother. Who was greeting a second Raz.

And now this lady had showed up, and Dion had grabbed both Razzes and ran. Gisu had no idea how far he’d get, but she didn’t want to get caught, either.

Something that the Not-Razzes had mentioned caught in her mind, and she regarded the door carefully. Six and Raz? Did that mean that there were more Pooters here?

Well, it was as good a lead as any. Gisu levitated down to the floor, and poked her head out the still-open door.

The hallway was empty. Probably.

Carefully, Gisu crept out, holding her board tight against her side. If she concentrated, she could faintly feel Dion’s mind a ways away, frustration ebbing in and out of his mental signal. She wasn’t good enough with telepathy to hold a full conversation with him, though—she was too used to the person on the other end being psychic. Adam could probably hold a connection with seven people all on his own, and Morris was also pretty good at long-range communication—

But Adam and Morris weren’t here. Just Gisu and Dion.

Gisu huffed, casting her mind out further. She didn’t want to alert the scientist lady to her presence, but there had to be something she could use—

Aha! Her mind caught on something. On another mind—

…which reached back. Who are you? They demanded, their presence like waves crashing against Gisu’s mind.

Trying to help. Gisu responded, raising a hand to her temple to track down the other mind.

Like you could help me, the voice scoffed. Okay, rude. You just want Raz, anyway.

Yeah, that was what Gisu was confused about. Why are there so many of you?

The other end was quiet, for a moment, then—there used to be one more. But he’s gone now. A deep sense of melancholy washed over Gisu like waves washing over the sand. For a moment, she almost felt like sand, slowly being pulled into the depths of the anguish bit by bit.

Gisu shook her head to snap herself out of it. I’m sorry. She responded, that sucks.

Tell me something I don’t know. The other mind snarked. But really, why are you here?

Gisu concentrated on everything that had happened in the past several days. The birthday, the breakdown, Not-Raz running off, her and Dion’s chase to reach the mountain before him… as far as explanations went, it was probably really cluttered, a mix of feelings and memories and desires all packaged up into a bundle, with a lot of the needed context missing. But it was what Gisu had to work with.

… The other end was silent for a moment. Then—

A schematic—no, a layout appeared in Gisu’s mind, with a path highlighted in bright blue. Go here, it seemed to say, without saying anything at all.

Gisu followed the path, keeping an eye out for any wandering scientists. How she managed to get around without getting caught, she had no idea—

But she was doing it, which was good. She could worry about the potential implications of being able to seemingly run rampant later.

She came up on a metal door with a keypad to the side. It was flashing, the tiny screen above it saying something about failed attempts. But Gisu only grinned and pulled out her mini-screwdrivers—time to get to work. Pry off the cover, then the pad itself to get at the wires… snip those two wires and join them together…

The door slid open a few moments later. “Ha!” Gisu put away her tools, “Am I good, or am I good?” That was easy. Almost too easy, but Gisu was too busy riding the high of her success to care.

The room she stepped into was larger than the first one, with a small swingset installed at the other end. Mats covered the floor, there was a balance beam—

And there, sitting next to a slide and curled up under the steps, were two more Razzes, regarding Gisu with mild suspicion.

“Okay, which one of you is Pooter?” Gisu twirled her board in her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The Raz under the slide pointed at himself. “I’m the original.” He said, his voice scratchy and tired-sounding.

“Six.” The other said, leaning against the red plastic.

“Right.” Gisu nodded. She had no idea what that meant—she could guess, though—but that wasn’t important. What was important was getting Dion and the other two and getting out of here. She slapped her palms together. “Time for us to blow this joint!” She declared.

“You mean it?” Raz asked, staring at Gisu with wide eyes. “We’re getting out of here?”

Gisu nodded. “Yeah!” She frowned. “Well, not without Dion,” She amended, “Or the other two.”

Raz blinked. “Dion’s here?” He stood up. “He’s not—he’s not still mad at me for running away, right? I can kind of see what the other mes see, but…” He trailed off, staring at the floor.

“He asked me to help troubleshoot his apology.” Gisu said flatly. “And I’m still missing a lot of the context here, by the way.”

“Oh.” Raz’ mouth worked, for a moment, as he looked for the words. “I ran away,” he started, “And I made it to Whispering Rock…” He contemplated, for a moment, before skipping ahead, “The other me and me swapped places at the Rhombus of Ruin.” He said.

“Oh.” Gisu clutched her board a little tighter. That was—oh. Suddenly, the exhaustion smeared under his eyes looked even more sad and pathetic, like a wet kitten alone in a box after all of the other kittens had been taken. Oh, this poor kid.

These poor kids, Gisu realized, looking at Six. She had heard Not-Raz respond to Three, and he’d called the other Four…

She had never heard anything about a One, Two, or Five.

“Well, this is your lucky day,” she decided, “Because you’re getting out of here. All of you.” Raz perked up at her statement. Good.

“It’s too late.” Six stated. “Three and Four got caught. They’re probably already on their way to being terminated.” He scoffed. “I’ll probably be next.”

Gisu swallowed. That… didn’t sound good. “We’ve still got to do something,” She urged.

Raz nodded, turning to Six. “Don’t you want to see the ocean?” He asked, “Because this might be your one chance.”

Six stared at Raz for a long moment. He scowled. “That’s not fair.” He muttered, standing up to join Gisu and Raz. “You can’t just use my weakness against me.” Still, he was no longer sitting next to the slide, so Gisu counted that as a win.

“C’mon,” She urged. “Let’s go kick that lady’s—”

“Ms. Naumann.” Six interjected.

“Okay.” Gisu started again. “Let’s go kick Ms. Naumann’s butt!”

+=+=+=+=+

Three had never been in this room before. There was a large glass tube—that Three and Four were immediately dumped into—and a control panel that took up most of the space, making the whole place feel cramped. Dion was set down in the only open space on the floor, hands cuffed behind him, and the door wasn’t able to slide shut with him sitting so close to it. He wasn’t conscious—Ms. Naumann had used a burst of mental pressure to knock him out when she drew blood. Three looked away from the bandage in the crook of his arm.

Three had never been in this room before. He could guess at what it was, though. His hands pressed against the glass while his heart threatened to pound right out of his chest—

Twin screams lighting up the shared headspace, hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt HURT—

“Please.” Three tried. Four leaned against him, his weight and his mind a steadying presence, but he may as well have been trying to steady a wobbling tower of cards on a rocking boat in the middle of a storm.

Okay, so that metaphor was wordy. Three was allowed to be wordy, he felt, when there was death looming over him.

“I can see this project isn’t working out.” Ms. Naumann muttered. “Perhaps I’ll have to put it on pause… or maybe taking up a second project will give me some much-needed variety.” She regarded Three and Four for a long moment, her cool gaze betraying not even a hint of the anger that Three could feel leaching off of her.

“You did well.” She said, reaching for the panel. “But I see you’ve been let loose for too long.” Her words sounded too practiced to be sincere, even though she would have only had to say anything. “I will make this as painless as possi—”

“Hey.”

As one, Three, Four, and Ms. Naumann turned their attention to the open doorway, where Dion was still unconscious to the side. Standing next to him was none other than Six, regarding Ms. Naumann with a blank expression.

Ms. Naumann returned to the control panel. “Return to the playroom, Subject Six.” She ordered. “This isn’t a place for clones.”

“No.” Six said, staring her down.

Ms. Naumann paused, turning to look at Six directly. “No?”

“No.” Six repeated, raising his hands.

Ms. Naumann’s voice cut off with a gasp as she fell to the floor, her whole body trembling. Six’ brow furrowed as he stepped forwards, his hands outstretched. “You’re an awful mother.” He declared. “And we don’t like you!” He swept his arms to the side, and Ms. Naumann slammed against the wall with a wheeze. Six’ arms dropped. Ms. Naumann fell to the floor.

