Title: "No One"
Rating: T
Genre: suspense, drama
Summary: The descent to madness was gradual and steady until it was complete.
Notes: The main character had been left out on purpose to keep some mystery in it. It'd be an easy guess as to who it is, though. :) This is inspired by many, many things, mainly by a moment in the Chronicles and listening to Taylor John Williams' version of Tears for Fears' Mad World. (It's an excellent song, by the way. It's very haunting. Very fitting, too.)
There will be a pairing here that many might not like very much, so just be warned. It's not very new, though.
With all those said, hope you enjoy.
The sound of children's and their parents' laughter filled the wide open park. Balloons of different colors increased the lively summer scenery, the airborne items bobbing up and down as their owners strolled happily down the winding sidewalks. There were also numerous people playing in the field, some with their friends, others with their pets. Still others with their kids. It was peace at best.
He watched with a small smile. Contrary to what others believed, he did enjoy witnessing moments of tranquility where nothing seemed wrong with the world. That was why he picked his island home, after all. From that vantage point, everything appeared all right.
Someone took the empty seat beside him. He didn't bother to look to see who it was; he already knew.
"It's mighty generous of the city to let people have free balloons today, don't you think?" the woman said.
"Yeah. It is," he replied.
"You didn't happen to put something in those, did you?" she asked, leering predatorily.
"No. I think children deserve to get things that make them happy, things that actually don't cost for once." His smile became strained. "Did you put anything in it?"
"No. No, I didn't," she said, the malice gone.
The warmth in his expression came back. "Good. I don't like it when others ruin things for me."
She said nothing.
For a moment, they watched as the late morning continued to unfold. The clouds above shifted peacefully along, floating westward as if carried by a gentle, sluggish current. A breeze blew along with it, cooling the green grounds. From a distance, an ambulance siren wailed—only adding to the beautiful noise of the city.
"Do you ever miss it?" the woman asked. "Being so ignorant and happy like they are? I heard it was nice."
He chuckled when he saw a man chase his dog to get the Frisbee back. "I would've, if things were actually as good as this before," he replied.
"So you're happier now."
"When you don't depend your happiness on other people, it makes a whole lot of difference," he said simply. He leaned back. "Did you come for revenge?"
Suddenly, her mood changed.
He knew she was tempted to lie. He looked at her pointedly, warningly, though still with a smile.
"I came to cause chaos," she said, a dark shadow hovering over her eyes.
He slowly released a breath and turned his attention back ahead. "I don't know if they told you, but I do not help with plans of 'world domination.'"
"Why not?"
"It's stupid, childish," he said. "Once you've taken control over everything, then what? Can you handle the responsibility that comes with it?"
She looked away.
"That wasn't what you really want to do, though, is it?" he said. "So tell me, why did you seek me out?"
She took a moment to gather her thoughts. Then, "They took my family, my husband and my son. They are the only ones that I have, and they took them from me."
"You want them back."
"And I want to teach them all a lesson about stealing what does not belong to them," she said. "I heard you and I have mutual enemies in these people."
The smile on his lips stretched farther. "You hear many inaccurate things, Necrosis."
Though unsure whether it was a yes or a no, she didn't push for an answer. She heard doing so would not be in her best interest, and she believed it was one of the very few things that they were actually right about. So she said instead, "If revenge had been my main reason, would you have turned me away?"
"I'm not in the business of getting even. Like seeking control over the world for the wrong reason, I believe that that is a petty reason, too."
"So you do not believe in justice."
"I believe in justice." He glanced at her smilingly. "Just not in how irrational people define it."
"There are stories about you, you know," she said later. "They say you used to be on their side."
"Whose side?"
"The side of the heroes. You used to be one of them."
"Do you believe that?"
"I was told I hear many inaccurate things."
He chuckled. "The fine line between a hero and a villain is often tricky," he said. "Heroes are not always heroes, and villains are not always villains. I've learned that a long time ago."
"Is that why you do this? You've become the evil that they secretly are?"
Another breeze blew through the park, and the sun shone brighter with it. As the rays hit his back, warming his skin comfortably, he was reminded of the person he used to be. How long had it been since I last saw him? "No," he replied to her as the memories of many years ago came to him. "I've become the evil I tried to protected them from."
. . .
It began from another decision he made for them.
There was not much time to think, just to do. He had already stared at the vial for a long while, regarding it like it was the deadliest thing to ever exist on earth. He didn't know it then, but it was. It was going to kill him a few months down the line. However, at that moment, all he could think about were the consequences of not taking what was in it.
He knew he shouldn't have kept the knowledge of this from the rest of his family. He should've told them. They had worked hard to destroy all vials of the liquid bionics when they were on that planet, and they thought they had succeeded.
It was true. Every last drop of those were gone—except for the failsafe ones that the mad scientist stored here on Earth.
He wouldn't have known about it if Gao hadn't have argued with Perry. He revealed some information even after she had already walked out on him. The scientist thought he was unconscious and so couldn't hear him. That was why he babbled. He babbled and ranted and screamed, and within the caustic, erratic words was the revelation of the existence of the remaining vials and their location.
