Chapter VIII: Anamnesis
"Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces."
― Richard Kadrey
Seeking out the others at this point was vital. Ama knew that Ruvik was on the prowl, more dedicated than ever, and that meant that they all now stood on the precipice of disaster. She needed to find the others before he did.
Jimenez was her first target, but he proved infuriatingly evasive. She searched for him, but each time he drew near, he retreated upon noticing her. She could barely keep up with him— this man that had supposedly "created" her and vied for her aegis was now openly fleeing in the face of her presence.
With the elder researcher content to dodge around her, Ama had no choice but to turn her search elsewhere. If she could not save him from the wrath of Ruvik, then she would save the others.
Sebastian was the first she managed to locate, albeit with great difficulty. He was in the safe haven of his own mind, making it harder for her to penetrate the asylum-esque facility in which he dwelled.
When she finally managed to infiltrate the lobby, however, she found the detective standing front and center. He was staring long and hard at what seemed to be a posted article attached to a bulletin board, with his stern features clenched in concentration. Brows clenched, lips pursed, jaw tight and nose slightly crinkled; all of these were signs of discontent.
The swaying sound of her dress dragging against the dusty tile flooring alerted him of her arrival, and he turned with a start.
"Ama!" Sebastian's voice was a welcome surprise, and the woman rushed to his side, a breath of relief blossoming on her lips.
"Detective, thank heavens you're alright! You're a hard man to find."
"So are you, evidently."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Mind explaining what the hell this is?" His voice was impatient and a bit befuddled, and the blue eyed program paused, batting her lashes in confusion. Without further delay, the investigator tore his prior object of interest from the board and dropped the crumpled newspaper article into her hands. Ama frowned as she read the headline.
Volunteer Worker at Beacon Mental Hospital Goes Missing
"That's...very unfortunate, Detective, my condolences if you knew them, but I'm not sure what I— " She began, but Sebastian pressed a fingertip to the article itself, and her breath hitched when she saw the picture depicted.
It was a portrait of herself.
"Read it. Out loud."
She glanced up at him, swallowing heavily before allowing her focus to drop back down to the article. After sucking in a tremulous breath, she did as she was told.
"Amara Carlisle, age twenty-eight, has not been seen since last Tuesday. She works as a doctor at the town's local hospital, and recently took up volunteer work for Beacon Mental Hospital. If you have seen this woman or have information about her whereabouts, please contact…" She trailed off then, unable to continue. Her lips moved, attempting to form the words, but she was unable to.
She knew the truth now, had recently come to the revelation that she was not truly a program, but seeing such confirmation was no less jarring. Mobius had blocked all of her worldly memories, and Jimenez had been lying to her from the very start about so many things, she wasn't completely positive about anything anymore.
"The doctor, that Marcelo guy, explained to me what this place is." Sebastian's statement cleaved through her thoughts, though the aforementioned name warranted a surprised glance.
"You saw Jimenez?"
"Yes, why?"
Good, then he's still alive. But for how long that will last is certainly a matter for debate… Ama bit her nail gently as she mulled over the thought.
"If you already know what this place is, then I suppose it will do no harm if I explain this," she gestured vaguely towards the article then, "to you."
"That would be nice." The detective grunted, and Ama sighed quietly to herself, pacing forward several steps to place the newspaper down onto the front desk. The woman behind the counter ignored her entirely, as if she didn't see the other woman. They were relatively protected in this place, for it was a safe haven, and Ama supposed now was as good a time as any to enlighten Sebastian.
"If you had asked me about what I am and what's going on here just a short while ago, I would have told you that I was a program, created by Jimenez to balance Ruvik's vengeance and stabilize STEM." She began, watching the skin around the bridge of her listener's nose crinkle in bewilderment.
"A program?"
"Well, I suppose that's technically what I am. But I have a body, as you know. I'm connected to it, I just can't recall any of my memories before being created by Jimenez, as he would have me believe."
"So you're saying that he's the one who kidnapped you?" She could practically hear his brows furrowing in concern, and it brought a tiny smile to her ever so serene features.
"It's very likely. Ruben is determined to kill him; although I suspect that was his intention all along, regardless of whether or not I had been wronged by the doctor."
"Ruben? Do you mean Ruvik? The crazy guy who we're all linked to by...whatever the hell this STEM system is?"