“Dion!” And then Raz was in the room, standing next to Dion and fussing—

“Let’s get you out of there.” And there was Gisu, since when was Gisu here, staring at the control panel for a moment before slamming her fist down on one of the buttons.

Three flinched—

The tube opened up. Oh. Oh, thank god.

Three and Four wasted no time in making their way out of there, standing next to Gisu. The room was getting really crowded, now, there was barely any room for anyone to move around—

“You.” Ms. Naumann was already pushing herself up. “You insolen—”

A pair of shiny metal handcuffs thwacked off of her head, clattering to the floor. Three turned back to see Dion standing, muttering curses under his breath as he rubbed at the base of his thumb. “And stay down.” He added.

Ms. Naumann did not stay down. She hissed, and before Gisu or Six could do anything to stop her, she spoke. “Initiate System Shutdown, voice code 4-18-4-25-4.”

Alarms started blaring. Ms. Naumann disappeared with a pop, leaving them all crowded in that tiny room.

“Time to get out of here!” Gisu declared. Raz launched himself at Dion, who scooped up Four and Three in his arms once again. Gisu threw down her board, grabbed Six, and hopped on—Dion hopped on next. “Which way?”

“Down that hall, then take a right!” Four instructed, as Gisu’s levboard rocketed off down the halls. “Now left!” Three had to grab Dion’s vest to avoid falling off as Gisu turned—this was so much worse than when Dion had been running. But with the countdown blaring over their heads, Three didn’t have it in himself to say anything.

“And out that door!” Four pointed. But the door was closed!

Gisu raised her hand and pointed with two fingers. Lightning blasted out down the hall, hitting the door just moments before her levboard got there—

Her board flew out into open air, leaving the smoke from the blasted door behind them. The hidden lab rumbled, the whole mountain seeming to shake—

The whole world spun, Three tumbling right out of Dion’s grip as the board was flung forwards. He tumbled through the air and into the undergrowth, rolling across the ground before coming to a stop.

The sky was a brilliant shade of orange above him. Morning already?

Fuck, he was exhausted. The world was still spinning, a bit, and he could hear everyone shouting or groaning as they picked themselves up. Four was okay, though, and Raz was out—that was all that mattered.

With a tired groan, Three let his eyes slip closed.

#whumptober2023 #no.20 #found family #psychonauts #zaz writes #child abuse tw #experimentation tw #attempted murder tw #blood tw #it's only a small mention but it's there #pooter pile au #RA3 #RA4 #gisu nerumen #dion aquato #razputin aquato #RA6 #aranka naumann #WHOOOOOO PLOT ADVANCEMENT WHOOOOO #RAZ IS OUT OF THE LAB WHOOOOOOOOOOOO #surely nothing will go wrong from here on out!!! #also yes dion is doing the candace ''MOM HOLY FUCK'' meme in the opening scene #turns out there are benefits to getting flipped like a pancake #gisu does like. all of the heavy lifting here honestly. dion's just here to look pretty

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 01: A little out of the ordinary

Adverse effects + a little bit of "this wasn't supposed to happen"

2638 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for death, unethical experimentation, child abuse

AO3 ver

Aranka considered her latest test results with a scowl.

RA2 shifted guiltily, wringing its hands and hunching its shoulders under her scrutiny. It didn’t let up its telekinetic hold on RA1’s hand, nor did it seem particularly willing to start up the amplifier again.

RA1 stood dripping in a small puddle in the center of the testing range, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. The trough it had been drawing water from was overturned, the puddle around it still trickling down the drains at the low points of the floor. Water droplets flowed languidly down the glass separating Aranka and RA2 from the testing range.

This test had been going so well, too.

But, as was starting to prove the norm, the readouts were rendered completely useless because something simply refused to function within the parameters.

That something being the hydrokinetic clone standing in the testing range, shoulders hunched and hands shaking.

With a sigh, Aranka set the readouts down, flicking the switch for the microphone.

RA1 flinched at the speakers turning on, turning wide eyes towards the window.

“Clean up the testing range.” Aranka ordered, just barely keeping the exasperation from her voice. “Come join me and Subject 2 in my office when you’re done.” She glanced at RA2, then back through the glass. “Don’t dawdle.”

With that, she flicked off the microphone and left, not looking to see whether RA1 was using telekinesis or hydrokinesis to replace the knocked over water trough.

She didn’t need to look to know that it wouldn’t be the latter.

+=+=+=+=+

Sometimes, Aranka wondered if she made the right choices with her projects.

She had her own funding from past projects, so she wasn’t bothered by constraints set by pushy supporters or cowardly investors. The freedom was refreshing; she could truly push the boundaries of psychic ability with her methods this way, with nobody to slow her down with their objections or “concerns.”

But as Aranka looked over her two subjects, standing shoulder-to-shoulder before her, she couldn’t help the disappointment pursing her lips and furrowing her brow.

This whole project had seemed so promising. Hydrokinetics weren’t all that special, everything considered—but less-than-recent historical events had certainly made them… rarer, for lack of a better term. Even though a shared power was hardly a connection, Maligula had forever altered the public perception of hydrokinesis. A shame, really, given just how powerful water could be in the right hands.

So for her little detector to identify a hydrokinetic in the crowd at a circus—well, who was Aranka to pass up an opportunity?

That it was a child gave her pause.

But only pause. It wasn’t as though Aranka would actually be hurting the boy—getting the sample would hurt, yes, but the wonderful thing about working with clones was that it meant the original would be left alone entirely. So really, taking a blood sample from a child was hardly unethical. And with hydrokinesis as a skill becoming less and less explored, could you really blame Aranka for her choices?

The unfortunate thing about working with clones, however—assuming the clones were psychic—was that they shared a headspace with each other and the original. This was occasionally a boon; it was why she created clones in pairs.

Now, though?

How was RA1 supposed to test the limits of its ability if it was constantly bogged down by the original’s aquaphobia?

Every test. Every single test ended up unusable because the psychic energy went haywire and RA1 nearly drowned itself, or it simply froze up and refused to work with the water entirely.

RA2 was supposed to exist to prevent this—was supposed to act as a tether for RA1 to ground itself. But the fear bleeding in from the original was simply too strong, infecting every clone Aranka could make.

RA1’s shoulders were hunched, its hands clasped together nervously. Hm. Aranka would have to make a note to include proper posture in future lessons. RA2 was staring at her blankly, nails digging into its palms.

Aranka reached out a hand, a pulse of telekinesis drawing pen and clipboard to her. “That performance was abysmal.” She commented, tapping the cap of her pen against the clipboard. “Can you tell me why that is?”

RA1 shifted nervously. “I, uh, I lost control?”

Aranka raised an eyebrow.

RA1 stood straighter. “I lost control during a simple exercise.” After a moment’s thought it added, “Ma’am.”

RA2 frowned, glancing at RA1.

“I see.” Aranka said, voice not quite as even as she wanted it. “And why did you lose control again?” She tapped her pen a little faster.

RA2 was watching the steady tap-tap-tap of her pen with narrowed eyes. Aranka ignored the silent challenge—her subjects knew better than to mess with her things.

RA1 winced. “I got scared, ma’am.”

Aranka resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. The same answers as always, because it was the same problem every time.

She wasn’t making any progress like this. Patience wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

It was time to take some action.

“Right.” Aranka stood up from her chair, letting go of her pen and clipboard so they could float beside her. She stalked over to the shelf and pulled out a puzzle book.

“Go occupy yourselves with this for the next hour.” She handed the book in the clones’ general direction, letting go once they had it with telekinesis. “I have some business to attend to.” She turned back towards her desk, booting up her computer.

The door clicked open, then shut as RA1 and RA2 left the lab.

Aranka didn’t watch them leave.