There were two on their home planet, one more potent than the other. Shortly after they came back, he went to where the scientist hid it in then dug it up to erase it from existence. He poured the one that was the most concentrated of the failsafe to the ground first. He was set to do the same with the other, but instinct held him back. Something told him that it might be of use one day, when an emergency arose and everything was hopeless. He didn't want to listen at first, because he knew that going against his initial intention would mean betrayal of his family's trust.
But, his instincts won out. He pocketed it instead then left.
Now, with the crisis facing them, he held onto the belief that it had been the best move. All the students had vanished, and that nefarious roboticist had just revealed that it was her handiwork. If they had to face those androids of hers again, they would be outnumbered. They almost lost the last time.
He shouldn't take the liquid in, but he had to even out the odds. He needed more abilities if he was to be of help.
So, he grabbed a syringe from the med bay and drew out everything from the vial. He took a deep breath, and with his heart pumping wildly in his chest, he inserted the needle on his arm and flushed it in.
It took all his might not to scream.
Once it was over, he got rid of the evidence, and then suited up though he was in pain.
Daniel and the students needed their help. Surely this decision would pay off in the end.
. . .
It didn't work. Evidently not, because while everyone squirmed from the agonizing pain of having their bionic chips burn holes in their necks, he was still fine.
But everything turned out well anyways. He saved them—again—with the 'measly' abilities they made fun of. The students and his family turned out fine, Giselle ended up accidentally ending her own life, and Marcus had been put away for good.
The victory had been sweet—and also short-lived.
. . .
"I'm glad you're all here, because there's something we've been meaning to tell you: I'm pregnant."
You know that means she's replaced you, right?
The voice spoke so suddenly that it caught him by surprise. His reaction, however, was obscured by the congratulatory cheers that broke out around him. His stepsiblings, his step-cousin, and even his step-uncle circled his mother, exchanging jokes and words of excitement for the new child that would soon arrive in their home.
Typical. I guess the only obsolete thing here after all is you.
He schooled his features so it wouldn't show alarm. He glanced around to see if someone had somehow spoken to him mentally.
None. Not even Chase.
His mother mistook his silence and lack of eye contact as unhappiness. The bright grin on her face slowly slipped as she gazed at him. "Sweetheart?" she called to him. "Is that not good news for you?"
They were all looking at him, and he knew what they expected. So, he forced a smile. (He had gotten so good at faking it.) "Of course it is, Mom," he said. "Congratulations."
She needed saving, too, didn't she? Because it would've been embarrassing if her own child wasn't happy for her, the voice said after he took his mother in his embrace. Tell me: how much does it hurt when you lie?
He held onto his mother because he was scared.
She held onto him because she was relieved by the false thought that he was happy.
He could feel that truth in her embrace, and it hurt a lot.
. . .
The voice kept speaking to him the following months, and it terrified him. It spoke to him when his stepsister and stepbrother left, when his father reassigned his oldest stepbrother to supervise one of the headquarters. When his mother's pregnancy began showing. The voice got louder and clearer, and it wouldn't stop.
He told his stepfather about it. His mother, too. He didn't tell them everything that the voice told him, especially the claims that were true, but he told them enough to convince them he needed help.
His stepfather laughed, said everyone hears voices in their head. His mother said that he must be overworked. Maybe he needed a vacation or something. She didn't say it, but she suspected that the impending arrival of his little sister had made him slightly jealous.
The rest of his family—they laughed and didn't believe him, too. That was why the voice only gained more power over him.
It showed him things, ones that weren't real. He also heard voices, many, many others, though these ones didn't speak to him. He found it harder and harder to concentrate. His waking hours became nightmarish on some days, and frequently sleep took his mind to maze-like thoughts, ones he rarely got out from.
He suffered, but they didn't notice. Why would they? With a baby on the way, they concentrated on preparation, preparation, preparation. The hospital bag and the nursery room gradually came together while his confidence and sanity only fell apart.
Eventually, the baby came.
It was the nightmare the voice said it would be. She cried and screamed constantly, day and night. She clung to their mother and demanded her attention every minute like there would be no tomorrow. It wasn't surprising; she was a newborn.
But he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand her wailing and the arguments that sometimes ensued between her parents because they were tired and frustrated.
"Can someone get her to shut up?" he erupted one afternoon after the child had been crying for half an hour straight.
His mother and stepfather stared at him, shocked. "Leo," his mother said, hurt.
The first time in a long time anyone here remembered your name.
They appeared offended, even scared. He didn't care. He needed some sleep, and no one else would bother to make him feel comfortable.
As had always been, he had to work for what he wanted on his own.
A chilling calm washed over him as he caught sight of his sister. She was so tiny and cute. He had always wondered what it would be like to hold her. Would she like him? She cried when her uncle and Bree and Chase held her. Would she cry if it was him? Would she be comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms?
He noticed his stepfather made a move from his periphery. It was almost microscopic, his stepfather's action, but he saw it. The patriarch had noticed the way he stared at his child, and he had shifted to stand in between the mother and daughter and him.
