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[Jack hands his doppelganger the drugged alcohol and sits on the couch across from him. Doom Boner's flopped on the floor, but other than that, Jack's pokemon are oddly absent. And the puppy is quickly scooped up with a mild grunt from Jack. It's just become something of a habit, to hold the puppy.]

Just some little stuff. Nitpicky, you could call it, but...you know, attention to detail is so important. I mean, that's half of what the Hyperion brand's all about!

[And this is one glaring detail that needs fixing.]

[Tim does notice the absence of all the usual Pokemon wandering around. Not even really registering it as weird, consciously, but... It is annoying that he can't just distract himself with the cat. It's always a little easier when he has a cat to pet.]

I... guess so? I mean, yeah, whatever. Kinda vague, but... I'm sure it's important.

[Every time Jack talks about Hyperion he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He just takes a drink instead, that will distract him from that urge.

...Geez, is this stronger stuff than normal or something?]

Trust me, buddy, if this weren't important, you wouldn't be here right now.

[But it is important. So friggin important. For reasons Jack himself can't really articulate. He hates that scar. It's not even right to call it a scar. It's a mark, a brand. It half blinded him, it ruined his looks. But it's his. It's what he sees in the mirror when he takes off the mask, and it's gotta be what he sees when he looks at his doppelganger. The guy's basically a living mirror. The reflection, it's gotta match. It has to be right.]

Don't worry about it, you're getting a bonus! Plus I'll write it up as overtime.

Right, yeah. Makes sense.

[Going with it. As always. Taking another sip of his drink, as he's trying to figure Jack out. It's usually a little easier to read him. Right now Tim has no clue where the hell his mood is at. But it doesn't seem like a bad one, so that's... good? Hopefully.

When Jack keeps talking, though, he raises an eyebrow.]

Uh... wait, seriously? Not complaining or anything, just... Geez. This must be some work...?

[Seriously, what the hell is this about that he's getting a bonus? Because that's definitely weird.]

Sure! It's business. You end up having to do something above and beyond your usual workload, ya get extra for it. You know me, Two, I take care of my people. I'm gonna take care of you.

[Hell, he's even got the guest room all set up for the guy's recovery. He's not doing this out of spite or malice. Though he is looking forward to hurting someone, things aren't great with Angel. Not awful, considering, but...not. Great.]

[Yeah, he does know Jack. And he thinks back to how he's tread 'his people' so far and uh...

Yeah, forgive him if that doesn't exactly inspire much confidence, Jack. Not that he's going to say that. But he's definitely not feeling reassured. He is feeling kinda weird, though. A different weird than usual.]

Oh. Uh, good? I mean, thanks, I guess?

Still all a little vague, but uh, I'll just take your word for it.

[He blinks a few times after he speaks. Geez, the alcohol's hitting him kinda early.]

[Jack chuckles a little, but it's not exactly a humorous sound. He's paying attention to how the other guy's drinking, knows everything's hitting his system already. Or should be soon.]

Yeah...and hey. Once it's over, it's over. I mean, the worst part, anyway.

[Recovering'll be a bitch, but still better than Jack's own. But Two'll have all the comforts that Jack can afford to offer him. It's the least he can do.]

You're gonna want to lean your head back pretty soon, here.

[The horrible thing about Jack is that he's unsettling and terrible enough that it's actually pretty damn difficult to spot red flags. Because all of Jack's flags are bright red. Still, there's a part of Tim, a part that's getting pushed further and further into the back of his mind thanks to his drink, that's noticing those red flags, adding them up, and realizing that there's too many.

And even with most of that being lost right now, Tim's... starting to get the sense that something is up. But...

He blinks again, this time out of confusion, at that last part.]

What...?

[That weird feeling's... definitely not all in his head. He feels... Everything feels... off. Fuzzy.

What the hell's...]

Oh, yeah. There's some pretty potent sedatives in your drink. Not exactly long lasting, but...they don't need to last very long. Seriously, I'd lie back, or you're gonna crack your head open on the coffee table when ya pass out.

[Because Jack isn't dragging a struggling Jack Number Two down to his basement. He doesn't have time for that. And maybe the sedatives will help with the pain, who knows? It's not like there's any actual medical equipment on hand. Stealing all that would have been way too much effort for one evening's work.]

