Something scratches at your throat at eleven twenty-two. You loudly hack it out of your system before returning to your computer. Several of your coworkers give you an annoyed glance, but it's not like they'd ever say anything. No one says anything to you if they don't have to.
Your name is Aradia Megido, reporter for The Reporting Times, and you are sick of everyone around you.
Your monitor has a short summary of a segment that you'll be presenting tomorrow; some daft clown is trying a new recipe for his restaurant each day for a month. So far the results are not pleasant such as using lizard eyes as a substitute for chicken in chicken noodle soup. The whole scene is a waste of your talents.
You've notice that they are trying to get rid of you. Slowly yes. They're just too scared to outright fire you, but they don't know what they have to fear. Oh if they only knew . . . But in the meantime they are giving you assignments that are more pathetic than the last. You've managed to get better ones by directing 'disappointed' looks at your producers. The last time you thought he made a mess in his pants. What a spineless little rodent for them to even think that they could cripple you with such ideas.
Why don't you just kill them all and take control for yourself?
You wince in pain and cling to your head as the voices begin again.
Own them as your pets and kill them when you are done.
That's not how it works, you explain to yourself.
You're just not strong enough to smash their skulls with your power.
Your head feels like it's splitting. It's not right to kill them.
EXCUSES! Your insubordination is delaying the right of power to our Lord.
You don't even know who that is! Both hands hold your head together.
You have no right to know! You fail to comply to our orders, so what right do you have to know who holds the sovereignty?
You complied with the demands didn't you?
NO! Not enough! You only follow what you felt was 'easy.' If you want to be a true follower then leave this building in a pit and follow our Lord.
You can't do that to these people! They are your friends!
You didn't feel that way a second ago.
Get out of this mind!
Who else would you go to? You have no one left to help you. You made them all fear you; as you have every right to do so.
Please . . . Stop . . .
"Aradia?"
The voice causes you to snap awake and look at the perpetrator. "Oh. Hello Nepeta." It is eleven twenty-three.
The small troll holds a cupcake in front of you. The pastry itself is dolled up with icing to look like a cat; not unlike the outfit Nepeta used to wear when she was younger. "What do you think? I'm giving it to Equius for our moirail anniversary. You remember Equius, right?"
There is no smile on your face, "Yes. He is the Chief of the Police Department. Congratulations. It looks great." You turn back to your work before being irksomely prodded in the shoulder by the petite female. You glance over to the side, "Yes?"
"I would like you to try it!" She offers holding it towards your mouth. "I want to make sure I got the ingredients just right!" You turn back to your computer.
"I'm busy. Ask someone else."
Nepeta persists of course, "Oh but I must insist! You're never too busy to eat a cupcake!"
"Well I don't have the appetite for one. Ask someone else."
"But you're the only person that I can rely on. You know everyone else here would just tell me that it's fine. I only trust 'you' to give me an honest answer."
"I'm no expert, nor do I care to become one."
"Well I'm not an expert either, so eat up!" Nepeta's perseverance is starting to draw a crowd with your coworkers.
Don't you dare to even think of eating a morsel of that foul sweet, the voices in your head command. You have better objectives than to please that child.
Nepeta isn't a child, you respond. And what would you suggest?
Throw it in her face for all it's worth. Her feelings mean nothing to us. If you would have listened to us earlier than this wouldn't be a problem.
You can't just kill her. You look up at the troll's face. She's so sweet and innocent. You know what she's really trying to accomplish, and a small part of you appreciates it when the louder part isn't telling you otherwise. A part of you still remembers the little Nepeta that spent time with you when you weren't with Equius. She was one of your only true friends, and probably the only one left.
Nepeta is a part of you that you're not ready to let go.
You come begging to us, telling us that you'd willingly give up everything to serve our lord, the voices growl. We THOUGHT that we could trust you after you disposed your relationship with that high blood, but if you can't sever all of your ties than what use are you?
Nepeta has been waiting for your response for what feels like hours to you but is only seconds. You reach out for the cupcake and slowly peel off the wrapper as you take a large bite out of it. The rich cake flows down your throat as your stomach welcomes it eagerly.
