Chapter Text
His skin feels as though it were being seared with hot oil. He gags as he catches sight of his mangled flesh. Nausea creeps up, and the world tilts. He throws up. It doesn’t take long for him to black out.
This is normal. It’s always been normal.
Not always. There was a time where his skin felt smooth to the touch, where he could move without ripples of pain spreading through him. There was a time where he wasn’t so hated or feared. This was all his fault.
Wake up again, brush his teeth with minty toothpaste. It doesn’t work to take the metallic tang out of his mouth.
Often times, a Biograft will check up on him. It repeatedly knocks on the locked door before taking it down to find him prone, lying on the cold tiled floor of his apartment restroom. Splitting headaches open his skull and his liquified brain will seep out.
The Biograft drags the scientist to his bed.
He awakes again much later. The sun is setting, casting the room in a warm glow.
He sits up. There’s less pain. Progress? No, that’s simply not possible. He stands. It’s wobbly, but he does it. Rests his weight on his left leg. He walks over to the bathroom and looks in the mirror. His face is drawn and pale. Grotesque. He averts his gaze from the rotting patches.
He heads back to his desk. Scans the surface— it’s a mess. Even in his home, his work doesn’t end.
"What time is it?" He snaps at the Biograft standing by the doorway.
"JUST AFTER NINE P.M., SCIENTIST SUBSPACE T. MINE," it says. "YOU SLEPT FOR A WHILE. APPROXIMATELY TWO HOURS AND SEVEN MINUTES."
"I see." He rubs his eyes, before settling back into his chair. He flicks a hand at the Biograft. "Go and fetch me my medicine. And water. Cold."
The Biograft comes back with both in hand. Subspace drinks the cold water with his pills. It does nothing to quench the bitter taste in his mouth. A sharp pain flares behind his eyes. He closes them, waiting for the familiar burn to dissipate.
"ANYTHING ELSE, SCIENTIST SUBSPACE T. MINE?"
He opens his eyes. The Biograft still stands by the doorway. Stiff, and waiting for orders. It’s been a while since he’s bothered to learn their names. He doesn't care, really. They all serve the same purpose. To serve Blackrock.
He used to care for them. Even learned the names of the ones who had one. Was he the one who gave them?
Their names are just a jumble of letters and numbers, anyway.
"No. Leave me."
The Biograft doesn’t hesitate. “YES, SCIENTIST SUBSPACE T. MINE.” It bows stiffly and walks away, leaving Subspace alone in his apartment.
He sighs. Pushes himself up from the bed, and wobbles a little. Still weak. But less weak than earlier. He looks down at his hands. The skin is pallid and veined. The effect of raw contact with poison streaks up his clawed fingers.
He clenches them into fists. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache that fades out after a second. He thinks he can stand it. He’s been doing this for years now, anyway.
He walks to his desk. It's covered in papers, scraps, scribbles, and discarded parts. The detritus of a mad scientist. He picks up a random sheet. Scrawled notes, diagrams. He drops it. He picks up another. More of the same. It's all just... noise.
He needs something to focus on. Something that isn’t the throbbing in his skull or the putrid taste in his mouth. He searches through the mess. Finds a blank sheet of paper. A pen. Random shapes, lines, circles. Then a face starts to emerge. A stern face, glasses over their narrowed eyes and a thin mouth. Antler-like horns. It’s the face of someone he used to know.
Subspace hurt him. A spark of regret, but it dies quickly.
He scowls. At least he’s gone now. He was a stupid one, with all that talk about saving Inphernals. Didn’t he know only Blackrock mattered? Blackrock was the greatest. They saved him from his misery. He was weak and pathetic, they told him. They told him that if he listened, he would be stronger. Make his inventions to make Blackrock greater. Repay your debts for Blackrock making you stronger.
He is strong now.
Maybe the argument wasn’t necessary. Anger and stupidity had blinded Subspace. He was young, and quick to temper back then. Though he still was, he was able to control it better now. Hide it behind a coy grin and smarts.
Medkit could have used his crystals to benefit Blackrock exclusively. Instead, that soft-hearted bastard wanted to used them to help the Inpherno as a whole. Subspace scoffed. How foolish.
The Biograft is back. Standing in the doorway again.
"What do you want?" Subspace asks, his voice rough.
"ROUTINE CHECK, SCIENTIST SUBSPACE T. MINE," the Biograft says. "IT IS REQUIRED."
"Fine. Hurry up." He walks over to the Biograft, who proceeds to perform a series of scans and readings. He lets it happen, numbly. He doesn’t care. It’s just another part of the routine. Another unpleasantness to be endured.
"ALL VITALS WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS, SCIENTIST SUBSPACE T. MINE," the Biograft announces. "FURTHER MONITORING RECOMMENDED."
"Yeah, yeah," Subspace says. "Just go. Do chores or something."
The Biograft bows, and leaves. Subspace is alone again. He feels a strange mix of exhaustion and restless energy. He could work. He should work. But the thought fills him with a weary loathing. He walks over to his bed and collapses onto it. He stares at the ceiling, his mind empty.
He looks at the drawing. It fills him with bubbling rage. He rips it from the pad, folds it in half, and shoves it into a pocket.
He walks to the window and looks out. The city lights spread out like a spilled handful of diamonds on black velvet. It’s nice, he thinks.