masticated | july memshare

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july memshare

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 ~~𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓~~ 𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇

CW: death during pregnancy, underage sex, child abuse, dead animals, blood, gore, violence, some nsfw, pregnancy, emeto, attempted murder to a teen, allusions to alcoholism.

People want to say you weren't always like this, that something bad had to happen for you to be so hateful. They don't want to admit babies can be born wrong, that you're just a bad egg formed in a womb you tore apart. Mommy killer. They want to blame her death first, too. Mommy died so little Henry got all fucked up. Her loss doesn't register.

Your first memory is screaming so loud and for so long your father puts you down in your cradle and walks away. Glass shattering type screams. He says you never stopped, your tiny lungs held too much air and expelled their pain with the screeches of an infant.
Teachers tell your father, "he's quite bright for his age" while you slobber on a Wahl-Eversharp mechanical pencil and seem to hate the taste of it, crisp metal with no give, but try biting it anyway and chip your front tooth. Your signature grin has a funny hole you lisp words through now, but it doesn't matter because your baby teeth haven't fallen out yet. Your delighted giggling unnerves them and your big brown eyes through messy curls of hair portrays only innocence. You're wondering why they seem so concerned. It's because you didn't chip a tooth, you broke it, and blood is dripping from the corners of your mouth.
Your neighbor finds you crouched in the middle of the street, poking and prodding fresh roadkill. Your fingertips are cherry stained and wet as you stretch and snap exposed muscle apart. When they try to grab you, you sink your teeth into their arm. Your father lashes you for that, badly, which makes you more careful. Do whatever you want just don't get caught, you think.
You get caught. Dirty bathroom stall with your fist curled in another student's hair while you bang his face against the seat of the toilet. His front teeth shatter on the porcelain and you're numb to the pleading, 'Please stop', is what he tries to say, but it comes out muffled and choked because his nose is broken and blood is caught in his throat. Never never never never never. For every never comes another bash, another bang, and your arm is tired and aching and the roll of have to have to have to goes on and on until the crying stops and blood is everywhere and violence covers you. Some is in your eye and you're squinting, winking down at this innocent kid you've just beaten to a bloody pulp. His jaw is broken and makes his mouth hang open at a strange angle. When the stillness hits you, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you vomit.

You spend some time talking to a psychiatrist afterward before transferring to another school. They keep you for hours and then days and analyze you and bore the living fuck out of you so you give them answers that make them have to circle back thinking you outsmart them. The doctors tell your father to keep a close eye on you and send you home with some pills that you don't take because they make you feel funny.
Puberty hits and girls ignore your past for your looks. Sexual behavior starts too early and sends you into overdrive. Fumbling through uniforms just looking for a release, hard in a classroom while a teacher talks about nothing and you make eyes with a girl who will suck you off in the bathroom later. Sinful behavior thats all the better when you're not supposed to do it. You keep your grades high and don't show your work, and sometimes you raise a hand just to prove your teachers wrong— it gives you a sense of power.

Losing your virginity would be easy if you didn't want to make it difficult. You're sweet because that's what people want. You get what you want when you're sweet, it pays to be nice. Nice with a little danger. Nice with dominance beneath it. Your best friends mother is widowed and she's sad all the time, so you talk about that. You practice what to say in the mirror until you sound genuine and really talk to her. You go out of your way to pass by her bedroom even though the bathroom is down the other hallway. She's young, twenty-eight and pretty and you tell her what you think she wants to hear, coming from a fifteen year old boy. When you kiss her she slaps you and the pain stings. You stare at the floor in stunned-shock silence, but your father has hit you harder.

She regrets it immediately. Caresses your face and tells you how sorry she is. You make tears well, lips pouty, fake guilt pouring out and you tell her she's exactly the type of mother you'd want, which makes her cave for you. She teaches you how to suckle on her nipples and allows you under her skirt to suck her there, too. When she comes on your face you get to fuck her, but she calls it making love. You call her mother and make her one.

Then it gets complicated. You're not allowed over anymore and your best friend moves away after all the rumors. People have their suspicions about you and boys don't want you over at their houses in case you seduce their mother. Fathers hate you. You never liked them. The isolation makes you lash out. Fights every other weekend becomes every weekend becomes a jail cell becomes getting bailed out by your old man becomes not getting bailed out. No one understands– your grades are high. Your IQ is at 162. So what did they have you do? Have you enlist in the army, that'll straighten you out.

"I'll come back for you," you say to your father. "I'll come back for you if you don't drown yourself in booze first."

Edited 2025-06-29 02:27 (UTC)

First day at the barracks, you fight every soldier until you're knocked out cold. Once everyone falls into a routine things are better. You're forced to exhaust yourself until you don't have the energy to fight and of course you have a void of awful anger in you, but you have direction, a purpose. Months pass. Drills, drills, drills. Bulk up and shut up. Hate everyone who isn't us. Hate everyone who isn't us. Hate everyone. You excel when using firearms, from drawing them to shooting your target. You take them apart and put them back together again until you can do it in under two minutes. The boys take you out to a field for a dare with a round of rubber bullets and a rifle, fit a blindfold over your eyes and spread out to be hunted down. You want to. Six hours later, you succeed. It's a test.