You continue to eat the cupcake not really noticing the flavors, but just relishing in the glory. Before you know it, the cupcake is gone. Nepeta smiles down on you, "So did you like it?"
You compose yourself before answering, "Yes. I'm sure that Chief Zahhak will love it."
Nepeta smiles and walks off feeling accomplished. You are left with a wrapper wondering if you can nibble at the bits remaining. But when you check to make sure no one is looking you find that your coworkers immediately turned back to their work. Apparently the passion you showed the cupcake was more than they've seen in months.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom.
Idiot. Idiot. IDIOT. Why did you embarrass yourself like that?
We told you. That troll will only make you weak like every other living creature in this forsaken city.
You sit down on a toilet seat in a stall. You run your hands through your hair as you look down ashamed. This isn't you. Months ago you wouldn't have reacted that way towards a simple dessert. But you've been practicing your psychic abilities more and more. More than what's healthy you suppose. The energy is draining on you and you've been skipping many meals. You look at your right hand, at this point your once plump fingers are now boney. Not to mention your hair is losing its sheen and your horns are feeling brittle around the base.
You close your eyes tightly trying to prevent the tears from flowing. You honestly think that you are dying, but you don't dare try to make yourself healthy again.
You are weak! This isn't how a follower of our Lord should act! Stand up! We said stand up!
You stand up from the toilet.
Get out of the toilet box and walk to the mirror.
You comply.
Look at your arm.
You roll up the long sleeve of your left arm. Deep blue scars still linger there but only because you continue to cut yourself there whenever they start to fade. It is eleven twenty seven.
Those scars are a reminder. You are feeble without your psychic powers and without us. You cannot trust anyone to protect you other than us. You should not help anyone else except for us. You belong to us.
You're tired. Too tired. "I need to eat," you tell yourself in the mirror.
No! There are too many plans that you are delaying you must . . .
You do your best to drown them out. It has been a long time since your head was silent.
At eleven thirty eight you are on your lunch break walking to a small café a few blocks away to clear your head and fill your stomach. The streets are mostly empty and nobody notices anything. You are walking practically offline which shouldn't surprise you when you finally run into someone else and drop to the floor.
"Whoa!" he says spilling his coffee over your head. However you react on instinct and levitate the hot beverage with your powers. The troll you ran into stares at you stunned. You messed up big time.
You have the coffee tossed aside and glare at him prepared to do whatever is necessary.
The troll holds his hands up, "Wait let's not do anything murderously here." You don't respond as you prepare the energy around his head. It would just be a quick squeeze and then you run. "No look!" He kneels down and if he was any slower you would have crushed him; however, he lowers his red and blue glasses to reveal red and blue eyes that clearly show psychic energy.
"You're a . . ."
He fixes his glasses back onto his head and holds a hand out to you that you take with little hesitation. He seems nervous of you not knowing what you'll do next. You almost feel bad now that he acts like a little wiggler. You point a finger to a coffee shop, "Want to talk?" He nods obediently and follows you inside. You wonder for a second if he thought that he didn't have a choice.
You wait at a table for two in an isolated corner as the troll brings two fresh cups of coffee to you; he seems eager to avoid you. He sets one down in front of you and looks unsure of the situation.
The troll sits down across from you, "So I didn't poison it or anything." The troll looks away angrily to curse at himself.
"I'm sorry this is just strange. I've never met anyone like . . me."
He blows a raspberry down, "You think I have? It's too dangerous to randomly ask strangers if they 'special.' And I don't mean retarded shit faces."
"How do you know I'm not dangerous right now?"
He gives a smirk, "I don't, but I do know your secret and you know mine." He must be so pleased with himself believing that he is safe.
You take a sip of the coffee and your head clears, "Actually I do know someone else, but I can't say the compromise worked so well. . For either of us"
"Oh I see." He starts to look worried, "Well whoever it was is probably an asshole."
You give a light smile, "In a way, yes she is." Your eyes try to look through his thick glasses, "I don't know your name."
