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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.

[Passing out is definitely looking like a real possibility here. Tim's kind of hoping for it. Just let everything go black, make this stop, don't make him experience it.

But he's still conscious, as much as he hates it. He still has to listen to Jack talk. The longer this goes on, the more it becomes clear that the wooziness isn't just from the drugs still in his system. He's feeling sick and if he were in any position to do it, he'd be throwing up right about now. But that's not happening when he's like this.

Everything he wants to say is still spinning around in his head, too, and so he barely has any control over what words finally come out.]

No? I don't want to keep-- holy shit...

[Of course the jar thing is what did it.

Jack you don't ask someone that what the fuck.]

Okay, okay! Figured I'd ask. It's your eye. Some people like keeping that kind of stuff.

[But fine, he'll keep it. It's his as much as it his doppelganger's.]

But it looks like we've come to a decision! Go us. You want some more booze before I do it? I...I kinda want some myself, but that'd...that'd be a super bad idea right now! Ha, can you imagine if I put out the wrong eye? Oh god...nah, don't worry, I'm sober as a judge!

[His hands won't shake, he won't slip. This has to be done right. If he screws up, he has to just flat out kill the other guy. That way they can start over fresh. And no one wants that.]

[Aw, crap. It's getting close to time, though. Time to say goodbye for good. It's not like he's got any other surgically altered body doubles that could show up.]

[Hey, Jack, you know what doesn't help someone having a panic attack? Joking about shit like that. Do not, holy shit.

And, god, what the hell is he supposed to say here? "Yes boss, please give me more alcohol before you fucking take out my eye?"]

I-I don't fucking know, I... [It's funny how despite the fact that he can't move and his head is secured, it still feels like the whole room is spinning. It's all too much, honestly.] Fuck...

I'm taking that as a yes. Open up.

[It's not like a hangover's anything to worry about at this point. And it's better, that his system is flooded with booze.]

Ya know...I hope you realize that I'm not enjoying this. I'd rather we didn't have to do this, too. I don't want you to have to go through this. Shit, you're one of the only people around here who's actually my friggin friend. And...

[Jack sighs. He runs a hand over his own maskless face, feeling the strange difference in texture where the mark lay.]

I like your face, buddy. I miss it. I don't want to ruin it. But I can't...it doesn't exist anymore. Not for me, not for you. Christ, it's...it's really too bad you never returned my interest. That...that woulda been something.

[And now the options completely gone. He's always held out some sliver of hope that his double would warm up to him like that.]

On the other hand, probably for the best, I dunno if I could do this, if we had that kinda thing going on. It'd be a lot harder.

[He probably still could do it, though.]

[The extra booze probably is a good thing, not that he's really appreciating that right now.

He's also not appreciating anything Jack is saying right now. Oh, he's not enjoying this? Gee, too fucking bad for him! Jack calling him his friend just makes this all the worse. Because it confirms that, yeah, he actually is on Jack's good side right now.

And all this time he thought if he just stayed there, then things would be fine. Or... fine-ish, at least. He thought something like this would only happen if he really fucked up. If Jack's paranoia acted up. Something that might've logically led to Jack deciding to hurt him.

He didn't think it would just... happen anyway.

And just when he thinks this is all the worst it can be, Jack has to bring up his interest. Fucking hell. And the worst thing is that him saying that immediately makes Tim wonder if things wouldn't have ended up like this if he'd gone for it.

That thought makes him even more nauseous than the rest of this conversation. He's not even going to respond to that, because... fuck if he knows what to even say.]

There we go... alright. You should be about as liquor jacketed as ya can be. Guess we oughtta get this going...

[His fingers linger on the other man's face a moment. It's really such a shame. All that beautiful work...]

[Jack turns away with a tight expression. He moves around the basement, getting the tray with the implements he'd purchased in anticipation of needing to remove his double's eye. And he flips a radio on to instrumental music, proper music, because the tinny constant music that permeates this planet is really starting to grate on him.]

[He puts on a plastic apron and pulls on a pair of latex gloves and safety glasses, to protect himself from the worst of whatever mess they end up making. Cleanliness is important.]

I'm not gonna go slow, slow's worse. So take a minute now, try and prepare yourself. Not...not that ya really can, but you know what I mean. Say 'goodbye' to your eye, or whatever.

[Get this going... Oh Christ, this is actually happening.

The alcohol's really hitting him now, but it doesn't really help calm him down at all. There's only so much it can do, apparently. Tim finds himself hoping it really will dull the pain and is immediately horrified at that thought, because that's almost resignation.

But there isn't any way of getting out of this. Even if he somehow manages to get loose, then what? He's all drugged up, intoxicated, still in the middle of a panic attack... There's no way he could get out of this room. And no one knows he's here. No one is gonna save him.

This really is happening.]

Oh god...

[Yeah, he won't be prepared for this in a million goddamn years.]

[There's no god here, only Jack. Who's fiddling with the melon baller and testing the best way to hold it. He's done his research, at least. He knows more or less that he's doing.]

Deep breaths. This is gonna hurt. And probably feel really weird.

[Jack stands over the other man, lips pursed together in thought. It's weird, looking down at his own face like this, knowing what he's about to do. He hesitates a moment, reluctant to destroy something he loves so much...]

[But there's no choice, in his mind. Not with his own face a marked, one-eyed mess. They both have to match.]

[Jack's free hand covers the left side of his double's face, and he uses his fingers to hold open the other man's eyelid. He's straddling the other man, head tilted to compensate for his own skewed vision.]

Deep breath.

[He's not sure if that's for him or the guy who's about to get an orbital enucleation. He does take a deep breath of his own as he begins to slide the metal edge of the melon baller between Timothy's eyeball and socket.]

[There really wasn't any preparing for this. Even if he'd actually tried and, well, he didn't... couldn't, really. It would've pointless. He realizes that as soon as the pain hits.]

Fuck!

[And boy. Does it hit.

The feeling is wrong, so wrong, his whole body is yelling at him to do something. But he can't. All he can do is sit there and hope he just passes out already.]

I know, I know.

[Well, not really, but Jack can imagine. He's scooped out enough live eyeballs to know it's not a fun thing to go through. Even if he's being careful and precise, wielding the kitchen tool like he would a pen laser on a piece of delicate circuitry. Even with that, he's still scooping out the guy's eye with a melon baller.]

[He does have to be careful though, and try and ignore his double's screams of pain. He doesn't want to accidentally damage the nerves behind the eye, he wants it to be a clean procedure. So he has to carefully angle the metal scoop to slide behind Two's eyeball and get a good leverage, but not press on the bundle of sensitive ocular nerves on the string behind it.]

[It's finicky work. And wow, that is a squelching sort of squishy noise. And yup, there's the goop. Just a thin stream of it, trickling down the other man's cheek as Jack starts rotating the scoop, making a full circle around the eye socket. Which is harder than he'd thought, the eye's kind of sucking at the metal. Oh, ew.]

[But when he thinks he's loosened the orb properly, Jack starts applying gentle pressure to the handle of the melon baller, intending to pop the eye cleanly out.]

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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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Warnings: PHYSICAL TORTURE STARTS IN THIS TAG

all the warnings oh my god

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