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A Bad Name [Worm][OC][The Gamer]
- Thread starter Potato Nose
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Hot damn, a Gamer fic that is actually really really good. Just binged this, and have been loving it.
Reachbeyond
The serpent beneath the waves.
That's go to hear can't wait to see what's next.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Potato Nose
(Verified Alpaca) (Monkey With a Typewriter)
Okay, so... This is the culmination of a lot of research and fighting with the words trying to convey what traumatic catatonia is like from the inside. It's been difficult, and I don't know how well I captured it. So if the narrative feels jarring I apologise.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
In that moment after I collapse to a seated huddle, it really hits me. I've gotten people killed through my ignorance and I've killed a teenager who didn't deserve it. I look up, and Panacea's partially open eyes stare back at me, vacant and matte dull, already starting to cloud over. Seeing that empty expression, realising that the last sights that girl trapped inside herself would see was a grown man beating her to death. It makes the bottom drop out of my world.
"He's here!"
"Jesus... Jesus!"
"Any sign of the Siberian?"
"Nothing..."
In a small way I'm aware, of my mumbling, that I've begun rocking myself while holding my knees to my chest. People speak to me, ask me about someone. But that touches on things I don't want to think about. So I push them away. Don't think about the PRT officer whose blonde hair is only a few shades from--
"Don't touch him! He's not in his head right now, you could set him off. If he punches you-"
"Not a mark on him..."
"Call it in, get word from the higher ups."
Don't think about it. Don't think about the teenaged healer, tortured and mutilated. Don't think about the lurking, grim satisfaction, even pleasure, I felt when I killed Jack. Especially don't think about the violent, evil part letting inside myself that wishes I'd done worse to him, made him suffer, for what was done to Panacea. I don't want to be that kind of man. So I stop thinking about it. Except I can't. Is this the precipice? The edge over which I slide? Am I that kind of man, now? Was I, perhaps, always that kind of man, just waiting for my first taste of blood?
Blue boxes pop up. I ignore them, close them without reading.
It was too easy, once I started. Once I got that first kill. Because I'd killed Hatchet Face, of course I could kill Burnscar. Bad people, evil people, yes, but that's all justification. I didn't kill them because they were evil and destructive. I fought them for that reason, a few of them. But I killed Hatchet Face because I judged my own life to be more valuable than his. I killed Burnscar because I couldn't think of a better way to stop her. I killed Jack because why? Because he made me angry. I killed-- or tried to kill-- William Manton because his power was in the way of my killing the rest of the Nine. I kept telling myself my goals were righteous. That my intentions were good. I didn't like the idea that all it took for me to be willing to kill was permission. Except once I had a moment to breathe, to stop, once I took that moment I could see it for what it was.
"Word is in. Foam him, bring him to a safe house, we'll be given further orders there."
"Will the foam even work on him? The Siberian didn't stop him, what's containment foam finna do?"
"Word is the foam should slow him down enough for us to get out of sight of he goes berserk. Let's do it."
At some point after I'm covered in close, snug warmth, I fall asleep and dream of the terror fading to nothing in Hatchet Face's eyes as I turned him from a person into an object. But I wake up again when the warmth becomes slimy and sticky. I have a vague impression of someone peeling back my eyelid, but I don't want to go back there. I don't want to think about killing Pa-
"Patient is showing signs of hallucinatory catatonia. Has he been given antipsychotics? Or at least diazepam?"
"Doctor, we can't get a needle into him. His skin won't puncture."
"God damn capes..."
No. Don't think. Don't think. Find the center. Forget all of it. But pushing that away reminds me of other things. A memory of being eaten alive. Forget that too. Forget about the memory of sharp teeth slicing my flesh, forget about a rasping tongue, don't think about black and white striped hands, don't think about it don't think don't think don't think...
"He's taking food and water well enough, swallows the pills, but they don't do anything."
"Did you increase the dosage?"
"Three times. It's like they're salt tablets for all the good they do."
