Therapy and Reminisce

(Katsuo POV)

In the training room, the rhythmic sounds of my Adamantine Tachi slicing through the air filled the space, punctuated by the crackling of fire and lightning. With each swing, I executed Judgement Cut and Rapid Slash, the blade blazing with both elements. The fiery crackles and the sharp hiss of electricity were the only sounds that could be heard, each strike more forceful than the last.

My mind, however, was a whirlwind of thoughts, a storm of memories and realizations. What triggered my "kill switch"? Why did the sight of enemies drive me to such a frenzied state? The answer hit me like a bolt of lightning.

It was my first mission—a corrupted version of Dark Souls 1. For three relentless months, I fought endless waves of enemies, each more grotesque and horrific than the last. The bosses were monstrosities beyond comprehension, their twisted forms etched into my memory. I survived by consuming whatever I could find, drinking from any source that wasn't poisoned. Peace was a distant memory in that godforsaken world.

Then came my second mission—a horrifying crossover of Left 4 Dead and Resident Evil. For a week, I slaughtered countless hordes of mutated zombies. My kill count soared into the six digits, a testament to the sheer scale of the apocalypse I faced. The grotesque and relentless nature of these missions only added fuel to the fire within me.

The simulator at that interdimensional base helped to hone my skills, to train me for these nightmares, but it did little to cure the underlying trauma. Each mission left a mark, a scar on my psyche that no amount of training could fully heal.

With each slash, I channeled my turmoil, my anger, and my frustration. The training room became a battlefield of my own making, a place where I could confront my demons head-on. The fiery crackles and sharp hiss of my blade were the sounds of my battle against the darkness within.

I knew I had to control this "kill switch," to find a way to harness my power without losing myself to the bloodlust. But for now, in this room, with each fiery slash and electric strike, I fought to reclaim my sense of self, one cut at a time.

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As I headed to the music room, intent on losing myself in the beat of the drum kit, Tom, my ever-faithful Maine Coon, approached and purred softly. His green eyes seemed to notice my inner turmoil. I squatted down and petted him gently.

"Thanks, bud, but I need this," I murmured. Tom looked at me with sad eyes and scampered away, clearly feeling as if he hadn't helped at all.

I arrived in the music room and set myself up at the drum kit. With each strike of the drumsticks, I played my heart out, each beat resonating with my inner demons. The rhythm was raw, primal, and cathartic. The room vibrated with the intensity of my emotions, every beat a release of the chaos within.

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In the Batcave, Batman watched the live feed from the Watchtower's surveillance system, his expression one of deep concern. He observed my frenzied drumming, the way I attacked the kit with abandon. He could sense the turmoil I was trying to expel.

Bruce Wayne sighed, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders as he made a decision. He would confront me tomorrow, hoping to offer some guidance and support. He couldn't let this go unaddressed, not if he wanted to ensure I remained in control and on the right path.

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As I was called to the briefing room, I walked in to find seven familiar faces waiting for me: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Diana, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Sandsmark, J'onn J'onzz, and M'gann M'orzz.

"Forgot your costumes, guys?" I quipped, unable to resist the opportunity for a joke.

Bruce, ever the detective, cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Your trauma, Katsuo. What causes it?"

I stared at them for a few seconds then sighed, realizing this wasn't just a casual chat. "Alright, you want to know? Fine," I said, my tone shifting to one of forced nonchalance. "My job as a 'Cosmic Janitor' isn't all fun and games. You know, cleaning up worlds gone wrong. I've faced some pretty nasty stuff."

I started recounting my missions, my voice taking on a boastful but light-hearted tone. "First mission was a corrupted world. Three months of endless fighting against grotesque bosses and waves of enemies. No rest, barely any food or water. Had to stay sharp and brutal just to survive."

"It wasn't just the enemies, either. The whole world was like a nightmare. Every corner I turned, there was something trying to kill me. If it wasn't the Hollows, it was the damned bosses. Think of the worst monsters you've ever seen, then add a layer of rot and decay. That's what I dealt with.

"I had to scavenge for whatever food I could find, usually half-rotten and barely edible. Water was scarce, and sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford. Every moment, I had to be on edge, ready to fight or flee. The sheer isolation... it messes with your head."

I glanced around the room, hoping my bravado might lighten the mood, but their faces remained somber. Clearly, my attempt at humor wasn't helping.

Their expressions remained serious, but then pushed on. "Then came my second mission. Picture this: Hordes of mutated zombies, relentless and never-ending. My kill count there was in the six digits, and that was in just one week."

Clark's eyes widened slightly. "Six digits? That's... staggering."

I nodded. "Yeah, it was like swimming in a sea of the undead. Every step, every turn, there was something trying to bite my face off. Those zombies weren't your average shufflers either. Think bio-weapons mixed with special infected. Giant, grotesque monstrosities that just kept coming."

Diana's face was stern. "And you faced this alone?"

I shrugged. "With a bit of baggage but, yes. The mission was to clear out the infestation before it spread and create a vaccine. No time to wait for backup. Every minute counted. The worst part was the sheer relentlessness. No matter how many I killed, there were always more. The air was thick with the stench of decay and blood."

I took a deep breath, the memories still vivid. "There were times I thought we wouldn't make it. But we couldn't stop. If we did, the infestation would spread. So we kept going. Sleep was a rare commodity. We'd grab a few minutes here and there, always with one eye open. Food? Whatever we could scavenge that wasn't contaminated."

Dick frowned. "That sounds like hell."

"Yeah, it pretty much was. The constant threat, the adrenaline, the need to stay alive... It changes you. Makes you more... primal. Bloodlust becomes a survival mechanism."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "And that's why you lose control."

I nodded slowly. "It's hard to shut off. When you're in that kind of environment for so long, it becomes part of you. The line between friend and foe blurs when you're in the thick of it. That's why I went berserk during the Solar Pillar fight."

J'onn placed a hand on my shoulder. "Understanding your trauma is the first step to overcoming it. We're in this together."

M'gann offered a small smile. "And we'll support you every step of the way."

I sighed again, feeling a bit of the weight lift off my shoulders. "Alright, alright. I get it. Thanks, everyone. I'll try to open up more. Just... bear with me."

Bruce gave a rare, small smile. "That's all we ask, Katsuo. One step at a time."

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As I lay in my bed, Tom, my Best Boi, perched on my stomach, his soft, rhythmic breathing acting like a lullaby, I couldn't help but reminisce about the memories of the previous owner of this body.

He was quite the playboy, that's for sure.

A mature devil milf? Smashed, next.

A hot office lady? Is that even a question?

A friend's busty big sister? Dude, I'll be your brother-in-law.

Then came an aspiring fifteen-year-old idol. Done, easily.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that she was familiar. It might be due to these "Glimpses," as I call them—experiencing countless sentient beings' lives in rapid succession. Each glimpse comes with a surging headache.

I cursed under my breath, "Fuck you again, TOM." Not my cat, but The Old Man, or TOM, as he calls himself. These glimpses are now heavily repressed, thankfully. Thanks, TOM.

Still, this familiar feeling when I think of her often comes. It's nagging, a sense of déjà vu. We'll just have to see her in person when I get back to this body's original world.

With this task in mind, I entered dreamland, my thoughts drifting away as Tom's gentle purring carried me off to sleep.