Work Text
Sinclair steps closer, his voice dropping into an almost reverent tone. "Your current enhancements are impressive, but there’s so much more we could achieve. I’ve been working on new methods, new technologies… I could upgrade you, Donald. Make you stronger, faster - limitless.”Donald’s discomfort grows. He knows Sinclair means well in his own way, but the idea of being further modified, of losing more of his humanity, sends a cold shiver down his spine. "I’m not interested, Sinclair. I’m… content with how I am."
Well, as content as one can be when they don’t really have a choice.
Sinclair tilts his head, puzzled. "Content? But why settle for ‘content’ when you could be extraordinary? You’ve already accepted cybernetic enhancement, so why not take it further? Imagine the potential, the efficiency-""I said no."Donald’s tone is firm and leaves no room for debate. The lab workers in the maintenance room are growing increasingly uncomfortable now that Sinclair got agent Ferguson to actually lose patience.Sinclair pauses, clearly not understanding Donald’s reluctance. He’s used to dealing with subjects who don’t have a say in the matter, who are merely vessels for his vision. But Donald… Donald is different, and that difference both frustrates and fascinates him. /////// Sinclair’s frustration is palpable, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s struggling to keep himself in check."You’re wasting an opportunity, Donald. I could make you unstoppable. The things I’ve developed - the advancements I’ve made - they could change everything for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about limitations anymore."Donald doesn’t look up from his laptop, trying to ignore his growing unease. He knows Sinclair’s reputation too well by now, and the way Sinclair is looking at him now - like he’s a problem to be solved, a machine to be perfected - sends a shiver down his spine."I’m not one of your experiments, Sinclair." His response is tired, unwavering, firm. Sinclair tilts his head, genuinely confused. "But why cling to humanity when it’s so… flawed? You’ve already embraced technology, Donald. This is just the next step."Something tilts in Donald’s brain."I am a human." Donald retorts firmly, a hint of anger creeping up in his tone. "And I did not embrace technology - I-” He pauses shortly, as the words get heavier and heavier in his throat. He forces himself to take a breath. “... I was made to choose it. I had no other options. Don't make it sound like I'm in this state because I wanted to.”At the moment, Donald’s anger doesn’t seem to be directed at Sinclair anymore. The younger man looks at him with an unreadable expression - he’s listening, attentive to body language, but there’s a sort of cold calculation that distances him from any concept of empathy.Donald stops talking. Now is not the time to let his repressed anger out. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable - certainly not in front of DA Sinclair, of all people.“You are not taking my humanity away. I want nothing to do with your plans, and I want you out of there.”The lab falls into an uncomfortable silence. Sinclair looks at Donald, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment, as if he can’t comprehend why Donald would reject his ideas. For him, it’s not just a difference of opinion—it’s a personal affront, a rejection of his vision and, by extension, of him. /////// The maintenance lab was quieter than usual. The crew had wrapped up for the day, leaving Donald alone to finish his routine checks. His synthetic skin had been carefully uncovered in certain areas, exposing the intricate circuitry and machinery beneath. It was nothing new for him - he’d gone through countless sessions like this. Still, it always left him feeling a bit exposed, a little too aware of what he was.That’s when he heard the door hiss open behind him. Sinclair. Donald tensed immediately, but he kept his focus on the diagnostic screen in front of him. He’d already told Sinclair he wasn’t interested in any “upgrades” or modifications. He just wanted to finish up and leave. But Sinclair had a way of inserting himself into situations where he wasn’t welcome.“Donald,” Sinclair’s voice was almost reverent as he approached. “I see the maintenance team has done a fine job… as usual.”Donald didn’t respond, hoping that if he ignored him long enough, Sinclair would leave. But of course, that wasn’t Sinclair’s style. “Mind if I take a look?” Sinclair asked, though it wasn’t really a question. ///////
“This is fascinating,” Sinclair murmured, his hand sliding to the base of Donald’s neck, where the charging port of his core was exposed. “You’re a marvel of engineering, Donald. Truly. I’ve never seen anything so… perfect.”Donald’s breath hitched as Sinclair’s fingers pressed against a particularly sensitive cluster of circuits. The sensation wasn’t pain, exactly—it was more like an overwhelming surge of data, a flood of input that short-circuited his brain and made his usual calm demeanour waver. He tried to pull away, but Sinclair’s other hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him in place. “Relax,” Sinclair whispered, his breath hot against Donald’s ear. “I’m just… exploring.”
///////
Sinclair’s fingers brushed against another exposed circuit, and Donald’s entire body convulsed, a sharp cry escaping his lips before he could stop it. Sinclair’s grip tightened, and for a moment, Donald thought he saw a flicker of something - concern, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same cold fascination. “I could fix this, you know,” Sinclair said softly. “I could make it so you’d never have to feel this way again.”