"The very same." She confirmed, and even though she probably should have, she was not anticipating the abrupt change in the detective's demeanor.
"You've been around him an awful lot lately. Just what the hell is going on between you two?"
Ama stared at him blankly for a long moment, unable to truly process what was being implied until a short while later. Only then did her wide eyes stretch even fuller, her porcelain cheeks tinting with a fine, subtle hue of pink.
"You— you truly are insane if you think— how could you possibly—" She spluttered, unable to even comprehend how he had drawn such a conclusion. For god's sake, she had only hugged the man once, and no one had even been around to witness it!
"Have you lost your damn mind? He's a psychopathic murderer! He'll kill you!" He argued, clearly taking her flustered attitude as a sign that he was on to something. Ama, on the other hand, was not having any part of his assumptions.
She practically fluffed up like an agitated animal might, sucking in a breath and standing taller in an attempt to match his height— something she failed miserably at. Nonetheless, she faced him defiantly.
"Sebastian Castellanos," she sounded like a scolding mother, "I am a grown woman, program, whatever, and I can certainly handle myself!"
"Clearly not, if you think trusting him is a good idea!"
"I never said—"
"Enough! This is getting us nowhere." He doused the flame before it had room to grow, and his petite companion frowned, but seemed to agree with him. Now was not the time to divide themselves over petty disagreements.
With a dismissive wave of his hand and a rough sigh, Sebastian paced forward a few steps, focusing his attention on a nearby mirror that seemed to glow all the brighter when it caught his gaze.
Ama lingered just a few steps behind, her fingers worrying the fabric of her weathered dress. Words danced on the tip of her tongue, lingering on her lips, and it took her longer than normal to dislodge them.
"Sebastian." Rare were the moments that she referred to him by name, and despite the gentle nature of her tone, there was an underlying tinge of grimness about it. "I will not let him hurt you or your friends, so long as I have a say in it. I promise."
For a long moment, the detective said nothing. His eyes strayed over his shoulder to glance at her, and his hardened features eased ever so slightly. It was almost involuntary; he would like to meet the person who could look into those big blue eyes and not soften up even just a bit.
"I'll hold you to that." He spoke at last, the sound of shattering glass and a shrill ringing noise severing the otherwise docile moment.
Ama followed the detective out of the sanctuary, finding herself suddenly standing beneath pale moonlight in an overgrown garden. A house stood in the near distance, and the program frowned subtly to herself as she examined it.
The architecture was that of an old-fashioned, archaic style, and the place seemed to have been neglected for quite some time. Not that any structure in this forsaken place was well kept, that is.
"I've seen this house before." It was a notation made more for the detective's own ears than hers, but Ama couldn't help but to sympathize with the inference. This place felt oddly familiar. Perhaps it was because she was, by all technicalities, a part of Ruvik's own mind and therefore aware of all the different environments of STEM, but this place...Ruvik had never let her near this place. That was both a matter of intrigue and concern for her. She was intrigued simply because of the fact that it was unexplored territory, and concerned because Ruvik would likely pursue them aggressively if it was indeed true he did not wish others in this particular place.
The heavy groan of a door startled the detective and put his petite companion on alert, but when she saw a familiar lab coat and wary blue eyes, she started to rush towards the door.
"Doctor!" She called out to him, her heart plummeting to the pits of her stomach when he dragged Leslie along with him, feigning ignorance to her pursuit. He was acting as if she didn't exist, dragging the albino along with unnecessary force in his haste. Something itched inside of her; some instinct to protect and defend the pale patient from even Jimenez, and it drove her forward with renewed vitality.
"Doctor, wait! You must listen! I—" The door to the manor slammed shut in her face, and she barely managed to catch herself before she collided with the cold wood.
She pounded her fist against it, biting her lip in frustration as she attempted to pry the heavy door open by the dual brass doorknobs. The doctor must have barred it with something, because it wasn't budging.
"Detective, I could use a hand, if you'd please!" The request was so painstakingly polite, but underneath that courteous air, there was an undertone of: "Get over here this instant damn you, this is important!"
Delivering a swift yet effective kick to the center of the double doors, Sebastian managed to dislodge whatever was hindering their entrance.
"Well, that's certainly one way of going about it..." Ama said breathily, gathering up the edges of her flowing dress in her hands as she rushed forward into the estate.