+=+=+=+=+

One couldn’t focus on the puzzle book. He could feel his brother’s mental nudges, tugging him back towards the word searches like the moon tugging at the waves, but One kept drifting off anyway.

(Anxiety rolled through him, pounding at his chest like waves against the shore. He’d never seen Ms. Naumann so disappointed before.

He’d never felt so unsteady before.)

The effects of the amplifier had yet to wear off, expanding One’s abilities beyond his normal level. Ms. Naumann felt that such enhancement was vital to determining the limits of hydrokinesis; she always mentioned how his base level had yet to reach its peak due to his age.

One hated it. It made him hyper aware of all the water in the room, of the water running through the pipes in the walls. Made him hyper aware of the water in his and Two’s bodies, flowing through their bloodstream and flesh. Made him hyper aware of their heartbeats; his pounding away like crashing waves while Two’s was a steady rush of tides.

There was so much water here in this room. Just one little tug, and One could—

Don’t think about that. Don’t.

Two’s mental nudges had slowed; he was now doing the puzzles pretty much on his own.

One pushed himself up off his stomach, sitting upright with his knees pulled against his chest.

There was so much water. Too much. It was so loud in his psychic senses, rushing and flowing and roaring in his ears. It was there and it was all calling to him, pushing and pulling against his mind.

(Memories of cold hands grasping tightly. Memories of being yanked under, water muffling his screams as he fought and struggled for air.

Memories that weren’t One’s, and never would be, but were etched into his mind all the same.)

One couldn’t—he couldn’t trust the water. He knew that if he gave in, if he reached out and matched the push and pull, control would slip from his fingers too fast to stop.

(Memories of knocking over countless water troughs. Memories of too much water pushing and pulling him too fast too hard for him to stop, his reach extending too far too far until it hit at the water-filled bodies outside the testing range—

Those memories were One’s, at least. Not that that made them any less unpleasant.)

Ms. Naumann said that One’s base level hydrokinesis was already above the original’s.

(So many hands rising from the trough, coalescing together into one giant hand that One needed to burst before it could hurt him.)

Ms. Naumann said that, due to his age, One wasn’t even at his peak yet.

(The original didn’t even know he was hydrokinetic, his mind closed to the constant presence of water around him.)

Ms. Naumann said that One would only get more powerful from here.

(The constant push and pull and push and pull and push and pull and push and pull and push and pull and push and pull and push—)

Ms. Naumann said it was imperative that One maintain control.

(He couldn’t control it. Not when fear was always trickling in the back of his mind, weakening his grip like water eroding the shore.)

Ms. Naumann said a lot of things, really.

(Water flowing through his own body, water that he could force to the surface, ripping and shredding bones and flesh to bring it out.

Water flowing through every body.)

None of them were helpful.

(She kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and not once did she give. Not once did she pull One back—she just kept pushing pushing pushing him further forwards.

Two pulled. Two always pulled, guiding One back from the precipice where his fears threatened to drown him.

But Two never pushed.)

Two pressed himself against One, startling One out of his thoughts.

“Hey,” Two cautioned, his hand finding One’s and grasping it, “Don’t think like that.”

One pushed his own weight against his brother’s. “It hurts.” He whispered. His anxiety crashed against Two’s mind like waves against a cliffside, pounding relentlessly.

Two kept rubbing his thumb over One’s knuckles. The puzzle book sat abandoned to his side. “I know.” He replied.

“I know.”

+=+=+=+=+

Exposure therapy had been going well.

RA1 could stand in waist-deep water with little issue, and RA2 could venture a few inches deeper, but attempts to induce play—to give the clones a positive association with water, so as to outweigh the negative association permeating into the shared headspace from the original—had been for naught.

Exposure therapy had been going well.

Had been.

RA1 froze up the moment the water got deeper than his knees. RA2 refused to go where RA1 wouldn’t follow.

At this rate, they’d be outstripped by the new set, who had been out of the vials barely two months at this point.

RA3 had been designed with the aquaphobia in mind; its mental shielding was the best of the clones. RA4 was ever the helpful assistant. Together, the two of them were starting to outstrip RA1 and RA2’s usefulness—though they could not go further into water than waist-deep.

Which brought to mind a new fear: RA3’s shielding might not be enough. It couldn’t block out the shared headspace entirely, and was thus plagued by the same aquaphobia all the clones shared with the original.

This wasn’t a problem that could really be solved by mental shielding, Aranka hated to admit. This was a problem that needed to be addressed at the source—a problem that required her to get her hands on the original.

Which was…

Aranka frowned. The original was a child.

(The clones were also, technically, children, but Aranka only considered that so far as it would affect her expectations of them. She couldn’t demand more of them than they could give; as children, they could not give quite as much as an adult.

But that was as far as Aranka was willing to acknowledge that. Age was a murky subject matter when it came to clones, after all.)

It wouldn’t be hard, exactly, to subdue and capture a child. But other people tended to frown upon the forceful recruitment of minors, and Aranka didn’t exactly fancy becoming the quarry of a manhunt.

She’d have to shelve that idea for now, then. Tracking down the original could come later.

RA1 was becoming unusable. RA2 might still have some use as a tether, but it had become less and less obedient as of late; its loyalty to RA1 had both uses and drawbacks.

With a sigh, Aranka flipped the switch for the dorm intercoms.

It was time to end this.

“Subjects 1 and 2, please report to Lab 2B. I repeat, Subjects 1 and 2, please report to Lab 2B.”

+=+=+=+=+

Lab 2B was the smallest lab in Aranka’s private facility. Most of the space in the room was taken up by a large glass cylinder, and what little space remained was half occupied by a simple control panel, a cabinet, and the empty space needed for the door to work.

It was not a space the clones had been allowed into, before. It was not a space that RA3 and RA4 were allowed into, still.

Aranka had never really explained the room’s purpose to any of the subjects before. She didn’t need to; it wasn’t a room that clones were meant to frequent.

The door clicked open, and RA1 and RA2 stepped in, apprehensive. Aranka gestured for them to come all the way in; the door wouldn’t close if they were too close to it.

The room, it turned out, was too small for them not to be too close to it.

Fine. RA3 and RA4 would be in the playroom at this hour. They’d get the psychic feedback, but that wasn’t a concern.

RA2 stared at Aranka with something she might have described as suspicion, if she cared enough to classify it. She felt its presence brush against her mind, not quite discreet, but not too obtrusive.

Slowly, understanding dawned on its face. It grabbed RA1’s hand tightly, and RA1 flinched as understanding dawned on it, too.

“You have outlived your usefulness.” Aranka explained, the cylinder opening with a press of a button. “I will make this quick and painless.”

“Please,” RA1 babbled, “We’ve done everything you asked of us—”

“That you have.” Aranka nodded, herding them into the cylinder with a hand on their backs. “You did very well.” She could almost say she was proud of them.

With a shove, she guided the clones into the cylinder, the glass closing behind them. “This is not a punishment,” she said, her voice as warm as she could make it. “This is just how things are.”

Small hands pressed up against the glass, two pairs of wide green eyes staring at her through it. A vent at the top opened, sedative gas pouring out.

Aranka was not lying, when she said she would make it painless.

RA1 trembled, then—

It screamed. “All you ever did was push and push and push!” It slapped its hand against the glass, frustration palpable even to Aranka. “We never asked to be made!”

Aranka felt her chest seize, her arms stilling against her sides with a wrenching push-pull sensation.

RA1’s shoulders slumped. It snarled, childish rage and upset thick in every word. “I hate this place!” Tears broke away from its face to float in a circle around it, “And I hate you!”

Aranka was suddenly very aware of how much water was in the human body. She grunted, trying to regain enough control to access the panel. If she could just—

Several things happened at once.

RA2 tackled RA1, knocking them both to the floor.

