Work Text:
…
…
“...llo? Hell…o? Pl…er?”
You jolt awake, eyes fluttering open. The perpetual serenity of the rolling blue sky greets you as you come to, your gaze drifting down to the never-ending hills surrounding you, to blades of salmon-colored grass swaying en masse in the gentle breeze. Finally, you glance at the well-dressed man standing across the stall, not missing the concern in his bright blue eyes as he stares down at you—and you let out a sigh, letting your head fall back onto the makeshift pillow of your arm.
And without a word, you stare into the endless sky, raise your free hand, and start to poke Harvey’s cheek. Again.
“So you’re...you’re still really not gonna buy anything to, y’know, speed this along? You’ve been-” Curtly, you shake your head, and Harvey quiets down.
You know. You’ve been at this for the past…eight hours? Nine hours?
You’re not really sure anymore.
All things considered, you’ve been in…more uncomfortable situations. Far more uncomfortable situations (the one some hours prior comes to mind). The smooth, finely polished wood of Harvey’s booth still feels as firm as ever against your arm’s bare skin, and you think your poking hand’s starting to go numb from how long it’s been held up. But you’ll take this any day over the alternative.
And, god, you can still hear the consequences of said alternative ringing in your ears.
The begs, each more desperate than the last, as you raised the burning match to his body again and again. The tears running from his empty eye socket, carving rivulets through his blood-soaked cheek. The howl of pain he’d let out as you’d thrust the cold knife deep into his chest, hands shaking like hell but never dropping the weapon. Never able to drop any of the horrible tools you’d purchased, no matter how much you’d tried. Never able to do anything but stab, and burn, and cut.
It wasn’t the worst part, the agony of the blade as Harvey, disfigured and maimed, finally had enough and won your little strength contest, Thrusting the edge deep into your neck, the scared, cornered animal sinking its fangs into the hunter. It was the fact that you’d let it get that far.
And then, the next thing you know, there you were. With a brand new, pristine body. A brand new, pristine Harvey. Ready to do it all again.
You haven’t even dared to look at the flashing fucking [SHOP] button on his booth this time.
It turns out Harvey was a good guy. Of course he was. A great guy, even, once you’d given him the chance to speak rather than scream his lungs out as he was fucking mutilated. So far, not once had he asked why you’d been glaring at him with such intent, such…remorse. Nor had he prodded about the details of your operation; he’d simply watched closely and nodded, eyes alight with determination, as you’d signed that you needed 25K. Offered a brilliant grin, cheered the first of many motivating assurances.
The guy had even offered you his stool when, by about the third hour, he’d noticed your knees had started to wobble. And you'd taken it.
God fucking damn it all.
“So… I’ve been meaning to ask…” Instinctively, you perk up, turning to face the man who you’re still poking every two seconds or so. You’re not really in the mood to chat—you don’t think you will be for a very, very long time—but you still raise an eyebrow up at him instead of turning away. You can’t remember the last time he’d spoken to you aside from when he’d woken you up, and his eyebrows raise, as if surprised that you aren’t ignoring him like usual.
“You said you needed, ah…25 thousand dollars? Right? I certainly admire your dedication; I’m not sure I know anyone who has the patience to tap something a good 25 thousand times, heh. But I’m sure you’ll find that it’ll pay off—at this rate, you should be all wrapped up and ready to get that operation in no time!” He chirps, flashing a toothy, cheerful smile. It’s bright. Innocent. It should be impossible, given the circumstances.
You don’t react to his encouragement, blinking at him boredly, and his smile fades again, giving way to a worried frown. Before you’d dozed off, you faintly remember your once-empty bank account reading $11,730. But Harvey doesn’t have to know that. He doesn’t have to know any of what you’re sparing him from.
…You think, as if you weren’t the monster who inflicted the agony on him in the first place.
Why…Why are you doing this at all? Do you think this will make up for what you’ve done? Will this finally make you feel better—one “good deed” to a life to sweep under the rug the horrors you’d subjected another to? If you don’t do it, some other callous soul who sees the potential of it all will—right?
It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You did it already. The other Harvey felt it all. Why do you-
“...Player.” A hand on your shoulder makes you jump. Its weight is firm, its skin warm, and it feels so…real, despite who it belongs to.
You’re not sure why you’re so surprised. This has all been real to Harvey, after all. Why shouldn’t that be the case for you?