Sed--

[The word clicks in his mind -- slower than it really should. Sedatives. Jack put sedatives in his drink. Jack just fucking drugged him.]

What the f...

[And that would've been a great realization to have before all of it was in his system, but it's too little, too late. The edges of his vision are already blurring and though he doesn't consciously lean back, the fact that he was already looking up at Jack when the effects really kicked in means he doesn't fall forwards. Small blessings.

Oh, god, he's actually passing out, isn't he?]

Fuck...

There we go....

[Jack sighs and looks down at essentially himself. This is it.]

[He hauls Number Two up and manages to get him down into the basement okay. Doom Boner follows, awkwardly, not the most graceful on stairs. Especially going down.]

[The basement's been all set up. Jack gets the other guy into the chair, ties him down, and tilts him back to get his head in the modified vice of the workbench Jack had bought. He takes his time, expression drawn. He hates that he has to do this, destroy his own masterpiece.]

[Well, technically it was a masterpiece of nature and genetics. Jack doesn't even know which of his parents he takes after - he's never seen his father and he hardly remembers what his mother looked like. He'd only seen her a handful of times. But somehow, those two random people had provided the perfect blend of genetics. But he'd put in the time and effort and money to have this replica made.]

[But what choice does he have? Let someone else walk around with a face he can't ever have again? It's not like hadn't spent ridiculous amounts of money on all sorts of facial surgery to try and fix it. But there's no fixing it. He's pretty sure the friggin artifact itself is embedded in his skin. Just more Vault bullshit.]

[No, he needs to update his body double. It's the guy's job, after all. And it's just not fair. If he can't have his face, his employee isn't going to.]

[When Timothy revives, he's bound to a wooden dining room chair, a metal vice holding his head tightly in place. Jack's standing a little off to the side, his back turned. It's noticeably warm in the - otherwise unremarkable - basement.]

[When Tim wakes up, he has no idea what's going on. He groans involuntarily, as his mind tries to catch up. The first thing he remembers is... well, not much of a memory at all, really. Darkness and the feeling of being moved...? Before that... Before that... he got a call from Jack. And he went over. And then...

His eyes snap open, as he ignores the lingering effects of the sedatives. He's already panicked, but then he realizes he can't move. He tries, of course, but... fuck, is he tied up? But why can't he move his head?

What the fuck is happening.

The panic, combined with the fact that he still feels pretty woozy, is not making it any easier to think and figure out what's going on here, but he does notice...

...

...Shit.]

Jack...?

Oh hey, you're awake.

[Time for step two. Or three? Jack isn't keeping track. Time for more booze, though.]

Sorry about all the extremes, but...it's not like you weren't gonna fight. I don't even blame you, this...this is gonna suck. Really, really badly. But, we're gonna get you nice and liquored up first.

[Jack has an unlabeled bottle. He approaches the other man, his expression actually looking regretful.]

That's way more'n I had. And ya know, if I had access to an actual medical facility and doctors and stuff, would totally be using'em. We did last time. Only...you don't remember last time.

[This is... Tim doesn't know what the hell this is. But whatever it is, it's bad. The fear that popped up as soon as he woke up grows by the second.

He doesn't like that expression on Jack's face. Especially not looking down at him.]

What... What're you...

...Last time?

[It's hard to follow this when he still doesn't know what the fuck is happening.]

Jack... [Tim's a good actor when he wants to be. He's got a decent poker face even around Jack these days. But he couldn't hide the fear in his voice now in a million years.] What... What the hell is this about? I-I... I don't...

[He doesn't understand what this is. What's going on. The pieces are there, somewhere, but he hasn't put them together.

How the hell can he put anything together like this, really?]

Hey, hey, relax.

[Jack runs his hand over Number Two's hair, attempting to be comforting.]

I know, the time thing. You're from before. Which sucks, 'cause it means we gotta do this. But...it's like I said upstairs. It's all about the details. You...see, you're out of date. You're the old model. That...we just can't have that. And it's your friggin job. You signed a contract.

{Well, somebody did. As far as Jack's concerned, it was the now non-existant Timothy...whatever. He pops open the bottle and tips it up for Number Two.]