Aranka stumbled as movement returned to her, catching herself on the edge of the control panel.

Something started up with a whirr, causing Aranka to glance at the panel.

Ah. She hadn’t caught herself on the edge, not entirely—the side of her hand was holding down one of the buttons.

Pushing herself back up to standing, Aranka stepped back from the cylinder. Neither clone was fully unconscious, but—Aranka managed to ignore their screams.

She’d said she’d make it quick and painless.

Well. She’d certainly made it quick.

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #adverse effects #psychonauts #zaz writes #death #unethical experimentation #child abuse #pooter pile au #aranka naumann #RA1 #RA2 #wooooooo!!! another whumptober begins!! #kicking things off with the pooter pile au bc i can #three and four get mentioned here but one and two (and their demise) is the focus

[razzle-zazzle]

How did Dion end up a cyborg in your Rewired au

451 Words

"'The Humanity Project'?" Aranka tapped her nails against the file in front of her, looking at the person across the table.

They chuckled. "What, you don't like it?" They moved to adjust their tie.

Aranka's lips pursed. "Surely you couldn't have chosen something more... fitting?"

"Yeah right." They scoffed. "I might not work directly with the PR team, but even I can tell you how stupid that'd be." They shrugged. "And it's not like I can ask marketing for help on this one, given—well." They nodded their head towards the file.

Aranka considered the reasoning. It did make sense...

"Why 'The Humanity Project' in particular? If you don't mind my curiosity." She'd worked with multiple people like them in the past; more than one had held the opinion that Aranka should do the job they paid her for instead of asking questions. More than one of her former employers had been fools.

The person before her inclined their head. "The simplicity, mostly." They responded. "Generic enough to be looked over, innocent enough to avoid investigation. So even if some newshound sniffs it out, it won't look like anything worth reporting on."

"I see." Aranka flipped through the file again, skimming the project details. "And you'll provide the subjects?"

"And any other resources or funding you'll need." They assured. "You're not the only one invested in this project, Ms. Naumann."

Aranka hummed to herself. This was definitely one of her less... ethical projects. But if her theories were correct—and even if they weren't—then she could open up entirely new frontiers in the study of the human mind. She could potentially even craft a paper on free will and individuality from this project, were it ethical enough to source.

And that was the issue. Ethics. Oh, Aranka understood why the simpering masses of the world valued them—but one did not make an omelette without cracking eggs, and Aranka considered herself a far more practical woman. Really, the only thing stopping her before was the sheer upkeep involved in using live subjects, let alone human ones.

But with this funding, with these resources being offered to her...

One could not make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And if the omelette Aranka was aiming for turned out anything near what she hoped, then all the more reason to start.

"I'll need fifteen subjects." She started. "Healthy, in the same age range—young adults if you can help it—and ten of them psychic." She looked up at the person across from her, meeting their gray eyes with her own. "Can you manage that?"

They grinned, extending a hand across the table for Aranka to shake. "Why, Ms. Naumann, I think you've got yourself a deal."

#ask zaz #seriousblond #rewired au #aranka naumann #yes i know she already has a role in pooter pile #but she's my oc and if i wanna reuse her in a different au then i will #anyway 💅 #to answer your question directly: the mechanical stuff comes later actually!! #the whole process takes almost two years in the little timeline i've got #and dion's not the only one :)

[razzle-zazzle]

Any Psychonauts OC's you have?

Sort of? I've certainly made up a few characters to use in my AUs, but I'm not sure I could call them Psychonauts OCs specifically, since chances are I'll use them again in other continuities as it suits me.

But of that number, we've got Archelaos from Buried Beneath, ancient bodystealer looking to have a good time, Denver, his on-and-off lover who he taught the bodyhopping trick to. And some other psychics who have figured out the bodyhopping trick throughout history but they don't have names yet.

There's the Entity in Symbiosis; Aranka Naumann and the clones in Pooter Pile; there's Creed and Tammy and the Owl from The Lion, along with all the other denizens of Ouroboros; and Carrie in Sit Still, Look Pretty. And that's about it for AU OCs actually.

#ask zaz #i might also have other ocs of mine cameo here and there #enza cameos in the lion and sslp actually :]] #she used to have a role in the ghosts au (where she originated actually) but then i scrapped that because she was too much like frazie to m #creed of ouroboros #lady tamira #archelaos #carrie callaghan #aranka naumann #RA1 #RA2 #RA3 #RA4 #RA5 #RA6 #the pooter pile #also i've kind of given thought to how some of my other ocs would fit into the psychonauts world #veronica would be pyrokinetic :[. cheryl would probably work with the psychonauts. oliva would probably just be normal #well. as normal as you can get when you're oliva. and in psychonauts

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 26: No one left behind

Separated

2256 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for death, grief, mourning, implied child abuse

AO3 ver

Life was simple.

Wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast. Report to Ms. Naumann, and do studies and practice and worksheets and lab work as directed. Eat lunch, then go play in the testing range for an hour. Return to assisting Ms. Naumann. Eat dinner, wash up, change into pajamas, lights out.

Rinse and repeat.

That was life for Six and Five and Four. It was simple and easy to remember. The content changed, but the structure did not.

It was life for Three, too, up until Ms. Naumann gave him a Special Mission during her visit to the Rhombus. But now Three was off doing whatever Zero would be doing, and Four’s routine was adjusted now that he was Ms. Naumann’s main connection to Three.

But Three’s Special Mission didn’t affect Six’ life, and everything remained simple and easy. Not even the integration of Zero—

(His name is Raz, some quiet part of Six’ mind liked to point out. Six was pretty sure that was Five’s doing. Zero was the original, and therefore his name was Zero. It was pretty simple math.

Not everything is that simple, Five would always argue back. Six responded with the mental approximation of sticking his tongue out.

Of course everything is simple. Life is simple.)

—disrupted much. The content of the lab work changed, but the structure remained. Zero was off doing his own stuff with Ms. Naumann; the clones barely even saw him.

The content changes, the structure remains. Rinse and repeat.

It was their free hour, now, and Six was using the markers he’d stolen from the lab to draw waves and clouds.

He didn’t fear the water anymore; none of them did, now that Zero had managed to push past his own aquaphobia. His fear no longer bled out into the shared headspace, no longer acted as a block on the clones’ hydrokinesis.

Six was glad for that. He liked water. It was adaptable and strong, just like Six wanted to be! Water fit in any container! Water carved mountains into canyons!

(Water—the ability to control it—was the whole reason Ms. Naumann cloned Zero in the first place. Was the whole reason Six and Five existed.

In a way, Six could say he and his brother came from the water. Like Aphrodite from seafoam, or early arthropods onto land.

It was a lot more fun to think about it that way.)

“Whatcha drawing?” Five sat down next to Six.

Six glanced at his brother. “I dunno, what does it look like?”

“Um.” Five blanched, suddenly staring very intently at Six’ beautiful art. “It’s very… blue?”

Six smiled with more teeth than was necessary. Slowly, so that his clever and observant brother could follow, he picked up the green marker and added a fish.

Five blinked, face blank. “Is that… a butterfly?”

Six made a face.

Five fidgeted, fingers tapping against his legs nervously.

We share a brain, Six ‘pathed. How are you not getting this?

Five grimaced. “Six, I love you, but that does not look like a fish.”

Six gasped, scandalized.

“Of course it doesn't look like a fish!” Four interjected, balancing one-handed on a balance beam. “Your scribbles are incomprehensible.”

Six stuck his tongue out. “Says you.” He argued. “I think my drawings are perfectly comprehensible.” He turned to his brother. “Five agrees with me, right?”

Five jolted. “They’re very colorful.” He offered.

Six sighed dramatically, covering his face with his arm. “Everyone’s a critic.” He declared.

