Every day, Tyler watched Red unwrap and wrap bandages around her knuckles. She said nothing of the woman in white, and her eyes did not change. Occasionally, if he looked hard enough, he'd see her scurry away with her hand to her nostrils, with scarlet threading in thick goops between her fingers. He was certain that wasn't normal. No, he was 100% positive that was unhealthy. His brain itched to reach out to her, to ask her more about the Project, even when she kept hush and mum over the subject and matter. It was the other voice begging to ask; the voice that haunted him and terrified him. The one that called itself Blurryface, and the one he locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind until the monsters in the attic came out to play. Tyler measured play time, calculated it often. When she bandaged her violet bones was not playtime. It was Tyler time; it was observation time. Red could not survive being "exposed" this long, and the bleeding would get progressively worse. Tyler patiently waited for her to turn back to the woman in white.
Tyler caught her in the armory once, standing parallel to a punching bag. Her knuckles were dark purple. She rubbed her hands together and straightened her shoulders, posture tight and rigid like a soldier's. The ripple of her back muscles beneath the white shirt that she hid with her baggy trench coat told of a reluctant warrior. His eyes flickered with recognition at the tiredness in her violet irises. Blurryface had that in the mirror sometimes, after kills, or whenever faint flickers of memories came to him. Tyler stepped away from the door quickly; her observation skills were sharper than his. It came as a surprise to him at first, but he came to the conclusion it was due to the fact if Blurryface walked around in his skin all day, he'd be more sensitive too. Every day, Tyler went to the strategy board and tacked a piece of paper with the words "woman in white", and every day, someone tore it down. He had yet to catch Red in the act of doing it.
Months passed. Red trained the recruits and spoke little. Her taciturn behavior did not surprise him; he heard the rumors. She's a traitor. She'll kill us all. She massacred those soldiers. She'll sell us to the damn Sector. She's their toy. Morgana did her best to keep the bitterness limited to dark glares and brooding, but Tyler waited for someone to get violent. Perhaps it was unkind of him to think something like that, but he was experimental. The day came when things flip flopped and he'd collect his data. It was a Sunday; his least favorite day of the week. It was lunch, and it was unexpected.
-
The ill-fitting coat hid her frame with dark red. Her hood was up as usual, hiding her face. Tyler and Morgana were already sitting, their hands close on the table as they drew out imaginary shapes, discussing strategy. Their friendship wasn't just limited to survival, and also involved Morgana's terrible jokes, his eyerolls, and the occasional smalltalk. They got along very well. Tyler's eyes constantly flitted back to the line to the red coat; it stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of drab uniforms and clothes.
Captain Josiah Miller was reckless; had always been. He was quick to brawling, a brainless brute, and had the temper of a startled bull. He pushed his way past soldiers and grabbed her shoulders. Violently spinning her around, he sneered, "You! Government bitch, living here like its your home, too, huh? Wanna kill a few more of our guys?"
Red had no response. She froze there. Tyler's hand went to his hip as he reached for the handle of his blade. Morgana stood up, but made no movements to stop the unfolding drama.
"So, you're going to sit there like a dumb doll, too, huh?" He shook her violently, even lifted her off the ground once. She held her tongue patiently, and Tyler felt a hidden respect for her benevolence. He would have snapped instantly; he would have drawn his blade and grabbed Miller's shoulder and slid the metal into his stomach. He had done it before; not to his own soldiers, of course, but to a few patrols stumbling upon the rebels. He caught them before they fell and gently dropped them to the ground, watching their bodies thud softly. Death didn't faze Tyler.
Miller raised his hand into a fist and brought it up. Morgana jumped forward but Tyler grabbed her hand, pushing her back down into her seat. "Watch," he muttered, letting go quickly. As Miller's elbow drew back for the blow, Red held up her hand and a pulsing wave of energy bounced off her palm, pushing Miller away from her. He collided into the wall, crumbling with a loud noise. His body hit the concrete wall like a sack of potatoes. Soldiers shuffled out of her way as she walked over to him, helped him up and walked away just as quickly as the blast had happened. Red stuffed her hands in her pockets and kept her head bowed, as though nothing had happened.
"That'll teach you to keep your hands off a woman." She murmured.
Tyler smiled, but Red's remark did not seem to amuse Miller. A small applause followed before he stood up and charged for her, but his comrades grabbed and pinned his arms behind him. He lashed out, trying to squirm away from her like she had personally done him wrong.
"Soldier, stand down!" Morgana barked, jaw clenched. She rushed to Red's side, gently grabbing her elbow. "Red, you okay?" A respect for the only "powerful" female had developed on Morgana's part. Tyler observed that the respect was generally mutual. (He seemed to do a lot of that; just observing. She confused him.)
"Is he injured?" She murmured.
"The gorilla requires more than a beating and a bullet to stumble, don't worry. You're fine."
Red tilted her chin up, her eyes a pale blue. "Is that so?" The corners of her mouth quirked up.
It was in that moment, everything froze for Tyler. The doors in the attic opened up and the shadows stepped out, welcoming themselves into the corridors of his brain. Tyler's eyes did the polar opposite of what he wanted; they blinked into a dark, blood red. The monster crawled out of his brain and poisoned his blood until it blackened his skin. His fingers twitched and the pulse in his neck chilled as the color swept up from his heart to his jaw, which he clenched as the control shifted weightily and all at once. BL U R R Y F A CE, it yelled. I A M PL A YINGN O W, D O Y O U WAN TTO PL AY OR ST O PM E?
He closed his eyes and he inhaled the scent of medicine, white tile, and computers, and reopened them to find the present. Subject 21's lips quirked up to expose his teeth, and his grin widened devilishly. "I'm back baby," Blurryface exhaled deeply, rolling his neck. The woman in white, with those pale blue forget-me-not eyes that haunted his visions stared at him: in shock, in horror, in terror. It only amused him even further. Everything was funny now; the petty stupidity of Miller, the horror on her face, the shock on Morgana's face. The fact that he was in control now. He missed control, and the trembling quake of power between his fingertips. They itched to burn everything in front of him and to make someone bleed. He loved hurting.
"You're alive..." She murmured.
Tyler didn't know. Tyler didn't remember. Blurryface, Subject 21, he remembered most details, but like his name, they were hard to fully picture. They had all faded from underuse or were terrible to sort out in the first place. He took a step closer to her, coiling his black fingers beneath her chin and tilting her head up.
"Have I ever been anything else, Doctor?"
a/n unedited.
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project vessel (twenty one pilots)
Fanficwhen he was young (too young to remember), tyler was pried from his family by the government to participate in experiments known to the world as "project vessel". it failed, and he was returned to society as an outcast. with his "mentor", josh, tyle...