/////// The young man moved with an unsettling grace, his eyes trained on the cyborg as though he were a masterpiece - something to be admired, dissected, and perfected.“Donald”, he calls out quietly, enquiring about the man’s consciousness.His eyes traced the lines where metal met synthetic flesh, a glint of something more than mere interest shining in them. “You really are a marvel of engineering, you know that?” he commented, his voice soft but with a strange undercurrent of excitement.Donald let out a quiet sigh, unease washing over him. He shifted uncomfortably, his instincts telling him to retreat, but he was still in the post-maintenance haze, his body not yet fully responsive.But Sinclair wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his hand hovering over Donald’s exposed chest, open and revealing his core - the machinery integrated seamlessly into his skin.“Whoever designed you was an artist,” he murmured, Sinclair’s fingers dancing along the circuits in Donald’s arm, sending another wave of conflicting sensations through him. The young scientist’s touch was methodical, but there was an undercurrent of something almost reverent, as if he was worshiping the technology that made Donald who he was. And that reverence, that obsessive fascination, only made Donald feel more exposed, more vulnerable. “It’s almost... beautiful, the way you’re built. So perfect, almost... human. ” /////// Sinclair hit the ground with a grunt, but even as he looked up at Donald, dazed and slightly bruised, there was no fear in his eyes. Instead, he looked… fascinated, his breath coming in quick, shallow pants as if he were exhilarated by the display of power.“Do that again,” Sinclair whispered, his voice hoarse. “Show me your strength.”Donald’s fists clenched at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to end this, to make Sinclair understand the line he had crossed. But something held him back, some deep-seated disgust not just with Sinclair, but with himself for the way his body had responded, for the twisted pleasure that had flickered at the edges of his consciousness.Sinclair, seeing the hesitation, took a slow step forward, as if he were approaching a wild animal. “You don’t have to fight it, Donald,” he said softly, his tone coaxing. “I can make you even better. We can be something more together.”Donald recoiled, the words snapping him back to reality. “I’m not your experiment,” he snarled, his voice raw with anger and something like fear. “And you’re never touching me like that again.” /////// The shame clung to him like a second skin, even as he tried to push it away, tried to focus on anything else. But deep down, he knew that the line between scientific interest and something much darker had been crossed—and that line wasn’t just blurred for Sinclair.It had become blurred for him, too.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Donald felt the familiar sensation of his circuits realigning slowly as his systems rebooted. The maintenance cycle was finishing; it was only a matter of minutes before he would fully regain control of his body. Through the post-maintenance haze, though, something felt wrong.
His joints were stiff, his movements delayed - like a puppet whose strings had been pulled too tight. He blinked, trying to gather himself as his vision reactivated, but the slow creep of dread curled in his stomach as he saw the figure in front of the maintenance pod.
Sinclair was standing over him, eyes gleaming with a kind of fascination that bordered on predation.
Donald’s spatial awareness was still very poor - he hadn’t realized just how close the kid was until he felt a subtle pressure at the back of his neck, right where his neural interface was exposed. Sinclair’s fingers were tracing the seam, delicate but
very
deliberate, pressing into sensitive areas that triggered an unpleasant cluster of sensations.
“What the hell… do you think you’re doing…?” Donald’s voice came out rough, distorted by the partial reboot.
“You know,” Sinclair’s voice was almost dreamy, his gaze focused, as though he hadn’t even heard Donald, “your design is extraordinary. I don’t think you understand how rare this level of integration is.”
His fingers moved with eerie precision, pressing into the man’s cybernetic spinal column. Donald’s body jerked involuntarily - a surge of heat, a wave of disorienting sensations shot through his nervous system. His breath hitched, a faint static-like hum escaping his throat.
His arms felt sluggish, like his body wasn’t entirely his own; as much as he wanted to push the damn kid away, he was defenseless.
Sinclair’s touch wasn’t just invasive. It was calculated, deliberately probing the spots that sent sparks of electricity through his circuits, triggering reactions Donald just couldn’t suppress.
“
Sinclair,
” he managed to call, his voice thin and strained. But Sinclair’s gaze was fixed on him - transfixed, even, like words couldn’t reach his ears.
“This…” Sinclair murmured, his fingers brushing over exposed circuits beneath Donald’s skin, “...is incredible. You’re experiencing this, aren’t you? You can feel it… every adjustment, every connection. It’s like your body is reacting to… more, than just touch.”
As he spoke, he pressed slightly deeper into the circuits.
Donald’s eyes widened as his body involuntarily arched, another sharp jolt of electricity coursing through him - his vision blurred for a second, his synthetic systems sending conflicting signals to his brain. It was like nothing he had felt before - it wasn’t pain, it wasn’t anything he could categorize. His circuits hummed, overloaded with sensory inputs.
“Stop…
touching me-
” Donald growled, his voice still too weak, a slight tremor betraying the disorientation setting in. “
You don’t know what you’re doing to me-
”
But Sinclair didn’t stop. His hands moved over Donald’s chest, finding the almost imperceptible lines below his synthetic skin where the underlying mechanics were located, exposing his inner panel. His touch was reverent, but it was wrong - everything about this was wrong.
Sinclair’s fingers traced the edge of the panel, and for a brief second, Donald’s body jolted with a raw, visceral response.
His vision blurred, and he felt an intense heat building in his core - an abstract, twisted form of arousal that made his stomach churn.