“Yeah,” Four snorted, doing a backflip to the next balance beam. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Six shook his head. What did Four know anyway? Goody-two-shoes on the balance beam over there thought that acrobatics and death-defying stunts were the coolest. Clearly, there was no accounting for taste.

Six knew water was far cooler, anyway. He’d devoured stories about ships and mermaids and oceans and lakes even when he was afraid of water, and now that Zero’s fear no longer colored the shared headspace?

The ocean was made up of 321,003,271 cubic miles of water, stuffed to the brim with currents and plants and animals and shipwrecks and debris and cliffs and caves. It consisted of several habitats, all of their complex ecosystems interlocking.

The ocean was deep and dark and full of life and mystery—simply put, it was awesome. Four just had terrible taste.

Six returned to his drawing. Five borrowed a piece of paper and some markers to draw with him. Conversation drifted from verbal to telepathic, emotions and abstract thought replacing words.

Four was wrong and Five was great and Six was content.

Life was simple.

+=+=+=+=+

Life was simple.

It was a comfort, when things in the facility got tense. When Ms. Naumann let her frustrations color the edges of her behavior towards the clones, when Five went to check in on Zero and got rebuked, when Four was being a major suck up and tattling on Six—it was a comfort, to remember that life was simple. That Ms. Naumann had a plan that she was going to see through no matter what, and that Six didn’t have to worry about messing up because everything would work out in the end.

(It’d work out. It had to.)

Life was simple. Six just had to go with the flow, be as flexible and ever-moving as a rushing river—

(The content was the only thing to ever change. The structure, as always, remained; it was easy to adapt within the parameters.)

—and he’d easily remain useful. It was his job to be Five’s tether, and Five his. As long as they stuck together, as long as they went with the flow and listened to Ms. Naumann, everything would work out.

(Clones that weren’t useful got terminated. Six had never seen this; he and Five hadn’t existed yet when One destabilized and Two followed after him.

Three and Four had, and they hated talking about it.

Not that Six had ever cared enough about his predecessors to ask.)

Ms. Naumann wasn’t the most kind, or even the most attentive, sometimes. That was fine, because she didn’t need to be—

(Memories of Zero’s mom would sometimes filter through the shared headspace. They always made Ms. Naumann look… not cold, because she still cared, but… less, somehow. Empty against the vibrance and warmth with which Donatella guided and cared for her children.

The requests and demands were much the same, though. Six was pretty sure it was a mother’s job to set tasks for their children, to have high expectations of their creations.)

—she already provided them with clothes and food and books and tasks and expectations. She didn’t need to teach them—knowledge was input into their brains while they were in the vials. She didn’t need to coddle them—clones came in pairs, so they could tether and coddle each other as needed. She didn’t need to hold them close if one of them was uneasy, didn’t need to soothe hurts and explain difficult topics like Zero’s mother did—

(Some small part of Six recognized that Ms. Naumann’s motherly status was not a simple topic.

Six never really paid attention to that part. Life was simple. Ms. Naumann had made them, and that made her close enough to a mother to count.

Life was simple. It was.)

Ms. Naumann was motherly, in her own way. She cared, because she wouldn’t have Expectations of the clones if she didn’t.

And Six easily met all those expectations. He loved hydrokinesis! Testing and pushing the limits of his ability was fun! There was no need to lose sleep over expectations, so Six didn’t.

Three could agonize over being useful enough to avoid termination all he wanted; Six wasn’t so deluded. He’d gone through Ms. Naumann’s files—when she completed the perfect version, all prior copies were no longer needed. Six knew this, and had made his peace with it.

(He liked to think of himself as seafoam, sometimes, when Damocles’ dangling sword made him nervous. He came from the water, capping the waves that lapped against the shore. Even when he was terminated, the water that made him would still remain.)

Six had made his peace with it. He had.

(It’d be like that one story, about the mermaid who traded her tail for legs in the name of love—which, ew—only to end up heartbroken. She disappeared into the waves like seafoam. Six liked to imagine he’d be much the same, minus the romance.)

Besides, even if it was a little scary to think about his termination, Six wouldn’t be alone. Ms. Naumann made clones in batches, and she terminated them in batches.

Six would always have Five. Up until the very end. He’d always have his brother’s hand to hold, always have that stupid scarf-covered shoulder to bury his face into, always have his own shoulder open to a sticky face and damp curls, always have someone to lean on who could lean on him, someone to argue with over their worksheets and training, someone who’d been there since the vials when their only form of contact with the world was their mental connection to each other and the machines teaching them—

Six would always have Five, and Five would always have Six.

Simple as that.

+=+=+=+=+

(Life was simple.)

Five was there one moment.

Five was there one moment, moving towards Zero to help because helping was what Five did—

And then he was gone.

(Life wasn’t simple.)

+=+=+=+=+

Life was supposed to be simple.

Things were supposed to make sense, to follow a structure—

In some ways, it still was. Zero’s breakdown aside, Six was still here, still doing the worksheets Ms. Naumann printed out for all of them, still spending his free time watching movies and reading books about water. The content was the same—

But the structure had changed.

(Four had changed. Zero and Ms. Naumann had changed.

Six had changed.

But Five did not change, and never could, now).

Life was supposed to be simple, and easy, and—

And right now it wasn’t. Right now, everything had been disrupted, and Six couldn’t return to normalcy no matter how much he tried. No matter how many worksheets he did, or how hard he pushed the limits of his abilities, or how many times he watched The Little Mermaid—

It’d never be the same, again, because Five was gone stolen washed away dead gone gone GONE—

(Six fancied himself as coming from seafoam. Felt himself comparable to fair Aphrodite.

He’d never once thought to compare his brother to the inverse. Never once thought that his brother would go the way of that heartbroken mermaid, dissolving into the flow of the water like seafoam.)

The pain was—it was simple. Of course Six hurt—his brother was dead, with nothingness on the other end of their link in his place. The hurt dragged at him like the tides, crashing against him like waves against the shore, breaking him apart piece by piece—

But he’d live. Everything would settle back down, eventually. The waves would cease, still, and go back to their normal flow.

(The ocean never settled. Rivers never settled.)

Zero had exhausted himself with that stunt he pulled—

(The stunt that created storms throughout the facility and across the shared headspace, crashing and roaring and brutal until all Six and Five and Four could do was scream in tandem with Zero—

The stunt that took Five away—)

And Ms. Naumann was determined to keep it from happening again. So it wouldn’t.

(It could.)

Everything would settle. It’d all go back to normal.

(Five would never come back.)

+=+=+=+=+

Life was anything but simple.

The ocean was made up of 321,003,271 cubic miles of water, stuffed to the brim with currents and plants and animals and shipwrecks and debris and cliffs and caves. It consisted of several habitats, all of their complex ecosystems interlocking.

The ocean was deep and dark and full of life and mystery. The ocean was anything but simple.

Life, Six was finding, was much the same.

He hated it. He wanted to scream out, to cry, to summon a wave and drench everything around him. He wanted to curl into a ball and never talk to anyone again. He wanted to step into the ocean and become seafoam, because at least seafoam couldn’t grieve.

(He wanted Five back, most of all. Wanted to have his brother there again, to feel his presence on the other end of their link.

Six often wanted what he couldn’t have.)

Ms. Naumann had been dismissive of Five’s death. Had been focused more on damage control and subduing Zero. Had only cared so far as it impeded Six’ usefulness.

(Six had learned to keep his head down, to go with the flow, and do his best.

Useful clones didn’t get terminated early, after all.

But clones still got terminated in the end, and really—

What was life without Five, anyway?)

Zero hadn’t mattered to the clones, until he did. Three had been just another clone, until he wasn’t. The world outside the facility didn’t matter, until it did. Ms. Naumann had been like a mother to all of the clones, until she wasn’t.

(Six was starting to realize that maybe she never was in the first place.)

Life was supposed to be simple. Had been, until it wasn’t.

