If you gaze deeply...

It was hazy. A mist, rising up and covering his mind. Thickening into fog, dense and heavy. Obscuring his thoughts, blocking out the pain that clawed at the edges of his reality, stopping him from… from what? What was he doing? What should he be doing? The thought weaved and danced from his grip, pulled far away from his feeble and uncertain grasping.

That was okay. It shouldn’t be okay. He was fine. Where had the pain gone? He just needed to let go. No, Moira had said- Ah. That was perfect. Perfect? Yes, he just needed to open his eyes…

…

…

…

…Moira moved at the edge of his vision, stopping and waiting for him. His muscles burned, flexing and shifting beneath the slim, mobile scale mail armour he wore, glittering in shades of gold and silver.

“Newman, I have new orders for you,” Warden Moira spoke, and his body turned to give her his full attention.

“Yes, Moira?” he asked, the words slipping freely from his lips.

Her eyes widened, lips dropping into a sneer. “Newman, we have spoken about this. You will refer to me as Warden, or I will have you disciplined.”

“Apologies, Warden.” John’s spine snapped straight, and his tone was suddenly full of submissive respect as he was speaking, “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

Her sneer barely managed to balance itself into a deep frown. “See that it does not. I have no sympathy for you, no matter your circumstances. Certainly, you do not hold the respect necessary in the Order to earn any familiarity.”

‘Huh? But I thought-’

She sighed lightly, “No matter, I’ll ignore the breach of etiquette in this instance. Do not make this mistake again, Newman. Understood?” Then she nodded sharply, as if that settled the matter. Without thinking, John opened his mouth to question it, his earlier confusion sitting strangely with him. His mouth closed. He didn’t know why he would question it. It was simply ridiculous to do so. She clearly knew better than him, did she not?

John was nodding, only registering his head’s movement moments before she continued speaking. “Your new orders. I have arranged for you to be directly under the command of a trusted ally. You will obey each and every order without question, as if they had come from myself.”

This was better. This made sense. Orders were something he could follow with ease. Submitting to another person’s authority was natural.

The Warden continued speaking, “You will freely share your skillset with them, in its entirety. Offer them the utmost trust and respect, just as you have given me. Just as you have been for me, you will be their weapon, their monster, from this point. Am I understood, Newman?”

“I, uh, I…”

Her dull green eyes, reminiscent of pond scum and mold, met his and demanded an answer. ‘Wait, no, Moira’s eyes are emerald. Sharp, bright, glittering. Aren’t they?’

A shooting pain slammed into… somewhere in him. Was it his head, his skin, his teeth, his hair- it felt like everywhere and nowhere and somewhere he’d never known existed. The world stilled unnaturally. A distant noise failed to pierce his senses properly. Moira’s eyes stared into his, dull and dead, empty and fake, wrong. Was it him, or the world which shuddered, like a raindrop running down the spine?

Something…

…

…

…

…Erica grinned, wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, and backed off from the practice. She waved a hand, beckoning him over as she dropped to sit cross-legged. “C’mere, I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.”

An idle thought broke through as John was walking over and kneeling on the grass. ‘Grass? But we train in the courtyard, don’t we?’ Erica loudly sighed, and John shoved the utterly pointless thought away. How ridiculous. What did it matter if they moved to the grass for a session? It was not a big deal. He needed to care less about stupid details.

The blonde ran a hand through her hair, and looked at him. “Listen. Your powers… You’re gonna be a real nasty opponent one day. Not too far off from now.” She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, soft skin grazing lightly, almost tantalising. “With that kind of power, you need to let someone point you in the right direction.”

John felt himself nod. “That makes sense.”

A slight smile raised her lips, sharp in a strangely clinical way, compared to her usual almost wolfish smirks. “Glad you’re on board. I was worried I’d have to fight you more. A monster like you, without someone in charge? What a nightmare.”

John tilted his head, and he narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Wait… monster?” That didn’t sound right.

That strange smile grew, larger and sharper. “Yeah? Don’t be shy about it. You’re a fucking beast. Far beyond normal berserkers with their discipline and shit. Nah, you don’t need any of that, you just need someone to drop your leash at the right time so you’re only a monster to the right targets.”

‘That’s not- Erica wouldn’t say that. Would she?’

John popped his jaw, grinding his teeth harder than he had expected. He felt a pressure banded around his temple. He could sense a thought, a thread that kept dancing out of his reach, even as he strained for it.