He seems either disappointed or pleased, "I must be a loser in comparison to Aradia Megido; you don't even remember me."
It doesn't surprise you that he'd know you, "I'm sorry but I don't recognize you."
"Yeah you interviewed me one time but it wasn't a real interview I'd guess. You left early in it with something better to do. I'm Sollux."
Now you sort of recognize him, "Oh. Right. Sorry about that." He can tell that you are barely listening to him.
"No I get it. I'm not that interesting anyway. Especially compared to what happened to you afterwards." It is eleven forty-eight
What a cocky-Well you remember him now, "Right my incident." The scars seem to tingle and the voices try to raise their voices but you shut them out. "So you're an officer; which means you know the Chief."
He scoffs, "I totally know the Chief. You do too, right? The big, tough guy?" No you're messing this up, wait he's only trying to prove that he's important enough to be protected, but why did you bring him up? "You've probably interviewed him enough to memorize his sweat stains."
"Oh I wouldn't say that," you lie. "How is it working for him?"
"It pays the bills you could say. He's starting to get frustrated of me."
"Oh?"
"He wants me to take his job. I have the experience and I could surpass him completely and make the entire department more efficient, but I can't. I don't want to draw attention to myself and risk people finding out my secret."
"It can't be that bad."
"I try to convince myself that, but I'd rather not risk it," he admits.
Something is bugging you, "Why is Chief Zahhak trying to be replaced?"
"He's being offered a job as head of security for my girlfriend, pays better I bet."
Your throat suddenly feels dry so you sip your coffee, "Girlfriend? Who is she?"
Sollux starts to look uncomfortable like you do, "Feferi Peixes, the mayor. I thought you knew that." Of course now you really recognize him. This is the troll that is constantly seen around the mayor, but you never paid attention to him. You are the worst reporter.
"Right," you respond. You sip your coffee some more.
"Listen," you look up and see that sparks are starting to swarm under his glasses. "If you hurt her or tell her I swear to Grub I'll-"
"She doesn't even know?"
Sollux looks a little upset, "No."
You tilt your head a little curious, "So how do you . . ." you twist your two index fingers together.
He starts to blush, "Stop that!" he stammers.
You are starting to have fun with this, "Well? Don't you take off the glasses?" This is the most casual conversation you've had in a long time.
"I-I tell her it's an intimacy issue!"
"You've been with her for a while, when are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know." He starts to tap his fingers on the table, "So . . do you have a matesprit or whatever?"
". . It's complicated." You're not sure how much to tell this stranger. Sollux looks away to drop the subject, but you really don't want to. "I got out of a long-time relationship months ago and I haven't dated since."
"Fuck, must have been a shitty break up."
"It was," the more you start to tell him the more you want to. "I broke up with him because we wanted different things." Sollux doesn't respond except for nodding his head listening; it's somehow better than any words. "Excuse me," you say standing up, "I need to get something to eat." You walk off to the counter to purchase a bagel.
What are you doing, you ask yourself. You can't seriously be thinking about telling him about Equius. You hardly know this troll. But . . you know enough about Sollux to ruin him. You feel better talking to him, can it hurt you?
You walk back nibbling on your bagel, and when you sit down you begin to tell him, "I dated a high blood who didn't want our relationship public. That's part of the reason why I was kidnapped, and why I ended our relationship."
Sollux looks at you stunned by your opening information. "Do you talk to anyone about this?"
"No."
He sighs and pulls out a pen. He scribbles down on a napkin and hands it to you. "This is my number. We should stick together and keep each other sane. I'm sure fucking close to snapping. I need to go now, but if you need to talk I'll try to be less of an idiot and try to help. If you want. If you don't want to then toss it. Your decision and I won't bother you again." He stands up, "I need to go back to work. Be careful Aradia . . . When I first saw you I thought you were dead." Sollux turns his back on you, "I'm worried about you. Bye."
As he walks away you finally realize and admit that you are dead. And that you've been dead for a long time. It is twelve o-one.