he ugly，he frog！！！！！

cw : injections

(i think y'all can handle mild swearing)

#CBKG

The city of New York remains the same.

Everything changes, but it remains the same.

The taste of melted cheese graces his mouth and tongue, hungrily savoring the whole piece all by himself. It has been a long flight from home for the mighty successor. The midnight sky, the cool breeze, the skyscrapers, the crowds, the music — oh, the music, how he missed it no matter how much he boasts about his home country.

The pizzas here remain the same the last time he was here — delightful, filling and hot. Mafia fronts make the best pizza, that's to be sure. The man couldn't help himself but come here first thing after the long hours of flight. It's second to nature for him.

Pizza just doesn't taste the same back there.

Not after everything.

But now's not the time to dwell on the past, nothing exists in the past for Macau's finest successor, only the present and the uncertain future.

The past distracts from the now.

And the bulldog shall not disappear.

As consciousness drags him back, dull aches consumes his head like it was forced to be submerged underwater — throbbing from the backsides to the front, like he had just woken up in the hospital. It's unbearable enough to wake up to dread, but it's even more unbearable that it came with immense brainfog, a throbbing headache and a worn out body. To shake himself up, the first thing he does is make himself breathe in a deep breath.

In and out, just like that.

It hurts, it drags on and he attempts to hold his hands up to his head to soothe himself, only to find that they remain practically glued next to him, unmoving and unflinching. It's odd, to feel this weak again. He recalls the very moment before darkness took over him — the stuffy plane ride back Macau— yes, that stupid plane that got hijacked and he was plunged into the total black. It must've been, right? There's no other explanation to why he's not home and got stuck in... wherever he is at the moment.

With whatever that's tickling his face... at the moment.

Gathering all his strength, the man slowly pulls his eyelids open — a set of barbie pink eyes stare right back into his lime green eyes, vision stagnant in this position as he wonders how he had gotten into such a predicament to end up with such a young girl here. Hair tickling his skin, fingers itching to push it away, eyes startled by the presence of a stranger. She leans— towers over his laying form with her laser-like gaze, face seemingly lightens up at his act of reciprocation almost immediately.

"Oh—" She exclaims.

Then the scene that comes next couldn't possibly be even real— the girl pulls away from his personal space, easily towering over his bedridden frame. His height bears the difference easily. Soon, the lack of a face right there leaves the world blurry again, eyelids closing in response. Her head turns to the side, seeming to speak to someone else entirely when she opens her mouth again. "Look, look, they’re awake! Not dead yet, see?"

See.

In her clear excitement, the man on the bed feels the opposition, unsure whether he should be in relief or in fear for his life. Both is a good mix of emotions— he's glad he's alive, but he's irked that he's alive /here/ of all places. Yet the way she speak of his state sounds careless as her attention remains somewhere else in the room, his heavy eyes follow suit. From the blurry form of the girl to the chair occupied by someone else, someone surely with more authority right?

The man foolishly dreams for salvation, knowing the figure with the clipboard has something to do with his body. And when they seem to have ceased their writing as the strange girl had spoken, their bicolored eyes, both different shades of purple, meet hers behind glasses. Eyes that turn to her.

"That I do see," They speak, hair bearing similar white strands yet mixed with an unpleasantly bright purple, "Thank you for notifying me," and the girl beams. Such simple words excite her that he can't help but believe she's a kid that tagged along. But then again, doctors don't usually let random kids mingle in care units or rooms, especially with those tacky uniforms on, which sours his throat and dampens his expectations severely. What kind of hospital lets their staff wear these?

At the least the other's higher age is noticeable, and their demeanor sounded mature enough to engage in a negotiation should nothing in the future contradicts that. But the man doubts this is a real hospital.

Then they continue, "You can hear us now, yes?" To him. "Everything working as it should be?"

He wants to nod, that he can hear these two; he wants to yell, that what sort of stupid anesthetic was put in him for his body to slump this heavily that it's unmovable. At this point just tie him up or chain him to the bed, he'd get some smidge of space to squirm. But the loud voice in him dies in his throat, disoriented from the fog.