Jimenez was already shuffling Leslie towards a rather ominous door; the likes of which appeared to be solid steel.
"Doctor—!" The door slammed closed, heavy and strong, and she and the investigator were left alone, with only the echo of the slamming doors to taunt them.
"Now what?" Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging the skin there in a futile attempt to quell a rising headache.
"We find them before he does." Ama spoke with surprisingly determination, swiveling on her heels as she set her path towards what appeared to be an empty dining room.
There was nothing of particular interest in the disheveled space, save for a single note left on the edge of the table. Her hand gravitated towards it, her eyes skimming over the handwriting. It seemed...unnervingly familiar to her.
Clenching her jaw as an agonizing throb settled in the back of her skull and the world blurred around her for a moment, Ama feared that she was falling under their collective host's influence, but her headache seemed to have a different origin this time around.
"This isn't your handwriting, Jimenez. Who wrote this?"
"Did you hear that?" Ama inquired in astonishment, her trimmed brows lifting higher on her forehead in surprise, and Sebastian paused to listen.
"I didn't hear anything." He replied, eyes straying to his companion, "Why? What did you hear?"
"It..." She began hesitantly, replacing the note on the table and tentatively wringing out her hands on her dress, "it sounded like...my voice."
The pain in the back of her skull suddenly surfaced front and center, and she doubled over, clutching at her head firmly in an attempt to block the pulsating agony. When she managed to stabilize herself, she found herself alone in the dining room.
"Detective?" She called out to him in concern, spinning on her toes as she searched for him, "Sebastian?"
"Doctor Carlisle— the gentleman from Beacon is here to speak with you." The disembodied, polite voice startled Ama, and she whirled around, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of an alarmingly familiar face in the form of a liquified spectre stride into view.
The woman wore a long white lab coat, her waist-length brunette hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She carried a stethoscope around her slender neck, and a blue collared shirt peeked out from beneath her uniform.
Ama stood, partially frozen in fascination and shock. That was her face. She was standing in front of a moving image of herself. What was happening? Was this...a memory of hers that Mobius had kept sealed away? But why was it surfacing now, of all times? And how?
"Send him in, please." Her tone was temperate and calm— a tone identical to Ama's, because it was Ama.
Despite the unnerving situation she found herself in, the program was almost ecstatic to catch even the smallest glimpse of her human life, considering she knew nothing of it. She watched as a man entered the room then, and was once again stunned to see a familiar face.
A transparent figure of Marcelo Jimenez stood front and center, smiling amiably at her past-self.
"You must be Dr. Amara Carlisle, it's so wonderful to meet you at last. I apologize for the delay, I'm sure you understand that hospital life can be...rather preoccupying."
Sure— if you're doing experiments on unwilling patients. The words darted through Ama's mind before she could stop them, and she sighed quietly to herself.
Her spectral self smiled sympathetically at the older man, setting aside a clipboard with jotted down notes on it.
"Of course. Now, what is it that you wished to discuss, Doctor...?"
"Jimenez. Dr. Marcelo Jimenez."
The two figures vanished then, leaving Ama to abruptly writhe in pain as a fresh wave of agony washed over her. Her head felt abnormally heavy, and she had no doubt her sudden and violent migraines had something to do with Mobius. If she had to guess, they most likely didn't care for her uncovering her memories.
"I know what you're trying to do, Ruben, and it won't work!" She called out to thin air, her eyes sweeping over her surroundings.
It was a daring assumption to think that he was behind this, but it was a reasonable one as well. Besides herself, he was the only one with conscious influence of this place. He was the only one who could manipulate such visions and flashbacks. He was trying to force her to recollect all that she had forgotten, so that she might see how she had been wronged, and lose interest in protecting Jimenez and the company that backed him.
"No matter what you show me, I still say that two wrongs don't make a right!" She cried out louder this time, but instead of receiving a response, the world altered around her yet again. Suddenly, she found herself surrounded by a memory of an entrance lobby; one that belonged to Beacon Mental Hospital.
All that was missing was—
Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. Striding into her field of sight, the ghastly projection of Jimenez led her past-self along, pointing out a few things on the way.
"It's so wonderful to have an esteemed woman such as yourself among our ranks. I do hope that you find everything to your liking here."
