Hello!
There's just something I'd like to get straight before we go into ISOTA.
CIITBOTE AND LOWTSAR ARE DEAD AND GONE. Or at least, that's what I'd like to pretend. It's been years since I wrote them, and I really feel that I've improved. Finally, I can tell the story I want to tell, and tell it properly (much of LOWT was me trying to recreate the foundation set by CIIT so I could tell this story instead, but it just kinda flopped).
Uh, well, that's about it. Rayton's in this, but he's got more character and a better personality, so let's pretend that CIIT and LOWT are an alternate universe that Mortimer blew up for 'teh lulz'.
In Search Of The Answer: O1
"No," he breathed. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. The sample must have been contaminated, or the machine was wrong- Maybe there'd been interference- or maybe he'd just been tired. Yes. That had to be it. He was just too tired to read the results correctly. He'd look again tomorrow and everything would be right again. Everything would be just fine.
A soft thud came from over by the door as General Paffo dropped down from the 'security hall'.
"Sir?" he called in his warm grumble of a voice, "you're off schedule. Is something wrong?"
Mortimer McMire, the Grand Intellect, tore his gaze away from the screen to face the Nayli.
"Everything will be fine," the boy said calmly. "Everything will be just fine."
Paffo nodded, though he doubted the words.
"Yes, sir," he concurred, taking a step back as Mortimer got up to leave. "I'll get the power switch for you."
"Thank you," Mortimer said as he walked slowly down the hall, hands deep in the pockets of his coat.
Paffo watched him leave, his little brown nose twitching in concern. Then he turned off the lab equipment, shut the door, and resumed his patrol shift.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Mortimer lay in bed, eyes firmly shut. He knew he had to get up. There was no avoiding it. Though it was childish, he still tried. He stared at the painting on his wall for a whole minute before he went to the bathroom. Then, he left the bathroom to grab the clothes he'd purposefully forgotten to take. He compared shirts. Changed his mind about his jeans, only to change it back again. Finally he went for his shower.
After basking as long as he could in the warm torrent of water, he patted the steam off the mirror to stare at his reflection. His heart began to race as all the little things about him that were never that interesting suddenly became terrifyingly important.
Though he knew it to be in vain, he checked again.
Mortimer had no freckles. No moles. No birthmark. His skin was the same, uninterrupted pale tone from his feet to his ears. He'd never even had a blemish.
Tentatively, he raised a hand to his heart. It was on his right side, not left- But that happened sometimes and he'd thought little of it before.
The last and most startling oddity, were his eyes. His mother's were a deep hazel, his father's and Molly's a rich brown. Even Matthew's were a muddy green.
Mortimer's were a dark crimson. There was no fooling himself now. Crimson, no matter how dark, was not a shade of brown. Nor was it a naturally occurring colour in humans.
He looked away. Last night's results only made more sense now. Shaking his head, he got dressed. He wasn't looking at the readout, so there was still that lie, that hope, that it had been no more than a dream.
Hope is the worst of emotions. It brings one up only to let them down.
Mortimer stared once again at the results and tried not to feel like a lie.