(But it had never been simple in the first place, had it? Five had been right. Six was just ignoring the truth right in front of him.)

Life had seemed so simple.

It was anything but.

#whumptober2022 #no.26 #separated #psychonauts #zaz writes #death #grief #mourning #child abuse #pooter pile au #RA6 #RA5 #RA4 #aranka naumann #raz is mentioned at several points but he doesn't get any lines so i'm not tagging him #gave six sokka's drawing skills bc i found it funny. there's no meaning behind it i just thought that'd be a neat character note #also. this is the piece i had fully written. BEFORE october started #(with some small edits made last night before i queued it) #also just. can we talk about six' ocean hyperfixation? yes i know i'm the one who decided he'd have it but i think it's very cute and funky #kid devours any and all movies and books related to it #all of the clones are pretty well read thanks to the vials but six can and will tell you random ocean facts without prompting #and i just #i just #🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 19: Enough is enough

Knees buckling

2795 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for experimentation, blood, death

AO3 ver

Three was starting to doubt his mission.

Ms. Naumann was never wrong, of course—or so Three had thought. But he’d learned, on this mission, that adults made an awful lot of mistakes.

Three had learned quite a lot on this mission, actually. How to utilize mental connections for travel and combat.

(That had been such a massive mistake. The kind of mistake that Ms. Naumann might have terminated him for. He’d frantically worked to fix it, and when Ms. Forsythe appeared he’d been ready for the worst—

Ms. Forsythe was a very different woman from Ms. Naumann).

How to slow down time.

(Now that was cool. Five and Six couldn’t do that!)

How to craft an archetype.

(A crude drawing of Four in the original’s performance outfit, constantly looking for an excuse to cartwheel and show off. Three had been so terrified that that would give the game away, the pang in his chest matched by the frantic pounding of his heart, but Teacher Cassie had just smiled and told him he’d done a good job.)

(Four had laughed, amusement crackling purple through their link when he’d looked through Three’s eyes.

It had only made the pang in Three’s chest more poignant.)

Three had learned that the Aquato Curse wasn’t real, not in the way that everyone thought it was. He’d learned that adults messed up a lot, actually, and that—that was okay. It was okay to mess up, so long as it wasn’t the same mistake over and over—

Three had learned so much. Had made friends with so many people—more people than he’d ever even seen in his life before his mission, before leaving the compound to test his shielding against the psilirium deposit in the Rhombus. Three had gone on life-changing adventures through people’s minds, had seen so many different perspectives of the world—

Because everyone thought he was the original. Everyone thought he was Raz.

All of these things Three had gotten to experience—all of the sights and sounds and smells and tastes, all of the people and places and events—it should be Raz experiencing all of this. It should be Raz being heralded as the youngest Junior Agent in Psychonauts history, Raz reintegrating with the family he ran away from, Raz holding Lili’s hand. It should be Raz.

But it was Three, instead. A copy.

A fake.

Three trusted in Ms. Naumann’s judgment. She had taken the original with her and she had helped Raz work through his aquaphobia and it had helped all of the clones and Three knew this.

(But he also knew new memories, of machines and water and sterile halls and a dark lonely room. Of tests and exhaustion and fear-hurt-ache and homesickness. Of cold metal and tight straps and bright lights.

Three had similar memories, just more pleasant.

But it was just like he’d learned on his mission; it was all a matter of perspective.)

Three trusted in Ms. Naumann’s plans.

At least, he was trying to.

+=+=+=+=+

“Good morning, Subject Zero.” Aranka greeted, paging through her notes.

The child glared at her, but the effect was softened by the exhaustion smeared under his eyes.

Hm. Aranka pursed her lips. She’d have to look into sleep aids, it seemed, if her star subject wasn’t getting enough sleep in the time allotted.

She started down the hall. “Come along, now.” She commanded. “We have a busy day ahead of us! You and Subject Six are going to play some water games with each other.” She turned back to the child, pleased to see him begrudgingly following behind her. “Doesn’t that sound fun?” She turned back around and continued down the hall.

She didn’t need to look to feel the heavy resignation hanging off of him.

+=+=+=+=+

“Happy Birthday!”

Three smiled in pleasant surprise at the set-up in front of him. The parking lot in the Questionable Area had been decorated with all kinds of streamers and balloons. Picnic tables had been brought in, all sorts of food piled atop the tablecloths. A large birthday cake stood untouched in the center, the frosting the green and blue stripes of the Aquatodome, with little frosting merit badges circling the sides.

Eleven unlit candles sat in a wobbly circle atop the cake.

“You didn’t have to do all of this just for my birthday.” Three commented, smiling.

(Except it wasn’t his birthday.)

“Nonsense!” Morris crowed, adjusting the knobs of his soundboard. “You saved the world twice in one week, little man. This is the least we could do.”

The other junior agents voiced their agreement, before shooing Three towards the table.

“C’mon, it’s time for cake!” Sam urged.

Anxiety awoke in Three’s stomach. He tried not to let it show. “Are you sure there’s enough cake for everyone? There’s…” He swallowed. “There’s a lot of people here.” His whole family, the senior agents, Truman and Hollis and Lili, the Psychic Seven…

(They were probably just here for the party. They weren’t here for him.)

“Nah, there’s more than enough.” Gisu put in. “Compton and Cassie made sure of that.” She clutched her levboard to her side and stalked away across the parking lot, making a beeline for where Dion and Frazie were chatting.

“Right.” Three squared his shoulders. Took a breath in. He could do this.

The rest of the party awaited. Three plastered a smile on his face, and moved in to mingle.

+=+=+=+=+

The water swirled at Raz’ command, several wobbly hands taking shape and reaching up into the air.

Next to him, Six practically danced in place, his half of the pool dancing with him.

Raz hunched his shoulders, and concentrated. All of the hands on his side coalesced into a single giant hand, then broke apart into a giant swirl of smaller hands.

Six laughed. “Cool!” He gestured, and his half of the pool did the same thing.

Raz smiled. Aranka was terrible, and this whole place sucked, but the clones weren’t too bad. A little creepy, given that it was his own face that was smiling and laughing at the water and complimenting his technique, but—

It was nice to have someone he could consider a friend. And Four and Five and Six were all really nice.

(Raz didn’t know why there wasn’t a One or Two. Nobody talked to him when he asked.)

Raz stepped forwards. He made the hand-of-hands wiggle, shift, and then—

+=+=+=+=+

Three took a bite of his cake. It was delicious, moist and crumbly vanilla soft and sweet in his mouth.

Beside him, Mirtala hummed around her own bite, hand on her cheek as she chewed.

The cake turned to ash in Three’s mouth.

He was lying. He was lying to all of them just so he could take the place of someone they loved—

Three pushed his plate away. He didn’t deserve this.

“Raz?” Lili’s voice was alight with concern as Three stood up from his seat. “Something wrong?”

Three needed to not be here, sitting in someone else’s place while everyone celebrated him.

“I uh—” His shoulders hunched. He tried for a placating smile. It came out more like a grimace. “Bathroom.”

Three ran.

+=+=+=+=+

The massive hand-of-hands bursted, the sudden wave dousing both Raz and Six.

Right. His shitty hydrokinesis.

Raz grumbled as water dripped off of him. To his left, Six twirled, the water pulling off of him in a single fluid movement.

Raz attempted the same. Most of the water clinging to him pulled away, but he was still damp in several places, water languidly dripping from his curls.

The speakers came on with a crackle.

“Right.” Aranka’s voice was tired, as though she was the one burdened by Raz’ struggles. “We’ll proceed with amplification.” The speakers turned off with a sharp hiss.

Raz wrapped his arms around himself. He hated the amplifier. It made all of his psychic powers stronger, which in turn made everything so much louder.

But he’d soldiered through it before. Raz grit his teeth.