Three days later men in black pick up a few of you. They call you a special case and either keep too close or don't keep at all. One in ten boys for rigorous militant training, one in ten boys for a job you wouldn't have if you didn't want to slice up animals and kill every man who looked at you. You're assigned a handler; a quiet man with the kind of presence that isn't a presence, someone who disappears into shadows as much as he is one. He's bigger, stronger, faster than you. You hate him as much as you idolize him and you're stuck with him 7 days a week, 24 hours a day.

He dislocates your shoulder when you threaten him, then teaches you how to reset it on your own. Tells you how to keep secrets and talk in code and gives you a name: "WARDEN" and he isn't here to make you functional in society, but to make you effective in deep cover. You're put through psychological evaluations and conditioning, isolation training, and trigger identification testing. You are conditioned to be a weapon, all sharp edges, and nothing more. He treats success as currency and rewards you for the Pavlovian trained dog you are, uses your ego to teach you that isolation is superiority. You get addicted to being essential.

Six months of tests, of torturing prisoners under your handler's supervision, of knife work and pressure points and how long it'll take for someone to bleed out depending on how deep the blade goes. You're a curated experiment and the human body's weaknesses are a science to you.

"You are no one unless you're useful."

Feels like nothing until it's everything you know and you don't remember who you were before he came into your life. Home isn't home, your father isn't your father and the boy you tried to kill is a bird singing in the sky. You were never Henry and your handler's hand on your shoulder is the signal, no idealogy or country, only control and efficiency. Everyone is your enemy and the false betrayals planted in your head reinforces those beliefs.

REPORT. DECLASSIFIED INTELLIGENCE FILE. 1975.
Agency: Central Intelligence Agency
Cryptonym: AEGREY-WARDEN
Former Identity: Henry Wright
Dossier Classification: EYES ONLY / BLACK VAULT
Status: ROGUE ASSET – NON-RETRIEVABLE

Henry Wright (b. 1937) was recruited into the Agency in 1955 under Project AEGREY, a Cold War sleeper initiative focused on embedding psychologically malleable assets into high-risk Soviet territories. Wright exhibited a rare profile: genius-level IQ (documented 162), combined with a recorded history of unprovoked violence from adolescence, including the near-fatal assault of a peer at age 14.Subject passed preliminary psychometric analysis with flagged markers (see: Dissociative Detachment, Latent Narcissistic Aggression), but was cleared for field conditioning under Operation GREYSTEEL.
Cover: Coldline Technician – Class 3 Civilian Front, Kazan District.

WARDEN demonstrated extraordinary aptitude in espionage tradecraft, including language manipulation, coded dead drops, and targeted seduction. He maintained deep cover across Moscow and Kazan, with zero exposure incidents. Notably charismatic, his presence deflected suspicion rather than invited it — a trait his handler, [REDACTED], encouraged and leveraged.

Post-incident, WARDEN entered a self-directed operational state. Over the next decade, he was linked to seven disappearances (CIA, GRU, MI6), each involving high-value intel extraction under duress. All victims presented similar MOs: tactical abduction, psychological dismantling, and eventual disposal. He maintains no known allegiance — functioning purely under self-preserving or existential compulsions.

WARDEN has since become mythologized in regional files under various aliases: “The Bleeding Ghost,” and “The West’s Curse.” Despite multiple international kill orders, no confirmed sightings have led to detainment. Subject appears once per year in psychiatric facilities across Eurasia, typically under false identities, exhibiting lucid paranoia and monomaniacal deference to ◾◾◾◾◾.

CURRENT THREAT LEVEL: OMEGA-BLACK
WARDEN is considered an apex-level threat — unpredictable, unaffiliated, and highly capable. All recovery or termination efforts have failed. Ironically, his skillset makes him a valuable, if volatile, battlefield asset.

LOCATION UNKNOWN. PRESUMED DEAD.

Edited 2025-07-04 07:07 (UTC)

Decades go by and reality isn't reality when an interdimensional being keeps you young and gives you special powers. The world advances and advances and that block you used to communicate through turns into a watch. People are changing and you're stuck in old ways, your skills of immersion going as far as the language. There's new slang and that's easy, slang's always gonna be slang, but you weren't prepared to survive this long. Your handler still has his claws in you and old memories overlap and overlap and overlap until you break down and kill fifteen civilians. Then you try to go after your new home.

"Don't be a bad boy, Saber," is the last thing you remember.

White walls and a straight jacket, counting tiles with drool running down your chin. Heart beating so slow you slip in and out of consciousness. Nurses come in to make sure you aren't dead and force pills down your throat when you start waking up.

This is a yearly occurrence. Same M.O. Same amount of people. Never the same hospital.

Edited 2025-06-29 02:35 (UTC)

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july memshare

ONE. AGE 6-18 – mind the cws

TWO. 18-25. cw: violence, mentions of animal violence, grooming/brainwashing, torture

INTERLUDE – THE HOSPITAL. cw: mental illness, murder, violence.