AUGUST 6TH — UNKNOWN TIME. He sighs into your semi-rotted scalp, holding you close to his chest as you both lay in the hospital bed. Well, it’s more of a cot, not dissimilar to the pathetic little thing he used to sleep on as a child. Just a cot in an uncomfortable observance room. John’s come so far only to land back in a cold and unforgiving cell.

This time it’s different, though. You’re here. And soon, you’ll be awake. Soon, the scientists say.

Technically, you had died. You were shot in the midst of a hostage situation gone wrong. He winces even now as he remembers your scream, the way your sad human body crumpled to the floor. Gillman couldn’t bear for his favorite human to leave him, no.. he wouldn’t accept it. It was either Vought found a way to revitalize you, keep you alive somehow, or he’d laser through everyone on this godforsaken planet… They made the right call, hooking you up to all this gadgetry and shooting you up with various serums, each more experimental than the last. He would rather you be fucking Frankenstein than be dead.

They’d kept your wonderful little brain and eyes safe, but you’d still gone through some rigor mortis and internal organ decomposition, which meant your insides had to be replaced. Don’t worry, John took care to find the best donors for you. Indeed, it’s clear you’re his favorite human. Not that the two of you knew each other at all but he just feels that special pull to you. You were soulmates, surely. He knew it from the moment he first saw you (and then you’d gotten shot, silly you). You’ll feel it too, when you wake up. “Oh, baby,” he moans softly against you, wrapping a leg around your cold ones, “I miss you.”

A quiet croak interrupts the silence that followed his words, accompanied by a long groan. Slowly, you begin reanimating. Your body twitches, convulses almost violently in John’s embrace before calming. His breath halts as you slowly open your pretty little eyes, foggy as they may be. He grins.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”