He’d push through it again.

+=+=+=+=+

Three paced at the edge of the river, oblivious to the way the water frothed next to him.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just stand around and pretend to be Raz anymore. It wasn’t fair to everyone else, it wasn’t fair to Raz.

But what else could he do? Failing his mission meant he wasn’t useful, and clones that weren’t useful got terminated.

(Psychic feedback like twin screams, harsh and loud. Pain-agony-terror grating against Three’s skull like a jackhammer, Four’s grip on his shoulders like a vice.

Three would do everything to keep himself and Four from that fate.

He had to be useful. He had to.)

But sticking around meant perpetuating the lie—meant continuing to keep his head down while the knowledge of where the original was weighed heavy around his neck.

He felt sticky. This was wrong. But cloying fear clung to his edges—he couldn’t fail his mission. He couldn’t.

The guilt was too much. The fear was too much.

Everything was too much.

Three didn’t know what to do.

+=+=+=+=+

Raz’ knees buckled, his palms hitting the floor hard.

Everything hurt.

The amplifier remained on, the sudden noise of every stray thought overwhelming. All of the water in the room and out reached out to him, all of it—

It was too much.

Six stopped, the water he was moving falling back into the pool as he turned to Raz. “Hey, uh…” He fidgeted, tentatively reaching out a hand. “You okay?”

Raz screamed.

Enough.

The water around him, both in the room and out, roared. It rose at his call, all of it reaching out to him with whispered rage-hurt-fury. Raz reached back.

The boundary between him and the water melted away, until he was the water and the water was him. Nothing existed but the storm surging around him, the tearing of metal walls lost on his ears as he screamed.

The water was Raz, and Raz was the water. Anger-hurt-pain-make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP was all he could hear, a rising cacophony against his mind as he rose, the water swirling under him.

His mind surged. He was Raz. He was Six. He was Four. He was Five. He was Three. He was Raz. He was everything. He was nothing.

He was the water.

+=+=+=+=+

Five fought through the psychic feedback as best he could, ignoring the way the pipes in the walls around him groaned ominously.

Raz was hurting. Raz was hurting, and it was hurting all the clones, the psychic feedback drilling into their skulls and overwhelming everything else. Five could barely stand, but he forced himself down the hall towards the source, leaning against the wall when his legs refused to cooperate.

Raz was hurting. Five would help.

He just had to get there, first.

+=+=+=+=+

Three screamed, his legs turning to jelly under him. The river rose up beside him, loud and furious, but Three could hardly feel the water moving through the sheer pain-hurt-tired-anger-make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP overwhelming him, filling his head and pounding away at it like a jackhammer.

His surroundings melted away until there was nothing but water, shredded metal and bits of wiring being tossed around within it of little consequence. Power roiled through every inch of him, anger-hurt-tired overwhelming his senses.

Faintly, Three felt hands on his shoulders. But then the sensation was gone, lost to the storm shredding through the shared headspace. His shields were nothing against the onslaught, his mind drowned in the storm until all that remained was the water, sloshing violently against his skull.

He was Three. He was Five. He was Four. He was Six. He was Raz. He was everything and nothing. He was the water.

He couldn’t stop screaming.

+=+=+=+=+

Five pushed the door open. Saw Six surrounded by foaming waves, eyes glowing as he screamed in tandem with Raz.

Raz, who was standing atop a swirling spire of water, eyes like twin suns.

The walls had been torn, pipes twisted and broken to allow the water inside them out. The lights were broken, debris floating in the frothing water.

The glass of the observation deck was shattered, water raining in hard. Five could just barely make out Ms. Naumann clinging to the edges, staring out into the storm with an indiscernible expression.

Pain pounded Five’s skull. The water swirling around him and out into the hall behind him reached out, beckoning, all of Raz’ rage and hurt squeezing Five’s mind.

Five squared his shoulders. Reached back only as much as was needed to clear a path, the water parting before him. Five made his way to his brother, and put his hands on Six’ shoulders, touching their foreheads together.

It hurt. Pain spilled out like a waterfall, pounding against Five’s skull and begging to be let in.

Five screamed. Held Six’ shoulders tighter, and pushed deeper.

He was Six. He was Five. He was Six. He was Five. He was the water, he was everything, he was nothing—

He was Five.

Six gasped as Five snapped back into his body. They both stumbled, the psychic feedback overwhelming.

“Five.” Six gasped, straining just to keep the water swirling around them from touching them. “Five, what are you—”

Five let go of Six’ shoulders, his face set in determination. “Don’t worry, Sixer.” He said. “I’ve got this.” He turned to the edge of the circle, and concentrated on splitting the waves.

Six stumbled. “Wait!”

But Five didn’t wait, pushing ahead into the waves.

Raz was hurting. Raz was hurting, and Five was going to help.

Five stepped forwards. The water surged, reaching out to him.

Five raised his hand. The water curved into a tunnel pointing straight at Raz.

Five stepped forwards—

+=+=+=+=+

He was Raz. He was Six. He was Four. He was Five. He was Three. He was everything. He was nothing. He was the water, and the water was him.

He was Raz. He was Five. He was Four. He was Three. He was everything. He was nothing. He was the water, and the water was him.

He was everything. He was nothing. He was Four. He was Three. He was Six. He was—

The

screaming

stopped.

+=+=+=+=+

Augustus flinched as his son screamed, the water behind him twisting and swirling and frothing.

(Swirling like that night, when his not-mother rose high above the gulch, water swirling around her. The similarity knocked the air from Augustus’ chest, and he couldn’t get it back no matter how hard he tried.)

Sasha and Milla were already in motion, trying to approach Raz through the water beginning to twist around him. Slowly, they were approaching.

Raz continued screaming, attracting more and more partygoers to the river’s edge. He clutched his head, his eyes glowing too bright to make out his expression. His screams morphed into a scattered chant, a repeated garble of “It hurts it hurts make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP—”

Augustus reached out, ingrained fear holding him back. He needed to���he needed to help, to find whatever was making his son scream like this, equal parts fear and pain, and make it go away.

He didn’t know how.

Donatella grabbed his arm, naked terror on her face.

The

screaming

stopped.

Raz flopped forwards, all of the water falling unceremoniously to the ground.

He wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t moving, blood trickling down from his nose.

Milla was quick to kneel next to him. Augustus was not as quick to follow as he’d have liked.

“He’s just unconscious.” She pronounced. Her voice was calm. Her face was lined with worry.

Augustus lifted his son into his arms, cradling him close. It was too much like when he’d found him across the lake at that summer camp, brainless and unmoving and so, so small.

“What happened?” He asked.

The agents didn’t have a concrete answer for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Aranka stooped down over the unconscious body on the floor, checking it for injuries.

Near the other side of the room, RA6 was kneeled over RA5’s unmoving body, staring blankly at the broken limbs and lifeless face.

The clone’s death, though unfortunate, was the only reason Aranka had been able to subdue the child now lying before her. She felt a twinge of sympathy for RA6, but allowed nothing more.

Standing up, RA0 in her arms, Aranka turned to where Four was gripping the broken edges of the amplifier’s control panel, eyes wide and face pale.

“Subject Four.” She started, “Return yourself and Subject Six to the dorms.” She grimaced at the ruins of the testing range. “I will handle the clean up.”

Aranka turned away, mentally going through the list of things she would need to take care of the child’s injuries as she left the room.

She didn’t look back.

#whumptober2022 #no.19 #knees buckling #psychonauts #zaz writes #death #unethical experimentation #blood #pooter pile au #razputin aquato #aranka naumann #RA3 #RA5 #RA6 #RA4 #augustus aquato #oop!!! the consequences of aranka's actions have come to bite her!! #things are gonna start unraveling for her now #dw guys three is okay #five isn't though #also five was able to fight through it bc he's a clairvoyance specialist. he's got a strong sense of self

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 13: can't make an omelet without breaking a few legs

Dislocation

1473 Words; Pooter Pile AU

TW for injury description

AO3 ver

“Three, look!”

