The Mimic (HE/HIM VERSION)

168

"You did so well today, bud. Now, shall we get you cleaned up?"

Poison. Utter poison in every word that came out of his mouth.

Y/n's head whipped around at the sound of his voice, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the hallway. Many of the other guards cursed at him for standing in the way, some just decided to shove past him to put emphasis on the fact that he needed to move, but he didn't. He couldn't. He was right there, and so was a younger version of himself.

The man in the suit had a warm, fake smile on his face as he stood in the hallway, holding out his gloved hand for the child to take. His suit was pristine, just like how it always was. Not a loose thread or crease in sight. He was a complete contrast to the whole facility. Clean. Calm. He didn't even have a weapon on him. He didn't need one. He had everybody under his control, and his greatest weapon was the little boy that was stood before him.

The little boy had his classic yellow knitted vest on with white socks and a cap atop his head, but no shoes. He was far from pristine. A complete opposite to the man in the suit. He was caked in blood. The cap was practically destroyed, so loose that it seemed to be held together by a single thread. His yellow vest was covered in rips and spattered with blood. His white socks were stained a deep, deep red, almost blending in with the bruises on his shins. His arms were littered in bruises, and his hands were covered in so much blood that it almost seemed as if he'd dipped his hands in red paint. His face had tiny little cuts mixed in with the spatters of blood and rosy cheeks, strands of hair sticking to his forehead in all of the mess.

He didn't take the man in the suit's hand. He stared up at him with big, watery eyes, a sad pout appearing on his face. "Are you sure that those were monsters?" Young y/n asked in a shaky tone. He hugged himself tightly for some form of comfort, glancing back at the room that they had just emerged from. "One of them started crying..." He frowned, his bottom lip beginning to wobble. "They said that-"

"Don't worry about what they said, bubba. Do you remember what I told you about the monsters? They'll try to trick you. They'll try to be nice, and then they'll hurt you. That's why the only person you should trust is me." The man in the suit cooed in a gentle tone. He carefully knelt down in front of young y/n, copying his little pout as he pulled out a white handkerchief from his pocket. "Oh dear, you know that we don't cry here. There's no need to be upset, my love." He hummed, gently wiping his face with the handkerchief. "You did perfectly. You should be happy. I'm proud of you." The man in the suit grinned, booping his little nose with his gloved finger. "Now, there's a warm bath already waiting for you. So let's get you all clean and ready for bed, okay?"

Young y/n hung onto every word that came out of his mouth. He sniffled heavily, blinking hard to try and get rid of the tears in his eyes. He was right, he wasn't supposed to be sad. He'd done a good job. The little boy nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. "Okay..." He whispered, finally taking his hand as he begun to follow him down the hallway, his blood-soaked socks leaving a trail on the ground behind him. He believed him. He trusted him. He listened to him.

Y/n remembered that day. Unbeknownst to him at the time, that day was the day of his first kill. And his second, and his third, and his fourth.

The man in the suit had still been training him not to be scared of the dark. Of course it had just been dark rooms with monster noises over the speakers at first, but he decided to utilise the fact that y/n was unable to see. He'd forced four people into the pitch-black cell, and convinced y/n that they were monsters. He was instructed to kill the 'monsters', and that was exactly what he did. If he knew how to use his powers, he could've killed them much easier and much cleaner, but the man in the suit wanted him to just use combat. He had to make sure that he could fight himself out of any possible situation.

Eight years old, murdering four people with nothing but his bare hands and a small dagger.

Y/n was frozen in place as he watched the whole interaction unfold. He almost felt paralysed. Outside of his own body as he watched the younger version of himself get manipulated so easily. Hanging on to every poisonous word, every smile, every gentle touch. He was like putty to him, and he moulded him into the perfect killer.

However, y/n didn't have the reaction that he expected. He thought that he was going to break down at the sight of him again. He thought that it was going to send his brain into overload. But it didn't. That terrified feeling had been replaced by something else. Something red, hot, and bubbling up from his chest.

Anger.

For the first time in his life, y/n stood a chance against the man in the suit. He had always been stronger than him, and even as a child he could've killed him in a heartbeat, but this was different. He wasn't under his control anymore. He knew his intentions, and he knew exactly what he had done, and what he was planning to do. He had the upper hand.

Y/n had the chance to kill him, and hell, he was going to take it.