Open up, you're gonna want as much dulled sensation as you can.

[He absolutely does not relax. The physical contact there makes Tim freeze up. Not that that matters much, since he can barely move anyway.

And then Jack keeps talking and any chance of relaxing ever happening just fly right out the window, because what the fuck.]

Whoa, whoa, wh-what? My contract-- [His subconscious is quicker on the uptake than the rest of him and his mind is screaming at him to get out of here, but he can't.] What're you...

[He looks up at the bottle.]

Y-You're kidding, right, you...

S-Sir...?

[His tone is both scared and almost pleading, even though of course he knows something like that doesn't have an effect on Jack, but what the hell else can he do?

The fear's still building. He's starting to think there isn't a limit to it at all.]

Shhhh. Come on, don't make this any harder than it already is. I feel shitty enough, don't give me that look. Just drink.

[He tips the bottle, practically forcing it into Two's mouth. Geeze, it's not like he's doing this for fun. And he keeps running his fingers through the other man's hair, trying to soothe him. He's being as nice as he friggin can here!]

I've got everything set up. It'll be real quick. I got the guest room all prepped for you to heal up in, I already know exactly how to take care of something like this... I'm sorry I can't put you under and everything, but I'm working with what I got. I think I did pretty damn good.

[He's actually proud of all this.]

I've already got you immobile, so we only have to do it once. 'Cause...yeah, there's no way you're holding still. No matter how much booze we put in ya. I've got everything sterilized. And I'm gonna be right here. I told ya I'd take care of ya, and I'm gonna.

[It's not great, suddenly having liquid forced into your mouth. It does help that he saw the bottle coming, but Tim does end up coughing, briefly. His heart's racing and Jack's continued touching is not helping.]

N-No, no no no, c-c'mon, we don't have to-- y-you don't have to do any of this...

[Oh god and he just keeps talking, and it keeps getting worse.

"I've got everything sterilized."

Holy fuck. Holy fuck.]

Jack, please...

[What the fuck can he say? What the fuck can he do? He tries moving, but it's no goddamn use, nothing is budging. Oh god, please let this just be some extremely fucked up nightmare... Please tell him this isn't actually happening.]

I do. You know I do. How the hell can we let you go around with that face, huh? You're paid to wear my face.

[Jack sets the bottle aside for a moment. His hand leaves Two's hair, and he purses his lips together. For a moment he just looks. His eyes trace an arc over the other man's face, cheek to cheek. He lifts his hands and flips the clasps on his mask, unlatching it and pulling away.]

[He doesn't normally take it off where people can see, but Two's seen it already. He saw it happen, helped carry Jack out of that powerful, hellish place after it happened. And in a way, it feels right.]

This is my face, This is what you're paid for.

[He puts his mask on a nearby table and picks the bottle back up.]

Oh, though, one thing we gotta work out first...

[It's really sinking in now, exactly what Jack's intending to do here. And part of him feels like a goddamn idiot for not even considering the possibility that Jack might do this, but the rational part of him, at least, is thinking that of course he never considered Jack might do this. Because he's sane and Jack's not.

He swallows nervously - he's all nerves right now, really - as he looks at Jack's maskless face.

It's the most frightening that scar has ever looked. Even when it all... happened, it hadn't been this intimidating - and Tim remembers how it had briefly looked like it was on fire.]

Wh... [He's scared to ask, but the words come out anyway, somehow.] What's that...?

[Tim gets the feeling he really doesn't want to know.]

[Jack's looking at the other man with one of those difficult to read expressions. He reaches down, laying his fingers over Two's left cheekbone, below his eye. The green one. No, no he really probably doesn't want to know. But this is important.]

[Jack's been asked why he 'did that'. Like there are people who think he wears a colored contact or had the color altered. That? That's a douche move, giving yourself heterochromic eyes. His were the real deal.]

['Ghost Eyes', or sometimes 'Devil's Eyes', his gran had said. There were all kinds of bullshit legends and warnings and myths about it.]

So...you know. We're not exactly able to use a magic vault artifact to do this. I gotta do it the old fashioned way, which...

[Jack chuckles, uncomfortably.]