To give them some miniscule credit, his vision is slowly returning to normal, blinking a couple times to adjust. The room has since become clearer, allowing for him to take in more than the two strangers he has awoken to. Off white curtains drawn at both of his sides; across him stands a wall, dim lights obscuring it's true color; a figure of a chair at a faraway distance, yet it disappears behind the curtains; strange is no longer an apt descriptor, for this predicament is far too suspicious to be an innocent hospital check-up.

Yet before he can say anything, a finger reaches into his peripheral vision and pokes at the side of his head. He wants to push it away, to stop this annoyance but she stops herself, eyes cemented on the other in the room.

"Ive—" Then she pinches her cheek quickly amd decisively, skin turning red in response. "Luxuria doesn’t know whether they can speak right now… she got them pretty well!” Luxuria, the girl, beams down at him. "Don’t worry! It’ll wear off eventually… probably. It took the last one a bit to be able to speak again."

Fuck's in that injection? And the fuck does she mean she got him well?

Sharp teeth beneath a caring smile presents itself upon the other's face, seemingly directed at him, "That's no problem. Just take regular breaths for now. You'll be fine, dear." The pen moves. "All that being said... there are a few things we'd like to ask of you once you're a bit more composed, and it would be a great help that you answer if you're capable."

Hell no, is this an interrogation all along?

Luxuria nods along to their words quite eagerly. "Mhm! Just answer this like it’s an… um… one of those ‘job interview’ things. You’ll be out of here before you know it!"

I didn't even piss anyone off lately!

"Are you asking all of the questions, Doctor?" She then asks, "Luxuria wants to ask one!"

"But of course. By all means." Now introduced as, Doctor, they make a vague waving motion, but they seem to approve of the curious girl's request. Luxuria cheers, leaving his side to go over to theirs to which his eyes follow and soon meet those same bicolored eyes. "Whenever you're ready, then, let's proceed."

There's nothing he can do but proceed. He can scream and refuse all he wants, but that doesn't make his body suddenly gain the ability to move. Guess he has to entertain them.

ONE ⚀

The first question comes from Luxuria, who leans over the Doctor’s shoulder to read before she turns to him. "First question! We just need your name, age, and pronouns! You that, right? We already have it on file, but we wanna ask you, too!!"

As the words leave her mouth, bitterness runs through his tongue, knowing they already have obtained his personal information down to his pronouns of all things. They're definitely shady and this is definitely not a hospital, even if it is at the off chance, did they file through his stuff for that?

"Why the hell did you wanna ask anyways," he clears his throat, "if you already have them on you? To see if I'm conscious? brain still operating the same or something? Could've just lift your hand up and asked if I can see your fingers."

The answer to that, obviously, is likely the amount he sees in front of him she decided on. But he digresses. It really is like a job interview, a shitty one at that where he's stuck to the bed like a pest on a glue trap. It's stupid he's here at all when he could be at home taking up a good nap, or start a good game.

"Yip HaoZhe," he pronounces it for you two, "I'm 22, he I guess. Do they match your little file with whatever intel you got them from, huh?" He snarls, a little gleefully before it dies down, likely from the way he can't move his hands or that he can't lean over, to give them a taste of their own medicine.

TWO ⚁

"Number two! Hm…" She pulls the clipboard towards her, reading the question off like a teacher in primary school doing ice breakers: “Tell us about your talent! What is it, any fun details? Fun facts!”

When the question hits him, the man knows this is some bullshit trick to a devious, ultimately a rabbit-hole of a scheme that he was unceremoniously a kidnapee to. It clicks like how the right numbers fall into place in his hands.