Stimulus and response. After enough time hiding in oneself it's amazing what can be done on autopilot. Follow instructions without thinking about it. Eat this. Sit down. Sleep. Wake up. Come with me. Don't think about it.
"Good morning, Mister Gammer! I have your breakfast here. Need you to sit up, sweetheart. That a boy. Let me get that pillow for you... There we go. You're always so cooperative. It's a nice day outside. You should see it..."
People speak to me. Night becomes day becomes night and sometimes I sleep, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I notice I'm seated. Sometimes I notice I'm lying down. Sometimes I realize I'm asleep and I try to wake up but it doesn't work. I keep my eyes open because every time I close them I see brown hair framing brown eyes as a shattered, teen girl shakes on the floor of the ER, trying to draw a breath that her body can no longer hold.
"Can he hear us like this?"
"Well, it's hard to be certain how much hell remember, but comatose patients frequently do, and catatonia is more responsive. Depends on the individual."
"... God, he looks so empty."
"He's been through a really bad trauma. A lot of traumas, really."
"But earlier he seemed to have it all together."
"People are like that. They'll go and go and as long as they don't stop moving they continue to function. Then they stop, everything catches up to them, and they just snap."
"Can't they do anything for him?"
"We don't even properly know what's going on in his head right now. We can't even sedate him; the meds don't do anything to him. We think it might be because of his powers..."
Or the unwelcome thrill and satisfaction from the feel of Jack Slash crumbling to a mutilated paste beneath the glass boulder. No. Don't think about it.
"Hey buddy. It's Alpine. I brought Gelum and Maddie with me. I don't know if you can hear me but I'm gonna act like you can until you tell me otherwise."
I can't stop thinking about it. Why is this a part of me? Why can I feel that rage, that gladness, that satisfaction each time I see myself slam the boulder into him? The image won't leave me. Takes over my sight, my hearing. Am I a monster? I feel like I must be. I feel like it makes me little better than Jack, than any of the Nine. A killer who enjoyed it. A killer who killed a traumatized and victimized pair of girls because I valued my life, my worthless life, above that of a pair of heroes. Above that of Panacea.
"Progress on Mister Gammer?"
"No difference. Although he at least goes to the lav on his own."
"That's progress."
"That's potty training. Catatonia like this doesn't last this long without other factors, not unbroken, completely unresponsive. And medication in general seems to be fucking useless on him."
"Testy."
"I'm not wired for cape shit. I wish to God they'd sent him somewhere else because no medical treatment on the books get past those ridiculous defenses of his."
"It's up to him, then, isn't it?"
I try to hide in meditation. There's no other way to really put it. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. But somewhere along the line I realize that maybe if I can find my center, I can find my way out of this cycle and I can close my eyes again and I won't keep seeing Panacea. Don't think about it.
"Hey Brandon... So, they're condemning Brockton Bay. Too much damage to the city. Refugees have been leaving already for a week but... Well, that's not important right now.
"... It's halfway to July. Muggy out. Still, I brought you some of my Mama's mint hot chocolate. Home made recipe, remember?"
"... I wish you'd wake up..."
Find the center. Find the silence behind the sounds. Find the stillness beneath the motion. Sweep away language. Move past images. Brush aside emotions. Seek emptiness. Find refuge in the dark.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
In that moment after I collapse to a seated huddle, it really hits me. I've gotten people killed through my ignorance and I've killed a teenager who didn't deserve it. I look up, and Panacea's partially open eyes stare back at me, vacant and matte dull, already starting to cloud over. Seeing that empty expression, realising that the last sights that girl trapped inside herself would see was a grown man beating her to death. It makes the bottom drop out of my world.
"He's here!"
"Jesus... Jesus!"
"Any sign of the Siberian?"
"Nothing..."
In a small way I'm aware, of my mumbling, that I've begun rocking myself while holding my knees to my chest. People speak to me, ask me about someone. But that touches on things I don't want to think about. So I push them away. Don't think about the PRT officer whose blonde hair is only a few shades from--
"Don't touch him! He's not in his head right now, you could set him off. If he punches you-"
"Not a mark on him..."
