Dan and Phil should play (2/?) : Bendy and the Ink Machine
So, apparently I am making this a series :D I’ll update it veeeeery sporadically, but it’s gonna be a series! :) Anyway! I really hope they play this game, if not now at least when more chapters come out. (also pls don’t repost this without asking or erase my watermark thnx)
Prompt: Darth Vader is asked probing questions about his level of pain, answers (or doesn't) in a way that disturbs everyone.
hah, thanks for the good prompt, anon! i’m happy to answer :) it’s been a while since i last star warsed, be gentle. also i have no idea what i’m doing, hopefully it was at least serviceable
Luke wrung his hands. The black glove he wore over his prosthetic rippled as he moved it, like the beating of an eopie’s hide.
His father was stretched out on the bed in front of him - his knotted, twisted skin was almost translucent beneath the white light. It wasn’t enough for Luke to miss the blisters, fanged red and bleeding, and the cracks in the skin that oozed and festered - maltreated burn scars. Luke swallowed the bile in his throat.
It was wrong - it was like seeing a skinned, beaten anooba left in Tatooine’s sun, with the chain grown into its neck and its ribs jutting out. It was disturbing. It was disgusting. Luke refused to look away.
Vader must have felt the roar of emotions through the force, because his eyes - milky, pale, it was like someone had sucked the color out of him - were watching Luke.
Whatever moment they were having, it was interrupted by Dr. Byonlin, who swept into the room with more grace than Luke would’ve guessed for a man of his size. His stride was long, haughty, and when he looked down at Vader, his brow was raised as if to say, is this all?
Luke felt, more than saw, Vader bristle. He patted his father’s hand, and then rose. “Dr. Byonlin, it’s good to see you.”
Byonlin shook his hand. “Skywalker! A pleasure, as ever. How have you been?”
“Uh, good,” Luke answered. He’d met Byonlin, once - late at night, the harsh light from the hall filtering in through the shuttered windows. He remembered the desperation that had numbed his lungs. He remembered begging the man for help.
Byonlin studied him, and then nodded. When he turned to Vader, his expression soured. “It looks like you and I are to be working together to keep you alive. I highly doubt you need this explained to you, but I will anyway: I do this for your son, not for you. If at any point I feel unsafe, I drop this, and you languish under sedatives and painkillers until you finally choke on them.”
Vader’s eyes were still on Luke. Luke nodded. Vader seemed to take that as confirmation, and for what Luke would likely never know, and he said, “Yes.”
Byonlin’s eyebrows crept into his hairline at the quiet, small rasp that was his father’s voice.
Luke sat down. “So, uh. What is…”
Byonlin ignored his interjection. “As you know, I helped perform the emergency surgery that removed the actual - the… suit. I have some idea of what I’m getting into. But what I need is the full and total picture. If I’m being honest, you shouldn’t be alive right now. You should’ve been dead a long, long time ago.”
Vader gave him a gimlet-eyed stare. “Do you have a purpose other than dispensing useless information?”
Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s, ah, grouchy. Don’t take it personally.”
“Don’t worry about my feelings, Skywalker,” Byonlin said. “I mean no offense, but I don’t put stock in the opinions of murderers and slavers.”
“Slavers - “
“Ah, I wouldn’t say that,” Luke said, quickly. Vader’s rage in the force was apoplectic: toxic, like a viper, like it had killed everything it had touched, and that only a fool would question its power.
Luke watched as Vader’s fists slowly uncurled, but the thunderous snarl didn’t leave his expression.
Byonlin’s eyebrows were back to his hairline. “I’ll just - get right on with it, then. I’ve scheduled a few procedures, but I’ll get into that later. What I want to establish now are a few basics. I need some background. First: what injuries made your - suit - necessary, and how long ago?”
A vein throbbed at Vader’s temple, and he bit out: “Fire. Triple amputation. Twenty-four years ago.”
“I’m going to guess it was the right arm and both legs, because those prosthetics are of the same make - but that would mean you haven’t updated or replaced any prosthetics since you first got them. Is that a correct assumption?”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you that that is an absolutely insane amount of time between upgrades, and that you’ve caused unnecessary damage to those wounds?”
“If you would like to continue being entirely useless, go ahead.”
Byonlin continued, a harsh twist to his mouth. “Furthermore, I’d like to mention the actual damage done to the burn scars themselves - that is a case of serious neglect. Your suit was very poorly designed.”
“You are a waste of air.”
“Father, please,” Luke said.
“What would you say is your pain level?” Byonlin asked.
“Irrelevant,” Vader growled. It failed to be intimidating when it sounded more like the rattle of a weak gust of wind.
“I would say it’s extremely relevant, actually.”
Just answer the question.
Vader’s reply was a harsh burst of fury that nearly made Luke jump back, and then he said, “I do not notice it. It’s been twenty years since I have lived without it, therefore, irrelevant.”
“Do you think there’s a noticeable change in the level of pain, say, in the last five years?”
“If I concede, will you cease your pointless line of questioning?”
Luke covered his face with his hands. It would be a long day.