Big Brothers is Back - de-conditioning part 1

from /hhg/ - Hazbin Hotel General #381
part 1: https://pastebin.com/LwRxTRNH
part 2: https://pastebin.com/7yHcR14j
part 3: https://pastebin.com/AfxC5i7f
Big Brothers is Back - de-conditioning part 2: https://pastebin.com/T8gpjxCJ
Dictator charlie dealing with her inner demons part 1: https://pastebin.com/eKiaizwB
Dictator charlie dealing with her inner demons part 2: https://pastebin.com/y2Zrm8e7
part 4: https://pastebin.com/uHK1m26T
DC timeline Octavia: https://pastebin.com/tmxYDp4t
DC what if part 1: https://pastebin.com/pErwRZ58
Timeline shenanigans happens: https://pastebin.com/C1jgFV52
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Short Dictator Charlie side story featuring OC-1789 (Moxxie) because for some reason I can't get my mind out of Dictator Charlie mode and back into Angel Dust Gives You A Case Of The Queer mode.
---
>Overwatch Commander 1789 stared at his notebook
>He shook his head
>Not Overwatch Commander 1789
>Not anymore
>That was just his rank and number
>He had a name
>And he'd been ordered to remember it, and start responding to it
>By The Prince no less
>He had to get it right, the sooner the better
>Or he would surely face severe consequences

>He'd failed to respond earlier today and his charge had clearly been displeased
>He'd been spared punishment that time, but such mercies were sure to run dry soon

>He turned to a fresh sheet and began to spell
>M
>O
>X
>...X?
>Was his name spelled with one X or two?
>The imp tapped the point of his pen against the page
>He was certain this task shouldn't be as hard as it was
>He bit down on his tongue in concentration
>Then he looked over one shoulder, then the other
>He was definitely alone in his quarters
>No one would see if he made a mistake
-
>M-O-X-I-E
>...no
>No, that just didn't look right to his eye
>He didn't know why exactly, it just didn't...FEEL right
>His name had two X's
>He was sure
>He drew a pair of perfectly parallel lines through his error and moved down to the next line
>M-O-X-X-I-E
>There
>That was it

>He spelled it out again
>And again
>And again
>And again
>Trying different strokes of the pen
>Trying to remember how it felt to spell his own name and not his designation
>Trying to remember what it was supposed to look like on the page

>Moxxie
>MOXXIE
>His name was Moxxie
>He had to remember that
>He HAD to
-
>He stared at the letters on the page, trying to imprint them on his mind
>He mouthed the old instructions from his conditioning program to himself

>"Your designation is Overwatch Commander 1789"

>"When you hear it spoken, you will snap to attention and follow the orders of the one who spoke it"

>"You are to execute them without fail, or face the consequences"

>He took a deep breath to calm himself
>He whispered his new orders

>"You were ordered to remember your name"

>"Your name is Moxxie"

>"When your hear that name, you WILL snap to attention and follow the orders of the one who spoke it"

>"You will execute them without fail"

>"You will remember your name"

>...

>...Those three at Stolas' manor had remembered his name without any trouble
>Why?
>He knew he'd had a life before Overwatch
>Had he been something to them back then?
>Why had they hugged him?
>Why had they gushed about how worried they'd been?
>Why had they all seemed so angry at The Prince?
>It made his head hurt
>Trying to attach their faces, their voices, their scents to any memory
>To anything at all
>They were strangers to him
-
>A yawn crept up from with him as he dared to write his name with just enough style that his lettering crept outside of the lines
>He checked the clock
>He'd spent too much time in thought
>It was getting late
>Resumption of his duties needed to overlap with the night guards by at least one hour
>He pushed himself away from his desk and stretched, taking an extra moment to work the kinks out of his tail
>He tossed himself into bed
>Much bigger than he was used to
>Intended for demons much larger than a mere imp
>It was softer as well
>The bedclothes were finer as well. Silk, down, ivory cloth...
>It was an upgrade, technically
>A perk of having been given such an illustrious assignment as guarding The Queen's newly returned brother