A protective move. There was no mistake about it.
He had never done that for you, has he?
He had. Once.
Just once?
He turned around then retreated to his room. Yeah, he answered the voice. Just once.
. . .
He had seen the pamphlets around the house, and his mother even talked to him about it a few times, but he never thought they would carry it out.
His mother and stepfather told him that the family just wanted to talk to him. The voice was gone now, so he agreed, because he wanted to tell them that he felt so much better. He wanted to tell them that they didn't have to worry anymore, and sorry for everything I've done these past few months.
They were all sitting together one moment then the next – white ropes bound him from his arms to his torso.
Like a straightjacket.
"What – what's this?" he demanded, struggling against it.
"Honey, baby, I'm really sorry we have to do this," his mother told him tearfully.
Two men came in through the front door, and they headed towards him. It didn't take long for him to know what they were for.
He stared at his family in disbelief, in shock, in dismay. He pulled away violently when one of the men tried to tug on him. "Get away from me!" he told him. "Mom! What—Why are you…"
"You need help," his stepfather told him resolutely, somehow sympathetically. He noticed then that his little sister was nowhere in sight. "We found you a great place to stay for the meantime—"
"Oh, now you're gonna 'help' me?"
"—and these good men will take you there."
"I do not need help, I am fine."
"Leo, just a few months ago you told us you were hearing voices," his stepfather said.
"That was a few months ago! Back up!" he said, barking the last two words towards the men from the facility. "I'm okay now!"
"It's all right to get help, Leo," Chase assured him. "There's nothing to be ashamed about."
"You've got me tied up in front of all of you and people I do not know. Talk to me about not being ashamed when you're in my shoes, Chase," he countered bitingly.
There was shame in the genius' eyes, but no mercy. No compassion could be found in anyone's eyes, and there was certainly no understanding.
"That's exactly why you need some time away," his stepfather said. "You have outbursts like this. We're always walking on eggshells when around you, and it's becoming dangerous."
"I've never hurt anyone."
"Yet. What if one day you snap, and you do end up hurting someone?"
"Someone like who, Kira?" he said. "You think I don't notice?"
They said nothing. "A lot of things had happened these past few months, and you're just overworked," his stepfather excused. He forced a smile on his face. "You just need a vacation, somewhere peaceful, where you can get the help you need," he said before nodding at the strangers.
Upon command, the two men grabbed him by the arm. Instinctively, he tried to use the strength given to him – but it was gone. His arm felt unusually normal again.
He glanced at his step-uncle.
The inventor looked away.
He helped the others, too, by taking away his only chance of escape. He was supposed to be on my side.
"Let me go!" he screamed as the strangers dragged him away. He was enraged, but he was terrified and heartbroken above all. "Mom! Please don't let them do this! Mom!"
Through the scuffle, he only got a glimpse of her. She sobbed, hunched over as tears racked her whole body. His stepsister comforted her by warmly caressing her shoulder. Meanwhile, her husband hugged her.
None of them came to help. They really didn't believe him.
Once he was situated inside the van, the strangers assured him that everything would be fine. It's not gonna be as bad as you think. You'll see. Yet, all he could see was the steel partition that separated them from him.
As the vehicle rolled away, he fought against his restraints and the disillusionment from being betrayed by those whom he loved.
. . .
Many days were spent clawing his way out of that horrible room, but he never succeeded. His doctor said he was too angry to stay in a regular room like the other patients, and his temper rendered him too unsafe. So the psychiatrist frequently ordered that he be placed in isolation.
The place was made of cushion, wall to wall to wall to wall, ceiling and floor. It was constructed that way so the patients put in there wouldn't hurt themselves. In the beginning, they trusted him enough to let him stay with his hands free. But after fits of rage seized him, after he ripped some of the structure apart by meager strength, staining it with blood from his burned out fingers, they started binding his hands. They would sedate him, too.
One night, after spending most of his strength from trying to get out, he was left staring at the ceiling. Dried tears stained his cheeks while he gazed at absolute nothingness.
He realized then how tired he was, not just because of what he had done but also of trying. He wanted to see his family. He wanted to see all of them. Even simply hearing their voices would be enough, but the hospital wouldn't let him. They said it would be a trigger. It would only deconstruct the months-worth of work that had gone into resolving his issues.
Had it been months? How long had he been there? Day in and day out, things, places, people, and words had been the same. It felt as if he had lived the same day over and over again. The same week, at best.
No one had visited him, and he asked his doctor why that was so. The doctor said he suggested that none of them come while he was there so the process would go faster. But, he also said, even if they're not here, they still love you.
Love? Were strangely-named medicines and captivity in nearly soundless rooms love?
A chilling calm washed over him, similar to the one he felt when he looked upon his little sister some time ago. This wave, however, was greater, in that it swallowed him whole and stole him indefinitely to oblivion.
He allowed it to take him. It inundated him to the point that it sunk the anger, the grudges, and the trespasses. It drowned out all the feelings until they were there no more.
Along with the deaths of these was the death of the teenager who once had somewhere to call home.
He closed his eyes and took his last breath before darkness came.