Apr. 3rd, 2014

frater: (I'm snagged by a nervous twitch)
[personal profile] frater
[ by all means, he should be dead.

No, he is quite sure that he was dead. The memory is chillingly crisp - Rion's grip around his throat, the pain, their words, that darkness. His pain had been great but fleeting. Then there was nothing.

Nothing, and then this.

The sound of his Mother's tower does not rouse Cain from endless sleep, but it is not long after that the sound of footsteps from the lower levels does. Unexpectedly, he finds his fingers curling against the ground, the neurons in his enhanced brain firing again as if he's a car that's been jumpstarted (in reality, this is not far from the truth.) He pulls himself to his knees - his entire body feels numb and tingling, and where it doesn't, it aches, but the sensation is only a minor annoyance to him, because Galerians are born to suffer through their lives. What is troubling is that he does not understand why. There are many things Cain doesn't understand; he was a defect, an imperfect clone, and Mother rarely let him leave the comforting red confines of the Mushroom Tower, assigning him a different purpose than the rest. His siblings knew far more than he did about this damnable planet they were trying to change. But he doubts even Rita could explain what just happened to him.

He tries to gather his thoughts. Focus. When he listens, he cannot feel the faint buzzing in his ears that indicated the presence nearby of any of his kin. Was Rion dead, then? Somehow, it's a bittersweet concept, but it's one he can't linger on now - he notices secondarily just how quiet it is around him. There's no thrum of energy from the endless number of wires, servers, and every other piece of machinery that powered Dorothy's mind. There's silence. The round room, which had been so like a womb to him before, warm and alive with noise, was suddenly, noticeably different, all at once - a red, bloody echo chamber. Then Dorothy, too, was --

Ah. So that was it. That's why he's here now.

The sardonic smile that curls onto his face as he laughs to himself (or at himself) is dark. A tool to the end, of course - he never expected more. It was his greatest joy, he thinks and pleads. But he doesn't have time to think about it more now. There were humans coming up the tower from below. He can hear them and feel their presence, too - probably officers, police of some kind, coming to inspect the damage. Cain could not allow himself to be caught by them, or he would ruin everything further. It's at once surprsingly easy for him to destroy the wall of the room of his birth - he was not a sentimental sort, it seemed - and open a path to the outside world. The sky was dark and gray even as dawn approached, thanks to the smog the humans released. No matter. He steps off into it as if he were toeing into a pool, and his telekinesis carries his slight and damaged frame through the air. The pain really is incredible. His head feels like it might burst - for some reason, it's funny to him, and he can't bring himself to care.

His work isn't over. He had not failed yet. He had to find Lilia - there's a voice, an instinct, deep in his nerves that urges him to do so. So he enters the city and searches, opening his mind to scan for her. All it would take is a single psychic call from her. ]

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A SIBERIAN MUSEBOX

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