The sight of the unnatural, crooked smile on Erica’s face percolated slowly through him. He knew it was the same as it had been the entire time, but he hadn’t been able to actually see it. Now, he saw the darkness and savage sadism that filled the smile, so out of place on her features.

‘That’s not right. Erica’s smirks are bright, sarcastic, and teasing, aren’t they?’

The pressure on his skull snapped into blinding pain, somewhere unfamiliar. Everything, and nowhere, that part of him he never knew he had screeching in protest as the pain hit. The world had frozen, caught on the fixed, wrong smile on his friend’s face. A tiny noise rang, a chime that was impossibly far away. It was something in him, or maybe it was the world around him which thudded, an unrelenting drumbeat knocking at the door.

Something was…

…

…

…

…Kitty was holding him in her arms again. No, not again. There was the pain, the disabled movement and tactile feeling. He had been shot with the arrow. Kitty had caught him. The battle-

His eyes moved to look for the fighting. Kitty snapped her fingers, drawing his eyes back, and said, “John. Ignore the others, they are only dispatching the remainder.”

’Huh?’

“Well, I can’t really move-” His words were cut off suddenly as she spoke.

“Be silent.” Her voice cracked like a whip, hard and unforgiving. Soft features were drawn into a harsh frown. “What possessed you to take an injury intended for me?”

’She wasn’t angry.’

That was an easy one, at least. “Oh, because of my powers, I figured some pain would be better than you dy-”

“As I thought.” Her lip was curling with disgust. “If not for your sudden intrusion, the arrow would have missed me. Instead, our allies lack two of their number. You are reckless. You lack self-preservation. You lack talent, or skill. I have encountered children better suited to teamwork.”

She reached, pulling the arrow out and tossing it aside without warning. The pain flared, and John lost the ability to speak, air rushing through the hole in his throat. Two taps collided with his cheek, swift and rough, drawing his focus back to the woman before him.

There was a pause, as she seemed to consider him. “You are not without use. You are savage, and powerful. That can be used. Whilst you lack the discipline to do so, I am more than capable of doing so for you.”

’This isn’t what happened.’

She gave a sharp nod, and drew herself up, seeming to tower above him in that moment. “I am sure you agree, this behaviour requires rectifying. Therefore, I will act as your handler, in the future. You will act only as I instruct, in order to assure the safety of those around you.”

Rough fingers grabbed his jaw, digging into the skin, and she tugged his head forwards as she leant in close. “Understand this. You will do exactly as I command. You will not attempt to act without permission. I will not allow my leashed monster to run amok amidst allies.”

’Kitty is better than that. She would never-’

Fingers gripped his jaw hard enough to bruise, and the redhead’s delicate voice turned bitter and snarling, “Do you understand, John?”

Her eyes flashed, demanding his obedience, yet all John truly saw was the colour. A bright blue, jagged and sharp, icy and unforgiving, hard edges and **** glitter. Wrong.

’Wrong. Kitty’s eyes are a clear summer sky, a soft and full blue. They gleam like sunlight on fresh water, and draw you in without trying. They don’t demand, they ask.’

John braced. The pain flooded in again, crushing the fragile bone of his skull, washing over that impossible place that was everywhere and nowhere. He flexed that phantom muscle, straining, screaming, struggling. Thoughts were failing him. That thread was caught on the very edge of his fingertip, his nail pinning the end down and locking it in place, refusing to let go.

The world stilled. John looked into the eyes before him and saw every little way that this wasn’t the Katherine he knew. It was obvious, in a way he simply hadn’t been able to see before. An irreverent little digital chime emerged from somewhere.

A whisper slipped from that pinned thread, and bypassed his thoughts, slipping from him without understanding, “I’m going to kill you, Murdock.”

Reality pounded around him, something pounding at the edges of what seemed real, making the world reverberate like a gong in the hands of a child.

Something was wrong…

…

…

…

…Velvet moaned. His body moved back from the kiss, and he drank in the sight of her.

The sheets shifted with the slightest sound of silky fabric as she moved. Heat flushed her pale skin, turning it pink in all the most beautiful places. She writhed gently where she lay, long shapely legs rubbing against one another, a wonderful bonus side effect of her divinely thick thighs, a hint of wet shine clinging to the inner thighs, clenching desperately in search of stimulation. The enticing hint of the pink slit between her legs, only a brief flash seen as she shifted to try and relieve the tension. Those wide hips, shaped as if begging for his grip, leading to a smooth stomach taut with need. Her breasts, two perfect handfuls of soft skin and arousal, tipped with flawless pink nipples.