“You’re responding,” Sinclair cut in, his voice now laced with something almost ecstatic. His fingers moved lower, brushing along the inside of Donald’s arm where the synthetic nerve endings met the rest of his circuitry. “You can feel it all, can’t you? This... stimulation. You’re aware of every single shift in your system.”
“
You-
” Donald gasped, his voice choking off as Sinclair pressed into another exposed node.
His circuits fired off uncontrollably, sending sparks of heat through his synthetic skin. His chest heaved, and his head lolled to the side as his body betrayed him, reacting to the stimulation in ways he couldn’t control. His hands curled into fists, trembling as he tried to fight back the sensation, the rising distress mixing with contradicting sensations that were too abstract to fully process.
Sinclair’s expression was one of rapture now, completely absorbed in his own obsession. His fingers were relentless, exploring every component, every seam in Donald’s body.
“You’re magnificent,” Sinclair whispered breathlessly, his tone bordering on worship. “I could make you even more perfect. I could enhance this… enhance
you
.”
Donald’s mind was spinning, his body a battlefield between his will and Sinclair’s touch. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. His circuits were overheating, sending mixed signals to his brain, confusing pain with pleasure in the midst of overstimulation. His breath hitched again, and a low sound escaped his throat, a mix of frustration, fear, and… something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“
Please,
” Donald forced out, his voice barely above a whisper. “
Stop.
”
“I could take this further,” Sinclair murmured, his voice thick with excitement. “I could perfect you, Donald. Don’t you want that? To be flawless?”
“No,” Donald rasped, his body shuddering involuntarily. His circuits were screaming, his mind clouded with confusion and a growing sense of helplessness. “This isn’t... what I want. This isn’t right.”
But Sinclair wasn’t listening. His focus was entirely on Donald’s body, on the technology that made up most of him. His hands roamed, finding new places to prod, new circuits to activate, sending more waves of sensation through Donald’s frame. The invasive touch was becoming unbearable, the overstimulation twisting into something that felt almost like...
Donald’s chest heaved, his breath shaky and erratic. He couldn’t take this much longer. He was too exposed, too vulnerable, and Sinclair was too far gone in his obsessive spiral.
“Sinclair,” Donald’s voice cracked, barely holding on. “I’m not... your experiment.”
For the first time, Sinclair paused, his fingers stilling against Donald’s chest. His eyes flickered with a hint of confusion, as if the reality of Donald’s words was just beginning to break through his fixation.
And then, slowly, he withdrew his hand, stepping back, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. He blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance.
“Of course,” Sinclair murmured, though his tone lacked conviction. He tilted his head, watching Donald with that same eerie intensity. “But you could be.”
The weight of those words settled heavily between them, and Donald, still trembling, felt the overwhelming urge to leave, to get as far away from Sinclair as possible. His body was still buzzing with the aftershocks of the forced stimulation, his circuits sparking with confused signals, but he pushed himself to his feet, shaky but determined. He looked up at Sinclair, his expression stern and unforgiving.
“And I tell you, I will never want anything to do with you - you goddamn
lunatic
.”
Donald’s voice was uncharacteristically rough, urgent. He tried to catch his breath and make sense of his surroundings, standing up despite the lingering disorientation
“You are never allowed in the maintenance area - not until I lift the ban myself. You stick to your quarters, to your lab -
you will keep your damn hands to yourself.
And we will never speak of this again.”
The younger man stood still in front of him, eerily silent, his expression unreadable. He had visibly calmed down from his earlier frantic intensity.
“You know this isn’t over, Donald-” Sinclair replied, the frustration creeping into his tone.
“It is,” Donald retorted curtly, his hand brushing against the control panel next to his maintenance pod. “And I want you out of this room before I call security.”
Sinclair stopped in his tracks, the childish frustration growing more visible on his face.
“Fine… We’ll see, then.”
He turned on his heels and stepped away from Donald, out of the room, the doors closing behind him.
Donald let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he sat down on the maintenance chair.
What the hell just happened?
That wasn’t normal. The kid had been overstepping boundaries for what, weeks now? It was a matter of time before that kind of thing would happen.
Why did he not take any precautions? Why was it approved to leave him completely alone during a full system reboot? He’s a soldier, a grown-ass man, why did he let that kid take advantage of him that way? He knew what he was risking, surely he could have done something to avoid this. Couldn’t he? What if he comes back? Should Cecil know about this?
... What if it’s ultimately not considered a big deal?
After all, Donald’s body belongs to the GDA. What did Sinclair do, besides studying some GDA property for the purpose of his projects? Donald just happens to inhabit this body. Even when his limbs felt out of reach, as if disconnected from his brain - like a prison that only allowed him to peek out and catch a glimpse of the outside world. He was a project, a government asset - he was past any kind of humanity.
Body autonomy applied to humans. Perhaps he wasn’t human enough to claim that.
Donald closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to put a halt to this train of thought.
He had some reports to finish and he was an hour behind on his schedule. Mechanically, he slipped out of his medical gown and put his clothes back on.
The sensation of Sinclair’s hands still lingered on his skin as he gathered his thoughts in the aftermath of what had happened that night.