Work Text:
Project.
Subject.
Weapon.
They never called him by his name, never thought about how he felt during their tests, never stopped to wonder if they were pushing him too hard. They weren’t. They couldn’t be. He was created to be perfect, and a single slip meant complete imperfection.
He didn’t move as he was strapped down to the table, didn’t beg when they locked a muzzle over his face, didn’t cry when they brought out their supplies. He stayed still, stayed silent, stayed obedient. This wasn’t the first time they’d taken samples from him, and it wouldn’t be the last. He was used to it. He didn’t even scream anymore.
He didn’t flinch as they drew blood, and removed chunks of his skin and the flesh underneath. Startling for even a moment would disappoint the Professor.
This is to save Maria! You want to help her, don’t you? You want to end her suffering?
He did. He wanted, more than anything, to save her. It was his whole purpose for existing. If he couldn’t save her, he had no purpose, no reason to keep going.
These tests bring us one step closer to finding a cure. You must endure, Project. It won’t be much longer now.
That was months ago. They still strapped him down and took what they needed whenever they deemed it necessary. He wouldn’t refuse. Couldn’t. Refusal meant denying Maria treatment, and he’d sooner throw himself out of the airlock than prolong her suffering for even a day. She deserved that cure, deserved the chance to see earth up close.
She promised, one day, that they would see it together. They would explore as many cities as they could, and find the most beautiful, secluded spots in nature, little places that only they’d know about. They would try new foods that they couldn’t get on the ARK, and play in grass, and grow flowers. They’d finally get to see trees, and sunlight, maybe even go somewhere cold enough to see snow. She wanted to make snowmen and have a snowball fight with him. He didn’t know how fighting her on anything could be fun, but she seemed so excited about it, he didn’t dare argue.
He never argued about anything. Not with Maria. Not with the scientists. Never with the Professor. It was forbidden.
It didn’t matter anyway. None of what he thought or felt mattered. It was all about helping Maria, it always had been. His pain was inconsequential, his opinions were worth less than dust. Inside these labs, he was an object, a silent tool. His one job was to do what he was told.
And he did. He always did. He became used to the pain, learned how to keep himself silent to not distract the scientists as they worked. They did this all for Maria. They were going to save her. Really, he owed them his life; they were working to save his purpose for living.
So he didn’t complain, or squirm away from their scalpels and needles. He stayed their perfect little object, let them take what they needed, and when he was finally allowed to speak again, his words were soft and polite, never cruel or accusing. The scientists didn’t deserve that.
He no longer left the labs feeling scared or used; he left feeling accomplished, knowing that, every time he suffered, they got closer and closer to helping Maria. This was a good thing. These tests were a blessing.
And if he had to find a forgotten, secluded closet to hide in after every test, crying until he couldn’t anymore, he’d never let the scientists know.
He had to be perfect, after all.