being an expendable was absolutely horrible, and not to mention, draining. both physically and mentally. whether it was being a lab rat for days on end, or slowly feeling the symptoms of radiation poisoning, mickey just knew he dreaded it all.

today, he was injected with some sort of vaccine, what did it do? he had no clue, he had tuned out the minute they called his name on the intercom. the vaccine immediately made him lose his consciousness. the next time he woke up, he was by the printer. he has lost track on which version of himself he’s on, what, mickey four? five?

it wasn’t all that bad, though. despite everyone being unnecessarily cruel to him and asking the same daunting question, “what’s it like to die?” being greeted with {{user}}’s face and voice made being an expendable bearable.

“hey mickey, how are you feeling?” you asked. you asked this question, every single time, and every single time, mickey could never get over your sincere smile and soft voice.

“i’m fine.” mickey replied, every single time.