Adapting to Life on the Outside
Written for the prompt : Dark Angel, Alec, certain noises trigger memories of Manticore
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Adapting To Life On The Outside
It's hard at first. The initial rush has gone, the adrenaline high of escape and stay out of sight, undetected is past and now it's the day to day survival he's got to master.
He's got the skills they taught him to rely on and the experience he gained on missions, but he knows there are gaps in his memory, places where what he knows falls short, doesn't make complete sense. He knows what that means, re-indoctrination, brainwashing . . . somewhere along the line they played with him like a toy, changing out the parts they didn't like and dressing him up as someone new, useful and interesting again.
He can't know what that means, not now anyway. Who knows what will break through in the future . . . In the meantime, he's left with the memories he has and they're bad enough.
Some of the sounds that give him pause are innocuous enough on their own, it's fine when he's in the sightline of where they're coming from, knows what they are. It's when they're unexpected that there's a surge of fear that passes through him.
Raised voices in the distance sometimes find him standing to attention, waiting for his own inspection. He knows it's stupid but it's just so ingrained that he's got no control.
Footsteps in the dark down a corridor outside his apartment and he's reminded of guards patrolling the hallways outside his cell or barracks. It sends shivers down his spine as he remembers the fear that accompanied those guards. The lost children taken away and never seen again by the guards, the fear of seizures in case they saw . . . That's a fear that will never leave. He's had enough seizures in his time to know he never wants another, even without the threat of Manticore and death looming over him. He knows that if they return, if Manticore's last set of adjustments fail and the seizures return, he's never going to be able to seek help. He knows Max knows someone, but he'll be damned if he's admitting it to anyone.
A scream, a sudden bark or dog's yowl all send shivers down his spine as he thinks of wild 'nomalies caged in basements and how close he came to being thrown down there as well.
He's watched enough TV to know his memories aren't normal and to wish more than anything that he could be re-programmed, this time to memories of a childhood with friends and a mother who was soft and kind and thought nothing of picking her little boy up and planting a kiss on his forehead or temple, a mother who cooked and cleaned and treasured him. There'd be a father too, handsome, strong and tall enough to sweep him up and spin him round. There always in the darkest hours to bring his son up strong and intelligent. Safe and protected.
He's heard these things around him and wishes that these are the ones he could have even though he knows he'll never get a world with happy memories. His lot is a memory of Manticore and that is nothing he'd ever want.