"Call it in, get word from the higher ups."
Don't think about it. Don't think about the teenaged healer, tortured and mutilated. Don't think about the lurking, grim satisfaction, even pleasure, I felt when I killed Jack. Especially don't think about the violent, evil part letting inside myself that wishes I'd done worse to him, made him suffer, for what was done to Panacea. I don't want to be that kind of man. So I stop thinking about it. Except I can't. Is this the precipice? The edge over which I slide? Am I that kind of man, now? Was I, perhaps, always that kind of man, just waiting for my first taste of blood?
Blue boxes pop up. I ignore them, close them without reading.
It was too easy, once I started. Once I got that first kill. Because I'd killed Hatchet Face, of course I could kill Burnscar. Bad people, evil people, yes, but that's all justification. I didn't kill them because they were evil and destructive. I fought them for that reason, a few of them. But I killed Hatchet Face because I judged my own life to be more valuable than his. I killed Burnscar because I couldn't think of a better way to stop her. I killed Jack because why? Because he made me angry. I killed-- or tried to kill-- William Manton because his power was in the way of my killing the rest of the Nine. I kept telling myself my goals were righteous. That my intentions were good. I didn't like the idea that all it took for me to be willing to kill was permission. Except once I had a moment to breathe, to stop, once I took that moment I could see it for what it was.
"Word is in. Foam him, bring him to a safe house, we'll be given further orders there."
"Will the foam even work on him? The Siberian didn't stop him, what's containment foam finna do?"
"Word is the foam should slow him down enough for us to get out of sight of he goes berserk. Let's do it."
At some point after I'm covered in close, snug warmth, I fall asleep and dream of the terror fading to nothing in Hatchet Face's eyes as I turned him from a person into an object. But I wake up again when the warmth becomes slimy and sticky. I have a vague impression of someone peeling back my eyelid, but I don't want to go back there. I don't want to think about killing Pa-
"Patient is showing signs of hallucinatory catatonia. Has he been given antipsychotics? Or at least diazepam?"
"Doctor, we can't get a needle into him. His skin won't puncture."
"God damn capes..."
No. Don't think. Don't think. Find the center. Forget all of it. But pushing that away reminds me of other things. A memory of being eaten alive. Forget that too. Forget about the memory of sharp teeth slicing my flesh, forget about a rasping tongue, don't think about black and white striped hands, don't think about it don't think don't think don't think...
"He's taking food and water well enough, swallows the pills, but they don't do anything."
"Did you increase the dosage?"
"Three times. It's like they're salt tablets for all the good they do."
Stimulus and response. After enough time hiding in oneself it's amazing what can be done on autopilot. Follow instructions without thinking about it. Eat this. Sit down. Sleep. Wake up. Come with me. Don't think about it.
"Good morning, Mister Gammer! I have your breakfast here. Need you to sit up, sweetheart. That a boy. Let me get that pillow for you... There we go. You're always so cooperative. It's a nice day outside. You should see it..."
People speak to me. Night becomes day becomes night and sometimes I sleep, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I notice I'm seated. Sometimes I notice I'm lying down. Sometimes I realize I'm asleep and I try to wake up but it doesn't work. I keep my eyes open because every time I close them I see brown hair framing brown eyes as a shattered, teen girl shakes on the floor of the ER, trying to draw a breath that her body can no longer hold.
"Can he hear us like this?"
"Well, it's hard to be certain how much hell remember, but comatose patients frequently do, and catatonia is more responsive. Depends on the individual."
"... God, he looks so empty."
"He's been through a really bad trauma. A lot of traumas, really."
"But earlier he seemed to have it all together."
"People are like that. They'll go and go and as long as they don't stop moving they continue to function. Then they stop, everything catches up to them, and they just snap."
"Can't they do anything for him?"