>He wasn't sure if he really liked it

>This was too different from the shielding enclosure of his old bunk
>He felt...exposed here, on this vast plain of a mattress, with the ceiling so high above him
>Maybe a bit lonely too
>There was just so much space here compared to the little metal cubby he had grown accustomed to sleeping in
>All for him
>Only him
-
>For some strange reason, he found himself thinking back to the woman who had first called him by his name, bursting from the crowd of demons in Stolas' courtyard
>She'd called herself 'Millie'
>Over and over
>As if she'd expected it to mean something to him
>The others, the Hellhound and the older imp
>'Loona' and 'Blitz'
>Had done so too
>But not nearly so insistently, so desperately, as Millie did
>She just wouldn't stop talking nonsense
>Asking about memories he didn't have
>Just talking nonsense

>Moxxie rolled over beneath his sheets
>His eyes landed on his pole-arm, laying close by in case it was needed unexpectedly
>Something about the sight of it and the mind's eye image of Millie from earlier set his mind tittering
>The spear, its mere presence, suddenly didn't sit right with him
>He reached over to flick the lights back on, pushed the sheets off of him, and returned to his desk
>He retrieved his notebook and found an empty page
>Without really understanding why, he began to sketch
-
>Long eyelashes
>Beauty mark on one cheek
>A white patch on the elbow amidst the red
>A black heart on one shoulder
>A tiny gap in the smile
>Razor thin stripes right...here, aaaand...right there, on her horns
>There she was
>Millie
>As he'd seen her that afternoon
>But not quite
>What was missing?
>Her...
>...her...hair
>That was it
>Her hair wasn't the perfectly uniform shade of dark gray he'd scrawled
>Right next to her horns, there should have been a little patch of white

>He looked around at his drawing implements
>He'd done the whole thing in ink
>He couldn't erase anything
>Even if he could, the thought of undoing any part of this rendering of the impette was strangely distasteful to him
>He pulled back the drawer and looked through what had been supplied to him
>His eyes fell upon a bottle of liquid white
>That would do

>He shook the bottle, took the tiny brush, and began to add to the sketch in tiny, delicate movements
>It took a good while, but he managed to get it right
>Tiny patches of white, right at the base of her horns
>Round and tufted, like clouds
>That was it
>This is what she'd looked like
-
>Satisfied with the efforts his irrational creative urge had wrought, he leaned back in his chair
>He began to wonder why he'd spent however long he'd spent on this pointless effort, when he had so much to do come the morning, and he needed all the rest he could get
>He fidgeted in his seat, shifting this way and that, trying to make himself comfortable enough to think
>His spear caught his eye again as he turned in place
>He took a long look at it
>His forefinger itched
>He curled it up, drawing it tight against an imagined curve of metal
>Firearms
>That was it
>He preferred firearms
>He was no stranger to melee combat, but he'd always preferred firearms
>He liked to leave the handling of thin, sharp edges and hard, heavy cudgels to those who had true expertise
>He was certain he'd fought alongside someone who'd far surpassed him in close combat even on the best of days, but he couldn't seem to recall their designation

>Moxxie looked back down at his sketch
>After contemplating it for a while, he carefully peeled the page out from the rest of the notebook
>He took it with him back to bed and tucked it underneath his pillow, taking comfort in its presence even as the more practical realities of his next shift returned to his mind
>His charge was a member of royalty
>Second only to Queen Charlotte herself
>Royalty might grant boons if they were sufficiently pleased with one's service
>Perhaps, if he could follow his new orders properly, The Prince might see fit to grant him one
>If he could learn to respond properly to his name, perhaps he could petition them for permission to carry a firearm rather than a spear
>And maybe
>If he was stalwart and dutiful
>If he proved worthy of the privilege
>They might again send him to speak to that trio of demons who'd been so excited to see him

>Moxxie slid across his oversized bed to reach the switch and returned his room to darkness
>The new day would be here before long
>He needed to be well-rested

END