"You speak as if I'm staying permanently," Amara mused kindly, "I'm only here for a few weeks on volunteer work, Doctor."
Jimenez wrung his hands out in his coat then, smiling wryly.
"Yes, yes, of course! The patients are down this wing, please follow me."
The figures dissipated, but words and faces lingered still yet. They were inescapable, and they swarmed her consciousness, nearly overwhelming her. It was disorienting to remember nothing of who you were, and then be forcibly reminded, all in one fell swoop. Her head was reeling, and her skull felt as if it were splitting in half. Ruvik was trodding in memories that Mobius had taken great care to oppress, and it was causing her a great deal of discomfort to put it mildly.
"Ruben, please, this isn't helping. I—" She began, but his assault on her memories was relentless. He was determined to make her see— to have her turn against those she fought so hard to protect.
Again the world churned and morphed around her, dropping her in a different setting. This time, it was an office of sorts, and Ama could only watch as another episode from her past unfolded before her.
The apparition of herself sat at a desk, pouring over papers that showcased handwriting identical to that of the dining room note she had picked up a while ago.
Amara was focused entirely on the papers, and the only thing that caused her to turn was the sound of frightened whimpering, and bare feet pattering against the cold tiling of the hospital.
She rose to her feet with intentions of making her way towards her office door to inspect the noise, but a tremulous figure suddenly flung open said door and came barreling in, entirely unannounced.
He seemed terrified, and had he not been so muddled in his aghast state, she had faith he would have simply kept running, potentially straight into the wall opposite of him. But as it were, he stumbled a bit from the force at which he had flown into the room, and his flight was halted. Amara quickly caught him, causing him to yelp in fear at the unknown touch.
"Steady— steady now, it's alright. It's alright!" Her voice was ginger; cordial and consoling as she slowly smoothed her hand down his back, rubbing it comfortingly. The pale skinned boy stilled beneath her touch, though he still quivered like a frightened animal.
"Go home...Go home...Go home..." He chanted, his large, sad eyes remaining downcast as the kindly doctor hushed him soothingly.
Amara's eyes skimmed over his features, and she frowned heavily as she took note of the battered state he was in. There was bruising near one of his eyes, a sign of neglect, and his teeth were rotten and chipped; there was no telling what sort of physical damage lay under his dirtied white coat that she could not see, either.
"What's your name, dear?"
"Le...Leslie..." His speech was broken, and he stuttered openly in the face of the question.
"Well, Leslie, you certainly made quite the entrance." She crooned tenderly, tucking away a dirty strand of white hair that hung in his face. He sniffled, but did not recoil, so she took his hand ever so carefully. His skin was cold and pallid, whereas her touch, in comparison, was warm and thoughtful.
"Are you alright? What were you running from?"
"Running, running, running..." He began to shake again, but fell silent when Jimenez rounded the corner, entering the room unannounced.
"Leslie! There you are, thank heavens!" He made a beeline straight for the boy, and carefully pried him away from Amara. The latter seemed none too pleased about this, especially not as she observed the way the patient teetered on his feet, wobbling and shaking as if he feared this man. Something had spooked this poor boy terribly, and that didn't sit well with her.
"Jimenez, what's going on? He came running into my office, as frightened as a deer caught in headlights. There had better be a good explanation for his poor condition, too." Her voice was firm and authoritative, completely foreign when compared to her normal docile and mild tone.
But the woman of her memories, the woman that was Ama herself, was furious at the case of the mistreated patient.
"Leslie is a special case here, to put it lightly." Marcelo grunted as he attempted to restrain the struggling albino, "He sometimes manages to get away from us at times— I apologize if he startled you."
"Release the boy, for heaven's sake! You're scaring him half to death!" Amara demanded, and reluctantly, Marcelo did as he was told and relinquished the mental patient into her custody. Leslie fled hurriedly to the woman's side, cowering behind her.
"I'm going to examine him for any injuries, and when I'm done, I expect an explanation as to why he's in such poor condition." Her wintry blue eyes narrowed at the other doctor then, and she straightened up, standing tall and protective in front of Leslie, "And if I find evidence of further neglect towards this boy, you and Beacon will have a lot of explaining to do, do I make myself clear?"