Three looked up from his book at his brother. Four was doing a handstand on top of the small swing set Ms. Naumann had installed, looking excitedly at Three upside down. The moment Four knew Three was watching, he proceeded to handstand walk along the bar, grinning the whole time.

Three cheered. “You’re getting really good at that!” He set his book down and stood up. “Bet you can’t do a flip!”

Four scoffed. “Of course I can.” He boasted. He’d seen the original’s memories; this was baby stuff. With practiced ease, he went from gripping the bar in a handstand to balancing on it, arms spread out to his sides.

Watch this!

Four backflipped, landing on the bar for barely a second before he jumped again, twirling in the air.

Watch this!

Watch me!

Three was chanting, now, a steady chorus of “Flip! Flip! Flip! Flip!” undercut with mental pulses of encouragement. Ribbons of joy snaked through their link, tethering Four to the idea that he could do anything.

(Memories of calloused hands around his own, leading him along a practice wire. Memories of being thrown across the trapeze, the knowledge that he’d always be caught firm in his mind. Memories of being lifted in the air and spun around, laughter in the air.

The memories weren’t really Four’s, but he enjoyed them all the same.)

Four jumped higher, trying to push himself. The swing set wasn’t all that tall, maybe eight feet at the most—Four had climbed up higher on the cabinets and shelves in the storage room.

And compared to memories from the original? This was baby stuff.

Four double-jumped with a burst of psychic power, curled into a ball and spun in the air. Free Hour would be over soon, but he was having too much fun to care.

Four came back down, uncurling to land on the bar.

He wrongfooted.

For a moment, it was like the whole world slowed down as Four was suddenly weightless, the bar rising above him.

No, the bar wasn’t rising.

Four was falling.

Panic kicked in. Four caught the chain of one of the swings, hands stinging from the friction—

Pain erupted in his shoulder and he yelped, letting go. His back slammed against the floor seconds later, knocking the air out of him.

Panic filtered in through the link. Static fizzled through the back of Four’s mind.

Distantly, he could hear Three yelling.

Four wasn’t sure how long he laid there, everything around him fuzzy. Maybe it was only a few seconds. Maybe it was an eternity.

Throbbing pain in his shoulder battled with tingling numbness down his arm. His neck tingled. His back ached.

The bright lights of the playroom bore down on him, making Four squint his eyes.

And then the lights were blocked by the looming form of Ms. Naumann, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Four wheezed.

Ms. Naumann’s frown tightened. “Don’t move.” She commanded, her hand feeling out the shape of Four’s shoulder.

Four hissed in pain at the contact.

Ms. Naumann hmmed. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder.” She explained. “Perhaps next time you might consider doing your flips on the mats.”

Four managed to project a weak yes, ma’am as Ms. Naumann kneeled on his right side.

“Subject 3.” Ms. Naumann’s voice was even, betraying no hint of annoyance or worry. “Come here and watch.”

Three scurried over, shoulders hunching as he kneeled down next to Ms. Naumann. She glanced at him briefly, confirming that he was paying attention. Holding Four’s wrist so that his arm was level with his body, hand facing down, she spoke.

“What you need to do with a dislocated shoulder is hold it like this. Then,” Ms. Naumann began to slowly move Four’s arm away from his body, pumping it up and down as she did, “You bring their arm up like this until it is directly perpendicular to the body.” She started to turn it in place. “Rotate it slowly, just like the smaller motions of before. Then—” She pushed Four’s arm up slowly, carefully.

Four squeaked as feeling returned to his arm.

A pulse of telekinesis, and suddenly the materials for a sling were in Ms. Naumann’s hand. She bent Four’s arm at the elbow before securing it against his body.

At her command, Four sat up, cradling the sling.

Ms. Naumann stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Free Hour is over.” She declared. “Both of you return to your dorm and do the chemistry worksheets until told otherwise.” She stalked over to the door, before turning back to the clones. “Go on, go.”

Three and Four were quick to leave.

+=+=+=+=+

Ms. Naumann brought in a medical dummy a week after that, alongside books and videos on basic medical techniques.

Three threw himself into the new studies with fervor, as he always did. Four picked up most of the lessons through Three’s own deep dives into them, content to let his brother take the lead.

(The knowledge was useful. It would be good to have, and by having it, Three would ensure that he stayed useful—

He needed to be useful. Useful clones were kept around, and Three needed to be kept around. He wouldn’t go out the way One and Two did, not if he could help it.

The psychic echoes of their deaths lingered still.

It was a good reminder.)

+=+=+=+=+

Three was gone.

Not dead gone—Four could talk to Three at any time he wanted to, through their shared headspace. But the physical absence was still there, 

Five and Six were nice, in an abstract sort of way. But they weren’t Three.

Because Three was gone, off living out Raz’ life while Ms. Naumann worked with him.

Four hadn’t gotten the chance to meet Raz yet. He knew him, through the memories and the shared thoughts and psychic feedback, but he didn’t know him. Had never met the original, for all that Raz was right here in the facility.

But wherever Ms. Naumann had decided Raz would stay, it wasn’t anywhere the clones spent their time.

Yet. Six had an odd knack for getting into Ms. Naumann’s files and getting away with it, and he was eager to tell Five and Four (and Three) all about how Ms. Naumann was just “making sure our guest is adjusted to this place and its rules” and “less afraid of the water” before having him integrate.

Four was actually kind of excited to meet the original, all things considered. Raz was an actual trained acrobat! Four could get so much more knowledge interacting with the original than he could through the shared headspace!

But the excitement of getting to meet someone new didn’t get rid of Three’s absence. Didn’t clear out the fear that Three might not come back.

None of the clones had ever left the facility before Ms. Naumann went to the Rhombus. Three technically wasn’t even supposed to accompany her, but she’d gotten the idea to test his mental shielding against the psylirium. And when she’d encountered the original, unattended and half-conscious—

Three took to his new mission with gusto, like he did with everything Ms. Naumann assigned him. And Four was happy his brother got to see the wider world—he really was!

But.

Even though Three was right there on the other end of the link, even though Three was telling Four every detail of the events at the Motherlobe, even though Three checked in often, mentally coming to Four for advice and ideas—

Four couldn’t help but think back to when he fell for the first time and dislocated his shoulder. His arm had still been there, tingly and numb—

But he hadn’t been able to move it. He hadn’t been able to move it, because even though it was still attached to him it was dislocated, ball popped out of the socket and the surrounding muscles and tendons damaged. Four’s brother was still there, still attached by their mental link across the shared headspace, but he wasn’t here, the connection stretched across miles.

It stung more than it should, Four felt. He should be happy for how far his brother was going, how much he was accomplishing—and he was! He was, honest!

But there was no chanting when he got up on a balance beam, no ribbons of joy streaming through their link making Four feel like he could do anything. Four was no longer the one who kept pushing to greater heights, for all that he still pushed himself to be a better acrobat. Three was the one pushing himself further and further.

Four curled up on Three’s cot, rubbing the edge of the blanket between his fingers. It wasn’t any different from Four’s blanket, or from Five or Six’.

Four dragged it over to his cot anyway.

#whumptober2022 #no.13 #dislocation #psychonauts #zaz writes #injury #dislocated shoulder #pooter pile au #aranka naumann #RA3 #RA4 #5 and 6 and raz are all mentioned #today's is kinda iffy for me #partly because i had to work today and then executive dysfunction came for my kneecaps #so this is later than all the others #and a little rushed #and partly because all i had planned for this originally was the dislocation scene??? #the other stuff got added after #anyway tho. i got it done!!! #i am going to go lie down now