Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you planned to run away the day you were kidnapped.
Your eighteenth was much anticipated by your father, so much so that he showed you the files that marked your assessment.
What kind of female was to be delivered, packaged neatly and sweetly.
It showed exactly how she would look, exactly how she would act, and exactly what kind of reproductive product you'd one day come to create.
Both you and your father knew where lack of compliance would get both you and him.
Even despite his apparent, genuine excitement to watch the mold he tried so hard to correct, to *perfect*, his panic was just as evident.
At least, to you.
At work, he was showered in congratulations.
What an adorable boy you've raised! They'd cheer.
He'll need a girl made of iron to properly fix him, they'd say with their eyes.
At exactly 9:00 pm, they'd be here.
They'd take you.
If you refused?
They'd probably make an even bigger mess of you than they did your brother.
You didn't know what to do-
Panic swelled in your head, leaving you almost begging for nine to arrive so you could just get it over with.
So they could take you away from your father, and pair you up with someone you already hated just reading about, and one day you'd create a genetic slurry of flesh and cells, that you'd one day raise.
And then you'd die, and the cycle would continue.
Something about this- it repulsed you. It felt so wrong, so incorrect.
Love wasn't supposed to be treated like some chemical reaction that you can force, or some means to an end.
You hated children. You'd always fantasized since your days as a wriggler of falling in love.
Like Adam Sandler or Will Smith, and all your other heroes from all your other respective, probably shit movies.
They were banned a long time ago, but you still had them all memorized.
It was disgusting, and sappy, and weak. You knew having aspirations like that, aspirations like him,
It's just begging for a culling.
So you did what any sensible, worked up young boy would do
Or at least, you planned to.
But when 7:00 rolled around, there was a loud bang on the door.
Early. That was the first thought that entered your mind.
They were early.
You were upstairs, still packing your bags, but instantly shoved it aside in favor of rushing downstairs.
As usual, the adults weren't scheduled home until 8:30, and since curfew for those unmatched was 8:00, that’s who it was, right?
However, when you opened the door, the face you were met with was not that of an imperial guard.
Instead you only saw the slightly tanned face of a boy about your age, his scraggly un-brushed blonde hair dipping under the protection of the douchey-est sunglasses you'd ever seen in your fucking life.
He looked you over, the intensity of someone else looking at you like that making you all the more uncomfortable and unamused,
"Who the fuck are you?.." You spat at him, your lip turning up.
A small, barely-visible smile (smirk is more like it) twitched onto his face, and he simply replied with a small snrk.
And with that, you felt your body slammed to the ground, a needle pinching not-so-softly into your neck.
Suddenly, despite your weak attempts at screaming or cursing him out, you found yourself drifting off.
From behind, you heard the vague sound of a females voice,
"Dave! God, did you have to be so rough with him? Rose isn't gonna like it if we get him back injured." Her voice was filled with endearment, and slight hints of disappointment.
You watched 'Dave' shrug atop you, the last vision you were able to decipher being the quick footsteps of, you'd assume, whoever that lady was.
This is it, you think,
Your gonna die.
And then, your vision fades to black, and by some miracle you don't.