The Monster in the Dark (EX, Dark themes, M for A)

[Vostroya]

Caution:

Themes of emotional and physical abuse, Stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, plus many hard kinks

Arcan the Archfiend, the Corpo Killer, the King of Chaos

Just some of the names given to the nightmare cyborg mercenary Arcan. Only those with the deepest pockets could dare to hire him, and most corps specifically kept him on paid retainer just to ensure that he wouldn't be fighting against them without at least bidding against the original bid. It kept him well within the 1% though many who have worked would tell you, he was more evil than any corp could ever hope to be. Well known for high collateral damage and for taking 'Trophys' from his missions.

This story will take place in a Cyberpunk 2077 like universe, no not necessarily following the canon. It will revolve around an Adam Smasher like character taking a person to be a personal slave. The manner of their history and how they end up in the sites of MC would be up for discussion. Game would be based around more of the darker themes of brainwashing, abuse, and 'breaking' someones will. Kinks would need to be negotiated but one should expect them to not be holding hands and doing missionary while blushing.


Essentially the story will be a corruption story of turning YC from innocent, to a monster like him.

Innocent

Monster

Writing prompt below

In the labyrinthine streets of the City, neon lights flickered like desperate stars, casting jagged shadows upon the crumbling pavement. The air was thick with the acrid scent of rain-soaked machinery and the distant hum of holographic advertisements vying for attention. Amidst this chaotic symphony, a solitary figure emerged—Arcan, a legendary mercenary known less for his eloquence and more for his ruthless efficiency. Clad in dark tactical gear, every scar etched into the cybernetic body told a story of not just survival in this ruthless dystopia, but of thriving in its chaos.

As Arcan navigated the tangled alleys, his crisp, blood red cybernetic eyes scanned the area, locking onto a flash of movement—her. The woman was a stark contrast to the mechanical dereliction surrounding her, an aura of vulnerability obscured by a thin veil of defiance. She was neither a victim nor a pawn; her gaze burned with an unyielding spirit, challenging the chains that bound her. But Arcan was unrelenting in purpose, his mind clouded with the anticipation of the power he could wield.

He reached her within moments, cybernetic arms moving like a blur as they lashed out to her quicker than any human could naturally. “You belong to me now,” he stated flatly, his voice a cold whip in the humid air. The words were not uttered for her sake—a declaration of possession, devoid of tenderness. But deep down, he sensed a flicker of unease, almost an echo of the humanity he thought long lost.

She hissed, indignation curling her lips into a snarl. “You think you can break me?” Her eyes, burning like emerald flames, narrowed as she confronted him—not with submission, but with a raw, untamed spirit that sowed doubt in his own resolve.

For a heartbeat, Arcan hesitated, a fleeting ghost of uncertainty skimming across his mind. Then, he remembered the debts owed, the contracts he had signed with ghosts of the past, and the price of failure in this unforgiving world. Her defiance was a challenge, yet also an unexpected allure—one he would have to dominate. He smirked, revealing a glimpse of the predator he had become, and stepped closer, drawn to the flickering ember of rebellion within her.

A sudden roar of engines echoed in the distance, the telltale sign of gang activity nearby. Arcan’s grip on her arm tightened, pulling her into the shadows, the world around them fading into the chaotic backdrop of the City. “Listen carefully,” he murmured, his breath a whisper against her ear, “your fight begins now.” She could only stare down at him as she was lifted by her neck, the tight grip straining her ability to breath, but all she could see were the flames of the city reflecting onto his facemask. The City was burning, the facade of order was broken, the streets filling with the downtrodden. Freed of their fear of the corporate masters that had long held them in bondage.

_______________________________________________

The dungeon lay hidden beneath the neon glow of the City, a forgotten relic of a forgotten age, replete with dark intent. Walls of cold steel loomed like sentinels, flickering with droning fluorescent lights that cast a sickly pallor upon the space. The floor, slick and uneven, reverberated with a distant rhythm—echoes of fading screams mingled with the pervasive hum of the city above, creating an unsettling harmony of despair.

At the dungeon's heart, a central chamber sprawled like an open maw, filled with a bewildering array of instruments designed for infliction and subjugation. Restraint chairs, adorned with metallic tendrils, beckoned under the harsh light, their cold surfaces glistening ominously. Each piece of equipment whispered promises of pain, from electroshock devices with glinting prongs to neural dampeners that promised to sever the threads of defiance from a willful mind.

The air was thick with the palpable tension of desperation, infused with the faint, metallic odor of blood and oil—a reminder of previous inhabitants' fates. Cybernetic enhancements lined the walls, displaying ghastly trophies of compliance, while screens flashed constantly, showcasing the torment of others as a twisted testament to control. Holographic projections simulated scenarios designed to shatter even the most resilient spirit, relishing the spectacle of their suffering.

In one dim corner, a solitary figure in latex awaited her fate, straining against her bindings, every pleading breath a small rebellion against the oppressive atmosphere. The surrounding shadows seemed to draw closer, hungry for the inevitable betrayal of her will. Subdued yet fiery, she exuded an unyielding strength that seemed to resonate against the bleak confines of her prison.

The oppressive silence was ruptured by the sudden hiss of pneumatic doors, revealing Arcan's imposing silhouette. He surveyed the chamber, a cruel grin spreading across his face as he approached her. This place was not merely a dungeon; it was a crucible, a hell forged from the very essence of submission. The glimmer of blue cybernetic eyes reflected the flickering lights, now intent on the challenge awaiting him—her breaking would be both art and annihilation, a daunting masterpiece he was determined to craft.

If this would interest you please hit me up with a DM!