Prophecy #9
Concerning Lanchia
He cried all night after his first kill. He never realized how precious life was.
Yet, he killed again. For the same reason. Protect the family. Be a man. Be strong and protect the family.
It was starting to make sense. Killing? It didn't bother him so much.
Skin turned to metal, nerves to wires. He stopped feeling. Stopped crying.
Numbed. His feet relaxing in a bucket of ice water. Memory fresh with blood and guts.
Still numbed.
On the narcotics they piped into his brain. Rotting in Vendicare. Pickling like a pig fetus. The air mask biting his face, the metallic water wrinkling his skin. The electrodes short-circuited again. His eyes shut tight, relishing those magnificent rainbows. Flaming buzzing rainbows. The electricity scampering around his cerebellum, igniting his inner circuitry.
How can they not believe in mind control? The brainwave decoders in a distant chamber puked graphs onto a concrete floor.
Thesis: Are monsters different than normal people?
Thesis: What makes a man kill everyone he loves?
Was it really all that cursed boy's fault? With the strange eyes?
No.
The witness couldn't be blamed.
Green water, yellow electricity, blue eyes, and red red wounds had no place in a heart beaten monochromatic.