"Haah— Fun details, eh?" Haozhe drags on the words with a hoarse voice, head sluggishly tilts slightly to the side. Even in exhaustion, even in the more vulnerable position, he cannot stop himself from taunts. What bullshit did they have to pull out of their behinds to say that the ultimates have anything fun about them, well, the implications and social status and effects of one of course. His ultimate is his job for years now. Nothing more fun than that surely. "It'll be fun to reap every bit of money out of your pockets and see you cry and beg on your knees for them back, that's for sure."

Mostly towards the doctor, that mumbo jumbo of a hair stuck to their head like a bad wig. Haozhe spares only a mild stink eye towards the girl.

"The only fun a croupier or whatever the fuck term they used on me gets in here is to start a game, and both of you drugged me too much for me to even bring 'em out. Surely you know that, hm?" He does more than just sit at tables and manage money, he does more than just call for customer service and manage the table, no, he's the hand. The hand that ultimately decides, the finger on the trigger. Haozhe is sure of that. "So there's that."

THREE ⚂

"That will do, dear." The Doctor then pulls the clipboard back to them before their eyes run back to him, ignoring the clear frown on her face. They ask their first question, clearly only reading off of their clipboard. "Speaking of talents... you were formerly a Hope's Peak Academy student, weren't you? Surely you must have some opinion on the school, since you went out of your way to attend that event. Was it loyalty, I wonder?"

"Hell no." And fuck do they mean event? "You keep up with that? I just attended for the vacation. Unlike you, I go out." His words, while might be juvenile or childish, still shapes like an insult, a sharp jab at every bit of skin you have.

"Next question."

He says his quippy piece, but before they can move on or end, the girl has raised her own voice in a question. "Is that all Luxuria gets for this one? Can she get more for the next one?"

The Doctor replies instantly, tongue cold and harsh like hot metal. "No. Kindly shut up."

Yet such words does not faze the girl for Luxuria only stares at them for a moment longer before she smiles again, nodding along as if this was common sense. "Okay, Doctor!"

FOUR ⚃

The Doctor no longer pays her any mind, attention right back to him. "And what about your values, if I may ask?” they ask, eyes readily to pounce at any time. He can’t help but notice the way their interest piques unlike the others before. It sickens and irks him. "What matters to you most—a person? An object of significance, perhaps? What would you do for it?"

"Fuck you want that for, huh? Blackmail farming that obvious ain't gonna work on me, you know that," he spits, gears in his brain turning and turning the clearer his head gets. Away from the fog that is the injection and into the light that is mind-numbing stupidity of this 'interview'. Haozhe may entertain them with answers that may be true but all he knows is that they will never get the real deal out of him. Like bait, he's the one that gets them.

"Nice try though, you two, even with the previous kidnapees." The doctor, or this Luxuria girl can't waterboard him to say anything beyond that.

FIVE ⚄

"What of yourself?" That tone of interest seems to vanish, returning to the off-the-paper tone they had established. Which also irked him, while gave him some peace that this doctor won't pester him with more weirdo questions. "How much do you believe you are worth, personally, and how willing are you to prove it?"

"I'm worth at least getting out of this fuckass situation and go back home, kidnapping scumbags," Haozhe bites his tongue harshly, restraining himself from speaking any further without more thought.

It irked him, it irritated him that they ask such stupid, philosophical and introspective questions in the midst of /his/ kidnapping. He's not answering a question like that here, if they meant to test his cognitive or any other brain skills available to the human mind, they sure are failing at some parts.

"This place is far too cramped for my taste anyways."

SIX ⚅

They take some time to write, as they’ve been doing throughout this interview. The Doctor’s attention briefly flicks to Luxuria, picking her fingers.

"Now, it only feels appropriate to ask, seeing as you’ll be with us a while – would you happen to have any particular medical or general accommodations you’d like us to keep in mind for you? Best speak up now, dear."

Be with them for a while? Such absurdity, what kind of game are they playing at to even kidnap a successor like him? Do they want him to play as leverage? Bait? It must be big to hijack a fucking plane for this.

"Fuck's your problem? Now you even want my totally existing medical history to incapacitate me?" Is this what he gets for not answering much of the previous questions with the truth or took them with enough seriousness? Is this what he gets? Will he suffer whatever weird consequences from these two for disobeying?