"We don't even properly know what's going on in his head right now. We can't even sedate him; the meds don't do anything to him. We think it might be because of his powers..."
Or the unwelcome thrill and satisfaction from the feel of Jack Slash crumbling to a mutilated paste beneath the glass boulder. No. Don't think about it.
"Hey buddy. It's Alpine. I brought Gelum and Maddie with me. I don't know if you can hear me but I'm gonna act like you can until you tell me otherwise."
I can't stop thinking about it. Why is this a part of me? Why can I feel that rage, that gladness, that satisfaction each time I see myself slam the boulder into him? The image won't leave me. Takes over my sight, my hearing. Am I a monster? I feel like I must be. I feel like it makes me little better than Jack, than any of the Nine. A killer who enjoyed it. A killer who killed a traumatized and victimized pair of girls because I valued my life, my worthless life, above that of a pair of heroes. Above that of Panacea.
"Progress on Mister Gammer?"
"No difference. Although he at least goes to the lav on his own."
"That's progress."
"That's potty training. Catatonia like this doesn't last this long without other factors, not unbroken, completely unresponsive. And medication in general seems to be fucking useless on him."
"Testy."
"I'm not wired for cape shit. I wish to God they'd sent him somewhere else because no medical treatment on the books get past those ridiculous defenses of his."
"It's up to him, then, isn't it?"
I try to hide in meditation. There's no other way to really put it. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. But somewhere along the line I realize that maybe if I can find my center, I can find my way out of this cycle and I can close my eyes again and I won't keep seeing Panacea. Don't think about it.
"Hey Brandon... So, they're condemning Brockton Bay. Too much damage to the city. Refugees have been leaving already for a week but... Well, that's not important right now.
"... It's halfway to July. Muggy out. Still, I brought you some of my Mama's mint hot chocolate. Home made recipe, remember?"
"... I wish you'd wake up..."
Find the center. Find the silence behind the sounds. Find the stillness beneath the motion. Sweep away language. Move past images. Brush aside emotions. Seek emptiness. Find refuge in the dark.
Last edited:
All of the Weasels
[Verified Amalgamation]
Yeah, how dare he struggle to resolve inner turmoil resulting from extended trauma and the death of a young girl at his own hands. Just rub some dirt on it, real boys don't cry.
I do wonder what popups we're dismissed. He doesn't have a log he can review, right? I'm assuming some messages from the Party, some quest completions, and some status effects.
MC is a normal human who just got done with a stint of time not out of place in the more graphic descriptions of Dante's Inferno, without the magical power everybody else throws into their stories to ignore stuff like that.
Magni Imitator
A Simple Imitator
I mean it’s not like he suffered any form of exception trauma leading up to the mental breakdown.... oh wait, he did. He suffered quite a bit of trauma, alongside all the other stress that he already had hitting him. Excuse the guy having a mental breakdown after all the extreme pain and stress, not to mention murders he went through and carried out.
Okay, I think we can hop off the hate train because I know any more comments pretty much is just us really targeting the guy above.
Hmm, it certainly seems like Gammer is actively trying to keep himself in his current state to avoid dealing with more emotional fallout regarding what he just went through. It almost seems like an external stimulus of great magnitude is going to be needed to get him going again. What could that be though? Keep up the good work!