Your gaze flicks to Harvey’s hand, then to his face. His eyes. Worry swirls deep within them, worry that would be gone in an instant if he’d known what you’ve done. Worry that you’re the last person in the world to deserve. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to brush off his arm.
“I don't…I still don’t really know why you’re doing all this, to be honest. Why aren't you fighting harder for an operation that’ll save your life, for goodness’ sake? Time’s a-wasting, isn’t it, buddy?” He pauses for a response, and when he doesn’t get any, he sighs, his voice softening. “I wish…I could just give you the money so you can be on your way. I really do—I have enough to spare, and helping good folk like you is why I’m here, after all. But something in me just won’t let me do it unless you keep…poking me. Unless you make me feel something. It’s…strange to even say it out loud, believe me, but…I can’t say I understand it myself more than you do.”
You swallow a lump down your throat, your finger shaking in the air as you hesitate. You force yourself to poke. Then again. Then again.
Harvey finally seems to understand that you don’t intend to reply to him, and he pats your shoulder reassuringly with a soft smile before setting himself back down on his side of the booth.
“...I don’t…quite know why I’m here at all, to be honest,” He goes on, your finger pausing in mid-air once more. “One moment, I could’ve sworn I was with my wife, testing out her new…simulation thingamajig, and now I’m here. But, oh, you should’ve seen how her eyes shone as she talked about its possibilities for us, player… I’ve never seen her so excited in all my life. She tries so hard, and I know she’d never, never treat me with anything but the most perfect care—that’s why I just couldn’t say no to being her guinea pig no matter how apprehensive I was, heh. I’m in good hands.”
A pang of…something you can’t quite place pierces through your heart. This…this is why Harvey’s been stuck here? The wife he loves so dearly…trapped him here? Stripped him of his freedom, presented him to the world on a digital platter to be tortured and beaten, over and over and over? Why?
“We’ve, ah…been in a bit of a rough spot as of late, you see,” He explains, as if reading your mind. “But once my wife is positive the technology is all perfectly safe, she’ll take this wonderful idea and bring it straight to the investors. She’ll get us out of this yet—she’s brilliant. Just brilliant…”
His eyes glow as he gushes, and after a moment, you can faintly hear Harvey apologizing for talking your ear off about nothing. Assuring you not to worry about a silly humble benefactor like him. You’re not quite sure why you…you can’t bring yourself to poke any longer. To continue this absurd facade for a moment more. You can feel the corners of your eyes burning as you clench them shut, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You’re shaking.
“Um…player? Are you alright? Why have you-”
You stand and throw up, right on Harvey’s booth.
Your head spins as you put a palm down in your own sick to steady yourself, hurling once more. Tears flow one after another from your eyes, just as they had from Harvey’s, and they won’t stop. You gasp and pant, trying with quaking hands to sign an “I’m sorry”, to use your shirt to wipe vomit from his booth in an attempt as pathetic as it is futile. Before you realize it, Harvey’s at your side, calling your name—still ”player,” technically, since you’d never told him it—and holding your shoulders, holding them tight.
“P-Player?! Player, what's wrong?! Is this because of your... D-Do you need to go to hospital now?! Player!”
No, no, no, you shake your head. You’re gasping for air, unable to hardly think, and you highly doubt you’d be able to sign “I’m fine” even if you wanted to. You try to push him away; he is the last person in the world who should be comforting you right now; this is sick. You need to leave, you need to forget any of this ever happened, you-
Harvey pulls you into an embrace. Holds you tight. The man who knows nothing about you, nothing about what could’ve been, what has been—who knows nothing of his circumstances.
The man who knows nothing at all, and the one who wishes more than anything that they could forget.
What a sad, sad fucking pair you are.
You don’t know how long you spend, letting yourself weep into his suit. You think you throw up again, at some point, right on his clothes. Harvey only holds you tighter.
And when you wake up in the morning, you are back in the comfort of your gaming chair. The simulation headset weighs heavy on your head, a prototype from a family friend, up-and-coming entrepreneur Eun-Mi Harvington.
A message glows at you in bright pastel pink letters:
Thanks for trying out our new game, Bloodmoney! Unfortunately, the demo has closed for the night. Please feel free to come back tomorrow, when the demo will reopen and you can play again! :)