"Buncha losers," he mutters under his breath, then cursing in what sounded like Cantonese. "Ibuprofen or nacrotics for whatever headache this injection you put in me I'll get," he finally speaks out, a reasonable request surely.

When the last words leave his mouth, he watches them as they yet again write down whatever he said, looking up to him once the pen falls onto the paper. "Well then, looks like that’s all. Thank you for your compliance." Finally, they turn to Luxuria, who hasn’t said a peep since they told her to be quiet. “Both of you. You may speak now, dear,” she gasps, her eyes luminated while he rolls his eyes, “but do keep it brief.”

Her smile almost too bright; her demeanor all too childish; in a different setting it may have been cute, but all does Haozhe have in mind and body is disdain and anger. She cheers, finally meeting his burning gaze before she turns back to the Doctor. "What are we supposed to do next?"

“You may stay where you are,” they instruct her before they stand up, towering his frame alongside her. However, he only has a moment to take it in before they disappear behind the white curtains that have surrounded the three of them, like morphing into the sheets. Nothing that Haozhe can see with his eyes, but something like metal clacking and clinking from a small distance away can be heard. Luxuria leans to peer around the curtain before she giggles, looking back to you with a playful grin. Like a girl excited for whatever activties they do like tea parties or dress up, not this.

"Oh, this part is fun. We’re almost done! Aren't you excited?" He's not, but not like these two gave a damn about it. She whispers, now, to the unamused man, "You should come and talk to Luxuria again soon—"

The Doctor soon returns with a flourish to the curtains, sinking back into their chair as they roll closer to him with a syringe in their hand. It isn’t empty, it's nor full either, but in this lighting, he can’t tell what it is inside at all. Then they move closer to him, needle ready to pierce his unwilling skin and vein. "Try not to move too much. I’ll be quick."

He balls his fists, rings and nails digging into his flesh and he moves his head, hoping the body follows suit. To his dismay it doesn't, easily letting the Doctor take his arm, take sweet time in rolling up much of his sleeves to find a hearty vein to stab. And they do eventually seal the deal, clapping from Luxuria soon garners a futile kick of sorts that goes nowhere.

Almost immediately, a wave of exhaustion hits him again, head swaying and throbbing, but it only slowly ebbs its way in like creeping spiders. He still have his consciousness to see them both loom over him, watching, waiting for another reaction like scientists to a rat in a cage. Is he a rat to them?

"Just a little something for later," they say in attempt to reassure him, but it only raises more questions than answers them. Teeth gritting in response. "Don’t worry about a thing."

It's natural for him to question, to raise an eyebrow to things that will bring harm to his well being and yet Haozhe finds his vision blurring back to the darkness. His breathing getting shallow in the process as he scrambles to stay awake.

"Sweet dreams."

Luxuria’s face then briefly pops into his vanishing gaze, waving to him like before. Pink meets green. "Good night!"

Haozhe eventually succumbs to it, eyelids shutting as they weighed too heavily to hold them up for any longer. Submerged in water, he feels before his consciousness is pushed back into the black.

Good night, and good riddance.

OOC FORM

1. What is your name and preferred pronouns?

tsu, they them

2. What timezone are you in?

EST!!!! EST!!!!!!! (delusional) (gmt + 8)

3. What does your OC look like? Visual references such as art or picrews are allowed, as well as written descriptions. No AI art!

ill clean up the glove incident 🥲, supposed to be fingerless forgot to change it on his full body

4. Do you have any triggers or discomforts? If you’re uncomfortable sharing this publicly, you’re free to DM us.

nope

5. During Capricious Bounty, your OC may die at any given moment. Do you understand that death or harm may come to your character by applying them to this killing game?

yes im the one causing it

6. Anything else we should know?

nyc borger...

All artworks and images here belong to me. Please do not steal, plagiarise, repost, use nor put them through generative AI.