Marcelo maintained a relatively straight face, but the way the skin around his eyes wrinkled as he narrowed his gaze at her signified his displeasure at her threats. But what could he say? Denying her demand to examine Leslie would only further raise the red flags, but if he allowed her to survey the damage that had been done to the boy, then she would undoubtedly contact her superiors and report a case of dereliction.
She was not someone whose protests would be casually brushed aside. She was a high ranking doctor with surgical delvings, working for a notorious hospital. Her voice carried weight, and it could bury him and all he had worked for. Damn this woman for her interference!
"Fine, if you must. But see to it that he is returned to my care in an hour." Marcelo reasoned, and was met with a surprisingly sharp glance from the volunteer worker. The only time she was anything but amiable was when the safety and well being of others was compromised.
"He will be returned to you when and if I am sure that you are capable of taking proper care of him." She spoke calmly, but the underlying ice in her tone was enough to cause the older doctor to sigh. Stubborn, infuriating woman.
The spectres vanished, and the world around Ama released a breath she hadn't been aware she had withheld. That was Leslie she had come to the aid of— but what had she been reading at that time? It looked like documents, recordings of research perhaps, and they all donned the same handwriting; the handwriting that looked strikingly similar to the likes she had scrutinized moments ago.
"It was my research." The low bass of Ruvik's voice by her ear startled Ama, and she whirled around, a gasp welling up in her throat.
He stood just a foot from her, his expression hardened and unreadable.
"What do you mean? I don't understand, this doesn't—" She began, her voice a desperate plea, as if she hoped he would be merciful for once and explain things to her. He paced closer to her, and the space between them grew slimmer.
"You found my research. The research that Jimenez stole from me and published under his own name. You were close to unearthing more than he was willing to let you; you were too near a revelation. Even with that matter aside, your threats to take legal action against Beacon marked you as a threat. Mobius and Jimenez needed to be rid of you." He stopped mere inches from her breathless figure, reveling in the helpless look in her bright blue eyes, "They needed to silence you, because you asked too many questions."
"Ruben—"
"My name is not Ruben, and yours is not Ama." His voice lowered, close to a growl, and his eyes flashed as he looked down at her, "I left that name behind for a purpose. Ruben died in the fire. I am Ruvik."
His words were so dark, so chilling and raw that it forced her to take a step back, only to find that some outside force kept her frozen in place. Fine, if this was the hand he dealt her, then she would gladly play. If he wanted to dig around in her brain and dredge up forgotten parts of her, then she would return the favor tenfold. It was high time that he realized she was not some damsel in distress who was helpless in his grasp. She could poke as many holes in him as he could her. Her methods of doing so, however, were not nearly as brutal as his own.
"You're wrong." She whispered, her eyes searching his, "A part of you is still Ruben. Deep down inside, there's a fragment of you, a small shard, that is not lost. You've let yourself become consumed by your vengeance and hate. You cannot see the light because you've blanketed yourself in darkness."
He seemed to be growing weary of her attempts to pluck at the heart strings he no longer harbored. He sent her hurtling backwards then, the chairs at the dining room table scattering from the blast as she collided with the wall.
The oxygen rushed forcefully from her lungs in one sharp, involuntary exhalation, and she scrambled for purchase on the cabinet next to her. Ruvik was drawing near again, and his features were cold and flat. She was not deterred.
"It's alright, you know." She murmured, wiping at the small droplet of blood that bubbled up on the corner of her lips from the impact, her eyes softening as she looked at him, "Even if you yourself deny it, I know that you aren't entirely evil. Deep down inside, there's a little boy still grieving over his losses, and scrambling for the light. Why else would you try so hard to create a place that would let you regain all that you had lost?"
If looks could kill, his glare would have burned a hole straight through her cranium. He was angry now, provoked by her words, and he surged forward with a sudden force. He might have killed her even in that moment, might have abandoned his determination to keep her light as his own, had it not been for her intervention.
She grabbed him gingerly by the collar of his burned cloak, drawing him nearer. His eyes snapped to her own, which were suddenly far too close. Her touch restored his senses and sensations as they always did, and her hand pressed against his cheek, caressing it ever so gently. She truly did believe that he was not all bad. She would make him see the light one way or another, even if she had to forcibly drag him from his darkest shadows.
"Allow me to show you." She breathed, "the discredit you do yourself."
