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[ WARNING: Mentions of torture and brainwashing under the cut. Inspired by this. ]
They don't let you remember.
Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe they're doing you a favor, like they constantly keep saying as they talk while poking and prodding you with needles. They say they're only taking care of you, before the world shifts and narrows to only pain. You can feel the way your body tenses, first in anticipation and then in agony as it ripples through your body, but they don't let you scream. You try to move, you try to get away, but the binds only get tighter. The pain only gets stronger, and it doesn't stop. It doesn't stop, until you can't breathe, and--
The world goes dark.
New York.
Lights. Buildings.
Home.
Your brow furrows at the thought, because it feels unfamiliar even in your own head as the word tumbles out in connection to New York. It's not the first conscious thought in this session, but it's the first one that sticks despite the white noise the room is drowning in as they play their word association game.
New York, a voice echoes through the intercom in the room, and you answer the first thing that comes to mind. You know how this game goes.
"Home."
The surge of electricity is quick, and it floods your body as they zap you at once.
Wrong. You're wrong.
Start over.
Armor
They're doing you a favor. They're helping you, they explain, as they remove a string of metal and wires from a case, and the sight reminds you of some sort of electronic eel, but as it zaps to life your thoughts immediately disappear. Because that zap is so sickeningly familiar to the ones that send electricity burning through your veins, but...this time it doesn't hurt. Electrodes on the strip of metal light up, and for a moment you're mesmerized at the sight. Even here, even now, you can admire the beauty behind a new piece of technology, and the fog in your brain doesn't feel as repressive as it generally does.
That moment doesn't last long, though. Rough hands grab you and flip you onto your stomach before they hold you down. The metal table is freezing against your bare chest, and before you know it, you feel it. The piercing sensation that seems to burn right through your core. Your skin feels as if it's on fire, and you try to writhe away from the hold they have on you, but it doesn't work. It never works, you think, but after a few minutes it feels like the pain dulls out. Not completely, you can feel it with every breath you take, but at least it doesn't feel as if it'll kill you.
"Stand," a voice orders (not ask, they never ask), and it's until then that you realize they're no longer holding you down.
It's not until then that you remember, that day (or night?) when you woke up in a cell. The room had been dark, but that's not what you noticed as you tried to roll over. You noticed the way that your body wasn't responding, the way your torso moved but the lower half didn't. You remember the panic, the desperation at trying to get up, at trying to move from the bed you were on, but your efforts weren't getting you anywhere.
And now they're telling you to stand. The voice brings you back to the present, and there's a second of hesitation before you push yourself up on your elbows to roll over. You expect the same result as the one in your memories, but it's different. Your legs move, and after a brief stumble, you're up on your feet for the first time in--
Hell, you can't even figure that out anymore.
"See?" Someone says as you walk towards one corner of the room, where you can see your reflection. You don't focus on it to see yourself, because that's not what you want to see. You stare at your legs, and the fact that they work, and as you turn slightly so you can see the strip of metal attached to your spine, you see it. The device that's making this possible, and suddenly the pain you feel seems worth it.
"We're just trying to help you, Stark."
Training becomes easy after that. You don't like it, the way they throw you or push you if you're not fast enough, or good enough, but you're less afraid to lash out. It's almost primal, the way you growl under your breath and how you shove back, but it happens with time. With every torture, with every session, with every training, they're molding someone different - something different.
December. Howard. Empire. Science.
Survival.
The words string along, they're all put together, but you stop associating them with memories. You don't think of Christmas, sitting with your mother and playing music on the piano. You dont think of your father and his scotch filled breath. You don't think of legacies, of something left behind.
For all their help, for all they're doing, they're stripping layers and layers back. Sometimes the stray thought breaks though, and sometimes your brain doesn't think to repress those before the words come stumbling out loud, but the strip of metal that has given you a new life isn't meant to just help you walk. It's essentially a shock collar of sorts, keeping you in line. Making you start over.
Captain.
Even through the screen, even with the cowl, you see those piercing blue eyes. You see that star, those colors, you hear that voice, but you don't think of a friend. You don't think of an ally.
You see him, angry and bleeding as he hits you. You see him, glaring down at you before the shield is slammed into your chest, and even if it's just a memory, you can swear you feel it anyway. It knocks your breath away, and--
He's your enemy, they remind you with a sneer, they taunt, and after shocks and zaps and memory wipes, it feels like they're helping. They're helping in filling in those blanks. They're helping you in figuring it all out.
He broke you. He left you there. He abandoned you. He broke you, and he needs to pay.
"Good morning, soldier," they greet as you open your eyes, and your mind is blank as it focuses again in the present. In his reality, which is all he knows now.
