Markiplier Oneshots

Psychopath: 11 & 12

The sterile scent of antiseptic and the constant beeping of machines filled the air as Mark slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding his gaze. The bright fluorescent lights made him squint, and as he tried to move, he realized he was restrained. Panic surged through him, and he struggled against the straps holding him to the hospital bed, his eyes wild with fear.

The door creaked open, and Amy, Bob, Wade, and the others stepped inside, their hearts heavy with dread. The sight of Mark, bound and silent behind a padded muzzle, sent tears streaming down Amy's cheeks. They had hoped for relief, but seeing him in such a vulnerable state felt like a knife twisting in their hearts.

"Mark..." Amy whispered, her voice trembling as she stepped forward, desperation clawing at her insides.

He turned his head sharply at the sound of her voice, his brow furrowing in confusion. His eyes darted between the familiar faces, but recognition didn't seem to spark. Instead, they were met with a look of sheer hostility, a fierce intensity that made their hearts ache.

"Mark, it's us! Your friends!" Bob called out, trying to keep his voice steady. "We're here for you. Please, just listen."

Mark thrashed against the restraints, his body shaking with frustration and anger. The nurses on duty moved to keep him calm, but he only seemed to grow more agitated.

"Mark, we're so sorry for everything," Wade said, stepping cautiously closer, though not too close to provoke him further. "You've been through so much. We just want to help you."

Mark's gaze settled on Wade, and though he couldn't speak, his expression conveyed a deep-seated rage, a tempest brewing just beneath the surface. He struggled against the restraints, but they held firm.

"Why won't you just let me go?" he seemed to scream silently, his eyes boring into theirs with a mix of anger and pain. He looked utterly lost, like a feral animal backed into a corner.

"Because we're scared for you!" Amy cried out, her voice breaking. "You scared us, Mark! You scared us so much when you ran away! We thought we lost you!"

Mark's brow furrowed deeper, and he shifted his gaze to the wall, avoiding eye contact. A flicker of something crossed his features—perhaps recognition, perhaps despair—but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"Do you even know who we are?" Bob asked, his heart racing as he felt the weight of Mark's silence.

Mark's eyes glinted with defiance as he turned back to them. It was as if he was trying to communicate that he didn't care, that the people standing before him were nothing but echoes from a past he could barely grasp.

"Mark..." Amy took a shaky breath, pressing her palms together as if to pray. "We're not your enemies. We love you. We just want you back."

His eyes narrowed at her words, and he shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge their sentiments from his mind. The restraint on his mouth muffled his growls of frustration, but it was clear that he felt trapped—physically and emotionally.

"We know you're hurting, but this isn't the way," Wade implored, his voice earnest. "We want to help you heal. But we can't do that if you don't let us in."

For a moment, Mark's expression softened, and a glimmer of vulnerability broke through his hardened facade. He seemed to search their faces for something—hope, perhaps, or a memory buried deep within—but it quickly faded, replaced by a cold, unyielding wall.

"Let me go!" he barked, the muffled words sending tremors through the room.

The friends exchanged glances filled with anguish, feeling the heavy weight of Mark's turmoil pressing down on them.