It was everything he could have ever imagined. It was exactly what he had imagined.

Her eyes opened, and another moan emerged from the soft pink lips he’d dreamed of, a moan in the slurred and incoherent shape of his name, “Joooohnnnn…”

His dick hardened, making itself known. Her arms reached up, grasping at where his arms braced to hold his body up from her, desperately searching. She changed her goal, grabbing around his neck to pull him close.

Her voice was husky in his ear, and the heat of her breath down his neck sent shivers down his spine, “Fuck me, John. Take me, use me. Stick that cock in my pussy, and fuck me like the monster-”

’Get the fuck out of my head.’
“Get the fuck out of my head.”

The thought came naturally this time, the words emerging almost as a growl, from deep in his chest.

The waves of pain crashed in, only to break and fall away before landing. Faster and harder they slammed into him, trying to overwhelm him and distract him. All of it proved insufficient against John’s willpower, his absolute denial of this version of reality.

The world stilled, and it stopped. He heard the small digital chime and ignored it. The face before him twisted, blissful arousal lost in an instant. A thunderous scowl took its place, emotions flickering clearly across the expression. Anger. Irritation. Confusion. ****. And, right at the very edge of it all, a tiny hint of something masked and hidden, yet clear on the face John had spent hours watching whenever he could get away with it. Fear.

The world was pounding, shaking furiously at the edges of his vision.

Pretty pink lips parted, and her voice emerged. It was distorted with a dark anger, the words snarled so aggressively that it dropped to an unnatural octave, audibly scratching her throat, “Why won’t you submit?!”

John reached forwards and gently cupped the flushed cheek. The thread he’d been grasping at was easy to take hold of now, literally in his hands. Clarity hit him as he returned the thought to where it had been snatched from. The Gamer stared into the empty eyes with a deep-seated disappointment, and the person using her face stared back. He tenderly brushed a thumb over her face, wishing it was real.

He closed his eyes and softly whispered, “Because her eyes aren’t grey.”

John’s eyes snapped open, and he felt the rage finally pull itself to the surface, dropping his voice deeper, “You defiled her body. You entered my mind, with all your clever tricks, but this? This was a mistake.” That fear jumped into the grey eyes that didn’t belong in her beautiful features. The rage blazed higher, and John’s words were pulled along with it, shifting to an almost animalistic growl, “I’m coming for you, Murdock. I’d start fucking running.”

Terror spiked in those eyes. Reality rang like a bell, and shattered around him. Soft sheets and softer skin fell away into nothing.

Something was still wrong.

…

No new version of reality presented itself. There was just a quiet emptiness, dark yet comfortable. He looked around, or he thought he did. There wasn’t anything to see, to actually know if he did.

He took a step forward. His next step went up onto the porch of his mom’s house. Smoke and darkness crept out from under the edge of the door.

John opened the door.

It wasn’t the inside of his living room. There was no TV in front of the couch, no homey rug beneath a sturdy coffee table. It was…

A dirty concrete floor, with chipped and disintegrating pillars. Long, flickering, industrial light strips that cast harsh white light across the floor. Chairs that looked like DIY electroshock setups, scattered around in disarray, some on their sides. The pillar that he knew without looking had exactly 68 cracks running through it.

It was the basement.

And there, where he and Velvet had been strapped in, stood a cage.

It wasn’t anything special. It was every stereotype of a plain metal cage he had ever imagined. Dull, dark grey metal. Thick bars. A huge lock on the door. A heavy iron key, resting on the ground a few yards in front of the door. A tangible darkness rolled like fog across the ground, and smoke swirled in the air, acrid in his nose.

He couldn’t describe exactly what was inside the cage. Not how it looked, or behaved, or anything like that. He registered it, on some level, but what his senses were inputting simply slid away before his mind could process it. Instead, he knew by the feeling, the images his mind summoned from being around it.

The brutality of crushing Toby’s skull with his fists. The dark thrill of forcing Erica to apply herself. The savagery of burying his axe into the Janitor’s flesh. The heady rush of power when his muscles bunch and leap. The anger. The frustration. The fury.

This was his berserker rage.

Or, at least, some kind of mental depiction of it. He looked around for anything else that might be here, and when he found nothing, he sighed and sat on the concrete just before the key.

Long moments passed, until eventually, he said, “Why am I here?”

He waited. Slowly, an image came to mind. The cage, with its door sitting open.

John raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let you out? No offense, but-”

His words cut off as nails scratched against the inside of his skull, screeching like it was a chalkboard. He gripped his head tightly as he shouted in pain. After a few seconds longer, it stopped, and John settled back, breathing heavily. “What… what the fuck was that?”

He felt the slow beginnings of some response forming, only for them to be shattered by another screech.

Again, and again, this pattern happened. The screeching, then the pause. The attempt at an answer, only to be interrupted by the next screech. Abruptly, the slow images stopped trying to form, and in their place was an epileptic flashing of familiar people and places.
Mom, Velvet, Ashcroft, Eion, Asta’s workshop, Moira, Erica, Brighton Manor, Kitty, Asta.

He only had brief moments before the next skull-scraping hit, but all he managed to think and say was, “T-the fuck are you- Agh!”

He waited for it to relent, and quickly spat out, “What the fuck are you trying to show me?”

The pain hit again. The images flashed again.

Mom, Velvet, Ashcroft, a middle-aged guy, Asta’s workshop, Moira, Erica, Brighton Manor, Kitty, Asta.

Wait. That wasn’t right. “Th- That guy. After you showed Ashcroft. Who is- AGHH!”

The pain was getting worse, but there was more time between each burst. He had a feeling that wasn’t good.

The feeling of victory when he first managed to stay conscious during the rage washed over him. Yeah, that definitely wasn’t a good thing.

Mom, Velvet, Ashcroft, that guy again, a workshop, Moira, Erica, Brighton Manor, Kitty, a girl with purple hair.

“Hang on, no. I know that girl. The one with the purple hair. Don’t I?” That feeling of victory again. A yes. “So why can’t I- AGHHHH!!”

He wanted to crack his skull into the concrete and split it, take his axe to the bone and cut it, anything to relieve that noise and pressure. It faded slower this time, the pain lingering. Without asking or waiting a moment more, the slideshow played again.

Mom, Velvet, Ashcroft, that guy again, a workshop, Moira, a blonde with a smirk, some super-rich house, Kitty, a girl with purple hair.

John’s head suddenly dashed up, his eyes wide and staring at nothing in horror. “Oh god. He’s trying to remove memories, isn’t he?” The victory, mixed with the desperation of needing to kill the person who was threatening Velvet - Yes, and we’re running out of time.

He started muttering to himself, thinking aloud, “Fuck. Okay, so he’s removing memories. It’s getting worse, and stronger. He couldn’t get me to agree to it the other way, so he’s…” his mind raced, and it clicked, “...He’s reformatting the hard drive. If the existing OS won’t do what he wants, he’s going to install his own. But on a person, that’s a lot more complicated. The memories, yes, but also the thoughts. If he stops them altogether, he gets a vegetable. So he’s trying to partially stop them. But then the emotions-”

The screeching cut through him again, debilitating pain that felt like his eyes were bleeding out of his sockets in some kind of nightmarish Dark Souls display, and left him panting and gulping for air.

John looked at the cage. “If they shut down the thoughts, the emotions rule. Right now, that’d give them a ball of pain, easy to shape. But if I let you out, you’d take over, wouldn’t you?” The victory, mixed with savage glee.

It seemed like, well, not the perfect solution, but the only one available. Still, John couldn’t help the fear that rattled through him. “...Would you let me come back afterwards?”

There was a long pause. Long enough that the next pain struck, leaving him tensed and as tightly curled into himself as possible without being in fetal position. Then, as he gasped and shuddered sobbing breaths in, he saw the images offered, felt what they came with.

The smiling blonde’s outstretched hand. The purple-haired girl hugging close and whispering something. The redhead with the golden pin awkwardly smiling at him. The other redhead, holding his forearm tightly and nodding. The blind- Velvet, her name was Velvet - Velvet giggling as if she wasn’t tied to a **** chair.

The feeling was hazier, as if unfamiliar to whatever kind of creature his berserker rage was, beneath the smoke and darkness. John realised that, unlike the previous feelings and images it had used to communicate, none of these had happened during a time he had been berserk. They’d come from John, not his rage. It was a cocktail of emotions, more than he could work out, but he didn’t need to. The strongest ones were enough.

Hope, support, faith, and above it all, trust.

John lifted the iron key in front of him and stared at it. He took a deep breath, the movement shuddering his chest with the aftereffects of the pain that had passed through him, and placed it in the lock.

“Okay. I trust you,” he whispered.

The key turned; the lock clicked. The pain returned. His vision blacked out.