Ms. Sweetie

Yes, that's right, I'm Ms. Sweetie. The only Miss in the first few batches of Misters. Like the one girl Smurf. The token female character.

You've got questions? Well, so do I. Yeah, I don't really know where we come from here. Most of us don't. Our memories get confused… especially with the tweaking. Most of us have had to be tweaked from time to time. I suspect some of my brothers might have your answers, but I couldn't tell you which.

Did I start off human? Did I have a life before becoming a Little Mister - well, a Little Miss, in my case? I don't know. I don't remember. Rather, I guess I should say I have a lot of memories. Many of them don't actually match with each other. I remember three different fifteenth birthdays, one of which was a quinceañera. I don't show up in any missing persons database - I checked. Maybe this isn't my original face. Or my original body. I'm not so sure I came with these double-Ds, if you know what I mean.

Heck, I don't even know if this is my original personality. I know that the Wondertainment people have tried majorly tweaking my personality at least three times, probably more that they made me forget. "Rebellious", one of them called me. "Problem". Won't stick to the theme, they said. Not sweet or girly enough to be Ms. Sweetie, which is hardly true if you ask me. Who needs to act sweet when you have a nature like mine? It's really a little creepy, I have to admit. Though it's not as bad as my first edition, where I was a person made up entirely of sweets and sugary confections rather than flesh and blood. I had health problems like you wouldn't believe - I could still feel pain and get sick, except every virus affected me in new and exciting and truly disgusting ways - and the Wondertainment people just couldn't get my anatomy to work correctly, so they finally scrapped it altogether. And good riddance, too - in one of my earlier editions, my… ahem… lady parts… dispensed candy. Can you believe that?

So now, thanks to my replacement shtick, I'm basically just like a normal human, except that everyone who sees me loves me. Whether it's platonic, romantic, or more like the love you have for a pet or… the other definitions of love… that's up to the person. Which hasn't always worked out so well for me. But… we'll get to that.

That isn't the only way I'm 'sweet'. I've always had a compassionate streak a mile wide. I'm a really caring person, more than I should be - it's kind of embarrassing, actually. I remember that I used to get some flack for it… and I think I can trust that memory, because I don't think Wondertainment would implant a memory that contradicts my "theme". Unless they're cleverer than I think, playing a bit of reverse psychology on me… But I sincerely doubt they're that smart. You know, during one of their "tweaks" they actually tried to make me stupid. What does that tell you, eh? I haven't forgiven them for that. If there's a single person behind the Dr. Wondertainment moniker, you can bet that person has a penis. Probably a tiny one. Oh, but I'm being spiteful again. Still not living up to my name, I guess.

I don't mind the name Ms. Sweetie as much as you might think, by the way. It's… iconic. Kind of a lame icon as icons go, but in my position, you take what you can get.

Being the only woman on most of the Little Mister lists makes for some interesting dynamics. Several of the other Misters fell in love with me, or at least said they did while also acting like moony teenagers. Like Mr. Mission. And Mr. Storm. And Mr. Feather. And at least half the others who weren't busy seeing me as their mommy. Not Mr. Hot, though, which was kind of a relief (actually, I think Mr. Hot is as gay as the day is long, but you didn't hear that from me). Some women might like that kind of attention, but… not me, not so much. It's not that I'm frigid, it's just that… well, I don't think I'm exactly interested. In men. At all. Which is unfortunate, considering that there's only one other Miss that I know about and I'm pretty sure she's all about the dick.

Did any of that sound harsh? I didn't mean it to. I like them. I really do. I care about them, even. I like them all, even Mr. Stripes. All except…

Redd. Mr. Redd.

I still remember. Wondertainment tried to wipe my memory over and over but it wouldn't take, not for this. That's fine by me. I don't need to sugarcoat or forget. I keep my distance from the emotions, sure, but I remember all of it. I remember how he raped me over and over again, and how when he got tired of my natural orifices he cut new ones. I remember how he'd cut off my fingers and toes and then sew them back on, and how he moved up to my other body parts when he got bored with those. What he did with my eyes and my lips… And the other things, the worse things, that I'm not going to mention because if I say them aloud then I don't know how I'm going to avoid feeling something. But I assure you, I remember everything.

Am I afraid of Mr. Redd? Oh, yes. But that's not all I feel about him.

I have to find him. I need to get to him before Mr. Stripes, or Mr. Mad, or any of the others.

Not all the others know the specific details, but some of them saw a couple of the things he did. He showed a few of them, actually, forced them to watch, even forced them to help. Most of the others heard about it, of course. Word gets around. Now, apparently, a whole bunch of them are coming for Mr. Redd. I didn't send them, but when you're the only woman in a roomful of guys, the men either objectify you or put you on a pedestal or both. Which means that I may as well be Ms. Damsel-In-Distress, and they are all Mr. White-Knights.

I suppose I can't object too much. It wasn't just me he hurt. I'm not even sure I was the worst. Just the most public.

But I don't want them to find Mr. Redd. Because I'm not a damsel in distress. As much as Wondertainment has tried to make me that way. The others, they talk about avenging my memory, like I'm dead and gone like some ordinary human. But they're really just avenging the way I was before - innocent, naive, …stupid. Yeah, I'll never go back to the way I was before, but I'm still here. I don't need their efforts. I'm a victim of torture and rape and murder, but I'm not just a victim.

And I've got plans. Not just the obvious. Sure, I've got the handgun in my pocket, and yeah, I'm gonna at least try to shoot him in the face. But that's just for starters. I keep starting to get cocky about my chances, but when I'm being honest, I expect to go down for a while when the endgame starts. I know Mr. Redd. You can't beat him head to head like that. But it'll all unwind by the time it's over. You wouldn't believe the kinds of resources and connections you can pile up when everyone thinks they love you.

What was the name of that old poem? From that collection they gave me when they were trying to make me properly feminine? Ah, yes. "Vengeance is sweet."

See? It even fits my theme.

Mr. Redd

is mine.

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