"Ready to comply."
They don't let you remember.
Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe they're doing you a favor, like they constantly keep saying as they talk while poking and prodding you with needles. They say they're only taking care of you, before the world shifts and narrows to only pain. You can feel the way your body tenses, first in anticipation and then in agony as it ripples through your body, but they don't let you scream. You try to move, you try to get away, but the binds only get tighter. The pain only gets stronger, and it doesn't stop. It doesn't stop, until you can't breathe, and--
The world goes dark.
New York.
Lights. Buildings.
Home.
Your brow furrows at the thought, because it feels unfamiliar even in your own head as the word tumbles out in connection to New York. It's not the first conscious thought in this session, but it's the first one that sticks despite the white noise the room is drowning in as they play their word association game.
New York, a voice echoes through the intercom in the room, and you answer the first thing that comes to mind. You know how this game goes.
"Home."
The surge of electricity is quick, and it floods your body as they zap you at once.
Wrong. You're wrong.
Start over.
Armor
They're doing you a favor. They're helping you, they explain, as they remove a string of metal and wires from a case, and the sight reminds you of some sort of electronic eel, but as it zaps to life your thoughts immediately disappear. Because that zap is so sickeningly familiar to the ones that send electricity burning through your veins, but...this time it doesn't hurt. Electrodes on the strip of metal light up, and for a moment you're mesmerized at the sight. Even here, even now, you can admire the beauty behind a new piece of technology, and the fog in your brain doesn't feel as repressive as it generally does.
That moment doesn't last long, though. Rough hands grab you and flip you onto your stomach before they hold you down. The metal table is freezing against your bare chest, and before you know it, you feel it. The piercing sensation that seems to burn right through your core. Your skin feels as if it's on fire, and you try to writhe away from the hold they have on you, but it doesn't work. It never works, you think, but after a few minutes it feels like the pain dulls out. Not completely, you can feel it with every breath you take, but at least it doesn't feel as if it'll kill you.
"Stand," a voice orders (not ask, they never ask), and it's until then that you realize they're no longer holding you down.
It's not until then that you remember, that day (or night?) when you woke up in a cell. The room had been dark, but that's not what you noticed as you tried to roll over. You noticed the way that your body wasn't responding, the way your torso moved but the lower half didn't. You remember the panic, the desperation at trying to get up, at trying to move from the bed you were on, but your efforts weren't getting you anywhere.
And now they're telling you to stand. The voice brings you back to the present, and there's a second of hesitation before you push yourself up on your elbows to roll over. You expect the same result as the one in your memories, but it's different. Your legs move, and after a brief stumble, you're up on your feet for the first time in--
Hell, you can't even figure that out anymore.
"See?" Someone says as you walk towards one corner of the room, where you can see your reflection. You don't focus on it to see yourself, because that's not what you want to see. You stare at your legs, and the fact that they work, and as you turn slightly so you can see the strip of metal attached to your spine, you see it. The device that's making this possible, and suddenly the pain you feel seems worth it.
"We're just trying to help you, Stark."
Training becomes easy after that. You don't like it, the way they throw you or push you if you're not fast enough, or good enough, but you're less afraid to lash out. It's almost primal, the way you growl under your breath and how you shove back, but it happens with time. With every torture, with every session, with every training, they're molding someone different - something different.
December. Howard. Empire. Science.
Survival.
The words string along, they're all put together, but you stop associating them with memories. You don't think of Christmas, sitting with your mother and playing music on the piano. You dont think of your father and his scotch filled breath. You don't think of legacies, of something left behind.
For all their help, for all they're doing, they're stripping layers and layers back. Sometimes the stray thought breaks though, and sometimes your brain doesn't think to repress those before the words come stumbling out loud, but the strip of metal that has given you a new life isn't meant to just help you walk. It's essentially a shock collar of sorts, keeping you in line. Making you start over.
Captain.
Even through the screen, even with the cowl, you see those piercing blue eyes. You see that star, those colors, you hear that voice, but you don't think of a friend. You don't think of an ally.
You see him, angry and bleeding as he hits you. You see him, glaring down at you before the shield is slammed into your chest, and even if it's just a memory, you can swear you feel it anyway. It knocks your breath away, and--
He's your enemy, they remind you with a sneer, they taunt, and after shocks and zaps and memory wipes, it feels like they're helping. They're helping in filling in those blanks. They're helping you in figuring it all out.
He broke you. He left you there. He abandoned you. He broke you, and he needs to pay.
"Good morning, soldier," they greet as you open your eyes, and your mind is blank as it focuses again in the present. In his reality, which is all he knows now.
"Ready to comply."