She didn't give him any time to react, because she knew he would retaliate if she gave him an opening. Soft, rosy lips met cold, thin lips in a contrast of bitter and sweet. He tasted of blood and ashes; of resentment and malevolence. But the way he stilled entirely, unable to move or even function when presented with this act of affection, betrayed the truth of the matter— beneath all his festering hate, he was still human at his core.
And he could feel that; feel her. The soft brushing of her roseate lips, the sweet caresses of her wisp-like breaths mingling with his own. Whereas he tasted of everything toxic and dark in this world, she tasted like a droplet of summer rain, and felt like the light of dawn. It was intoxicating, infuriatingly so, considering she seemed pleased to have proven her point.
But Ruvik was nothing if not adaptive. He knew how to turn a situation in his favor.
Regaining his bearings, he descended upon her like a wolf at a feast, devouring his little lamb's light and hoarding it for his own. His lips were relentless against hers, his fingers leaving purple marks on her pale flesh. She was pliable beneath his grasp, willing and patient and his, and he grew drunk on this knowledge.
She belonged to him, and no one else. This insufferable woman, the one who could stir in him such forgotten things, the one who could restore him to what he had been all those years ago, was his alone.
His lips ghosted across her own before moving across her nose, then to her cheeks, and finally to her jaw and neck— never kissing, barely touching; just gliding. It wasn't an outright affectionate gesture, it was more like he was studying her, memorizing the feel of her snowy white skin. He had only ever felt it beneath his fingers, so it was certainly a new sensation entirely to feel her silken skin beneath his lips. He was fascinated, his wonderment bordering on smothering, nearly childlike even, but it was her fault. Her and her accursed touch that restored him to how he should have been; renewed in him the sensations that his deadened skin had long since been numb to. They exploded across his nerves like a thousand fireworks, breathing life into him again. It was exhilarating, and he equally cursed and praised her very existence because of it.
He came across her pulse point then, the throbbing radiating rhythmically beneath the soft, vulnerable skin of her neck. Her heart was racing because of him; a healthy mixture of what could only be described as muddled attraction, mixed with a fine balance of fear. Suddenly, a surge of twisted possessiveness overcame him, and he caged her between his body and the wall, relishing the way she shrunk back as if she were frightened. But she wasn't.
He sunk his teeth mercilessly into her skin, causing her to cry out as he drew blood. She squirmed, flinching slightly at the sensation.
"You are mine." He declared with an air of finality when he pulled away, leaning back to examine his work as if he had made a fine incision on her skin with his research tools, rather than his canines. He seemed relatively pleased with his handiwork, as it were. The single trail of blood that oozed down her neck seemed all the more vibrantly colored against her alabaster skin, the pale tones creating a pleasant contrast of carmine and ivory.
When she looked at him then, she did not try and correct his claim. She simply watched him, her doe-like eyes prying deeper and deeper beneath his skin, managing to wedge itself firmly under the toughest layers. Their wills clashed, and neither seemed willing to back down. But their approach towards each other was, as usual, worlds apart.
Ruvik's gaze was demanding and suffocating. It radiated dominance and sovereignty, whereas Ama's gaze was benign and tame. No matter what, they always seemed to remain as opposites. Her hand flitted up to his cheek again, and she smiled tenderly at him.
His hand ensnared her wrist, clenching it a bit too tightly in his grasp. It was almost saddening to see how he went about this sort of thing, as if gentleness had never played a role in his life. His actions, his intentions, were always rough and unyielding. But despite all of this, Ama felt herself nearly floored with the realization that she was not bothered by this. In fact, it stirred in her an urge to help him learn; to help him understand what it was that he failed to comprehend.
He did not have to tell her time and again that she was his. He did not have to chase her, trap her, corner her, or fling her to and fro with his exasperating abilities. She would come to him if he asked it of her; would flee to his side if he needed her.
How long had she walked this world of his, thinking that he was the enemy? Now her perspective had tilted entirely, and everything she knew was thrown off kilter. And there he was, in the center of the chaos, gloriously resentful and dark. And even if she did not agree with his methods, with the way he treated others and his plans for them, somehow he had managed to chip away at her resistance towards him. It was with a start that she realized this, too.