zefangs
Beast of Destruction
Godamnit
Its trauma its supposed to be heavyhanded
Peter crashed out with all the violence he has ever been in since gaining those powers even before that he was questioning what to do with them because Skidmark's ideology was just stupid red tooth and claw
Then comes S9 where he brushes death and goes maximum supression then killing Amy/Vicky broke him
Its trauma its supposed to be heavyhanded
Peter crashed out with all the violence he has ever been in since gaining those powers even before that he was questioning what to do with them because Skidmark's ideology was just stupid red tooth and claw
Then comes S9 where he brushes death and goes maximum supression then killing Amy/Vicky broke him
I feel like this is a reasonable culmination of all the trauma he's faced in the story so far- but I can see where you're coming from on this
armentho
mighty lord of the frijoleros south hordes
great chapter my only worry is how will he get up after this
no amount of therapy can make him stable enough so he can continue figthing
in my opinion this is my headcanon end
without gamer mind he takes a long therapy procces and then goes away tp find peace on solace
because sending him again to figth os asking for a new psyco to be born
no amount of therapy can make him stable enough so he can continue figthing
in my opinion this is my headcanon end
without gamer mind he takes a long therapy procces and then goes away tp find peace on solace
because sending him again to figth os asking for a new psyco to be born
This feels appropriate. For this whole slaughterhouse nine arc, he’s been getting more and more brutal. His survival instinct was keeping him moving, but in a way it seemed to me like the “game” part of his reality was getting a stronger hold on him as the mission progressed, pushing him towards a new nature. Gammer has always tried to do right, so that moment after monarch’s death is (to my interpretation), the point where survival stopped driving him. He had done several things that did not mesh with his self-identity, and this is the fallout.
This might be ignorance talking, but I feel that he has too strong of a reaction to killing the S9. Even the Panacea thing, I feel, isn't enough for it considering the monstrous form of Panacea/Vicky when he killed them.
I would find it more plausible to be traumatized by the Crawler thing.
To clarify, I think is perfectly reasonable to be heavily traumatized, I just feel that the things he's fixing on are weird.
I would find it more plausible to be traumatized by the Crawler thing.
To clarify, I think is perfectly reasonable to be heavily traumatized, I just feel that the things he's fixing on are weird.
He was doing so nice, will he become Mahatma Gandhi after this, throw peace doves at beach, hug trees, turn the other cheek?
I am pretty sure he still needs to fight Scion, if panacea death if affecting him this hard, imagine the millions of lives that will die in his battle against Scion.
I am pretty sure he still needs to fight Scion, if panacea death if affecting him this hard, imagine the millions of lives that will die in his battle against Scion.
Angurvddel
I am large. I contain multitudes.
It's not that I don't think Gammer should be traumatized - it's more that it feels like this specific reaction to the trauma seems to be a bit contrived (Catatonic Stupor of this level is a really rare and kinda odd presentation of this kind of trauma) , and designed to move the plot in a specific direction. That and an entire chapter that simply illustrates what's going on in his head with no change either way is... kinda boring - especially since we already knew he was catatonic from previous chapters.
Finally his meditation is evolving beyond simply being a skill to recover stamina/mana. True meditation helps one face, or ignore, parts of themselves. It leads to self-actualization. Great Chapter!!
armentho
mighty lord of the frijoleros south hordes
well the crawler thing while horrifying was something to be expected and he was already used to being hurt (homeless and family history)
and gradually he increased his resistances
on the other you have peter letting himself get carried by the flow of combat
killing the s9 isnt a big deal on itself they were evil,mentally broken or a mix of the former
the best thing was to put them down as fast and painless as possible (wich he did,so he isnt a sadist monsteer like he thinks)
the problem is panacea
killing bad guys or rivals (people that want to figth you even if they arent evil) is relative easy
you accept the fact that you and them want to survive and in other to do that one must die
but killing someone innocent because there is no other option in a cold calculated way is a completely different thing
He seems to be trying to not think and find his center.
I'm guessing he'll have gained quite a few levels in Meditation after he "wakes up".
Edit: ninja'd
Blade4
Angry Marine
I hope so. Honestly finding myself wishing I could back hand him a few times and tell him to get over himself. He did what he needed to survive and protect others. The nines atrocities are not his fault.
He if anything gained to much empathy.
Thing is though, he isn't seeing Panacea/Glory Girl as a monster. He's seeing them(or at least Amy, noticed that he didn't mention GG) as teenage girls that he killed(guilt doesn't always allow justifications to reduce its weight). It's a lot of pressure built up on him that hasn't really had much chance to bleed off starting, at least, when Madcap decided to go all drunk fighter on him.
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