Okay, I won't draw this out for you. Eyeballs...see they melt at high temps. But it's not just melting, there's a lot of vaporization that happens, after the bubbling, so the actual meat of the eye doesn't burn or melt evenly. Even with magic Vault artifacts...you...you don't want to look too close at what I got going on there.

But we can avoid all that, if ya want me to just pop it out beforehand. Still not fun, but...no melting eye-goop getting all your face. Just...regular eye goop!

Oh god...

[As it becomes clearer what exactly Jack's talking about, Tim gets paler and paler. He wouldn't really handle a description like that well on a good day. With these circumstances? Yeah, hell no.

Wait, is Jack really asking him--

Is he serious?]

Wh-- Y-You've gotta be... [He shifts more, as much as he can. Still no way out. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.] How about neither?

[There's a lot of panic there. His breathing feels weird. Too fast. And everything still feels weird from the drugs and alcohol and none of this is helping. He can barely even think straight, let alone figure out how to get out of this.

There probably isn't any way out of this, is there?]

Okay, buddy....uh....

[Shit, is his name actually Timothy? Jack honestly isn't sure. That sounds right, but it's been years, and he didn't pay much attention back when the guy had been hired. But he's got to get through to his doppelganger somehow.]

[It's not like he doesn't have sympathy here. He does! He knows what this is like. But once his double accepts that this is what's going down, it'll be easier on both of them.]

It's 'Tim', right? Tim, you gotta listen. This is happening. It's already happened. Just...not yet for you. And it's gonna hurt. But I'm gonna do everything I can to make it as easy and comfortable for you as I can. But hey, trust me, you handle it like a champ!

[He resumes stroking the other man's hair.]

You're tough, buddy. Like me. I know you can handle this. So you can either make the choice, or I'll make it for ya.

[At the sound of his name, Tim's eyes go wide. The reaction isn't unlike when the physical contact started, with him freezing up again. A deer in headlights.

It's wrong. It's wrong, hearing Jack say his name like that, like he's... like he's trying to help? And he can't believe this is how he's hearing the sound of his own name again, after pushing away the one person he told about it. He's hearing it from Jack.

He's hearing it from someone who doesn't give a shit about the person with that name, because Jack sure had done his best to completely erase who Tim used to be. Is erasing him even more by doing this.]

I-I...

...

[So no, this doesn't help. The panic's getting worse and he wants to talk back, argue, plead, yell, something, but all the words are so tangled together that he can't form anything anymore.

"You're tough. I know you can handle this."

"You're a vault hunter. Jack won't be a problem for you at all."

Why do people keep saying shit like that to him? No, he's not tough. He can't handle this, he can't handle anything like this, he wasn't made for all this bullshit. He just wants to go far, far away from all of this...

The silence stretches on, but Tim doesn't even really realize it. The drugs are still messing with him. Combine that with the panic and his sense of time is all kinds of messed up.

Looks like you're gonna have to make the call here, Jack.]

I'd put you out if I could. Hey, maybe you'll pass out anyway!

[Poor guy's not doing great already. Jack guesses that was one advantage he had. he hadn't known it was coming. There was no time to prepare, but no time to think about it, either. One second he's sitting there with visions flowing through his mind, the next...]

[His friggin face is on fire and he can't see and that bitch is laughing as she vanishes, leaving him in that ancient place.]

Okay. Okay. Uh....to be fair, I've never taken out anybody's eye carefully. I got a melon-baller to luxate the eyeball itself - that's when it's popped out but still attached - and a kitchen knife to sever the optical nerves cleanly. 'Cause you're not gonna be able to see out of it anyway. Oh, and some heavy duty eye drops, to lube it up real good. It's gonna hurt way more, but it'd probably be better in the long run.

Uh...it's not fun, taking care of a half melted, blind eyeball. And the lid's never gone work quite right again anyway...

[Jack's just talking his doppelnanger through it, trying to decide which would be the best option. He's not sure if the other guy's gonna offer anything more to the decision, now that it seems like Jack's making up his mind.]

Oh, and I got a jar, so you can keep it, if ya want. I will, if you don't want it.

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Warnings: It's Going to Get Violent and Weird From Here

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Warning: Descriptions of Eyeball Grossness/Torture

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