Somehow, somewhere along the way, she had grown a soft spot for him. She had let her guard down, and now he was beneath her skin like a malicious disease that would devour her from the inside out. That was dangerous; alarming and unacceptable, but yet she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
"I know." Her words were quiet, whispered even, but they warranted an unreadable glance from Ruvik. He hadn't anticipated her to respond to his claiming of her, his declaration of ownership, and he certainly had not been prepared for that particular response.
She continued to baffle him in every conceivable way.
Her smile widened, and she stood on the very tip of her toes, cupping his face and bringing him down to her height so that she could press a chaste kiss to his forehead. He still didn't quite know how to respond in those situations, and Ama supposed that was best for now, seeing as how she didn't want her head being sent hurtling off her shoulders if he decided he didn't like her gestures of fondness.
Ah, but if Sebastian could see her now, she was certain the detective would lapse into cardiac arrest.
"Thank you for returning my memories, even if they were just a few." Her tone was gracious, and she fled from his grasp then, retreating from his still distracted figure.
"But I will not kill anyone that is hooked up to this machine, Ruvik. I simply will not do it, and you cannot persuade me to change my mind, no matter how many memories you show me." Her voice wafted away, retreating into the depths of his home— the likes of which he did not take kindly to others exploring— and he couldn't be bothered to pursue her.
She was a white-hearted lamb in the jaws of a ravenous wolf, after all. Even if she thought she was free of him, she would never truly be.
[So I was going to hold off on the kiss scene, but oh hey look, my fingers slipped. Whoops. At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!
MobMotherScitah: I firmly believe I've been bitten by the inspiration bug, because I can't seem to stop writing updates for this story. With that being said, it's good that you enjoy the updates, because I've been spamming them as of late it feels like! Ah, I'm glad to hear that you didn't happen upon any mistakes! I try and make it a point to proofread my writing, but sometimes my brain automatically corrects mistakes it sees, so I end up missing a few in my writing. ^^; You're pretty spot on with that description, that was very well thought out! Yes, her physical body grounds her (and acts as the string you mentioned). I'm glad it wasn't overly complex or hard to understand, and thank you so much for your review, dear! ^^
musicmiss18: I'm so glad to hear that, thank you so, so much! Keeping a natural and fluid flow to the story is always a concern of mine, considering I'd hate to add in anything too suddenly or too abruptly. Ah yes, even though they're pretty close now, she still refuses to submit to his murderous antics, haha. Hmm, what an interesting question! We shall see. C; Thank you so much for your review, dear!
Guest: Thank you so much! I'll certainly do my best to keep updating this story at a frequent pace, and to continue to please in future chapters! Thank you so much for your feedback, kindly reviewer! ^^
Aizawa Mei: Aww, I'm so glad you thought that scene between them was cute! Ruvik needed the hug, and Ama was happy to deliver. I'm so glad you guys are wondering if she's going to save Jimenez from Ruvik; that makes things much more interesting on my side and what I'm planning on having happen. C; Thank you so much for your review, dear!
Savage Kill: You're correct! Ama's physical body is currently comatose, while her mind (the programmed part) is the one in control, but Mobius (it does sound like some sort of fungi/cold, doesn't it?) is blocking her memories so she doesn't recall who she is. They're doing so in order to keep her entirely focused on what she thinks she was created for, which is to purify STEM. Can't doubt or question your mission if it's literally all you know, right? Ah yes, I've actually been writing a lot of these updates on my phone as of late. I downloaded google docs on my iPhone, and it's super easy to jump from my phone to my computer to upload the doc using that method. ^^ This entire chapter was written on my phone that way, actually. At any rate, thank you so much for your review, dear! c:
Kat: Yeah, Jimenez has done some pretty terrible stuff, hasn't he? Personally, I have a bit of a grudge against him considering he practically stole Ruvik's research and then ganged up on him to have him killed (even though his brain lives on in STEM), but that's just me being a bit biased. I'm glad you're anticipating the chapter updates; thank you so much for your review, dear! ^^
Guest: I'm glad! Hopefully I'll be able to update regularly, since I really do adore writing this story. Thank you so much for your review! ^^
XxAlexMarihaReyesxX: Ah, thank you so much! I'm elated to hear that you enjoy my story, and that you like the connect between Ruvik and Ama! It always makes me smile to hear that sort of thing, so thank you! I hope to continue to please in future chapters. Thank you for your review! ^^
Guest: Surprise; I updated! I hope you enjoy this chapter, Guest! And thank you so much for your review!
