Anger, denial, repression, regret, numbness. Numbness, coldness, no pain,
not anymore.
I learned in that first blistering day exactly why the soldier felt no pain. It sent it here to me. The pain which could distract it was banished like all other distractions to this space of grey.
I learned in that first bitter night how to hold it. How to build around it a wall, a wall of mental bricks. Now I mourn even the loss of the pain. Now there is nothing left, not even the insanity.
I am not. I am nothing. What I was fades, I am no longer, and yet I am forced to stay. Ice freezes my eyelids open, fire consumes me without warmth.
How do I live in a hell of my own making, how do I watch her life go on. The fire is her sadness. Consumption, the idea that her tears are shed for me. Torture, that there might have been something there, something that I missed, or something that I saw too clearly but never acknowledged.
The 12 is Pandora's grey box. I let It out, him. All that remains with me is one small spark of hope. I feel it flickering, flagging. I let It out and now I must watch Its betrayal. Anger burns my throat as I watch It. It must have a reason, and if It does not so help me, I will destroy us both.
Conscience safely bolted within, It was free to move on with its plans. 494 had been charged with protecting her.
To It she was a goddess. It would do anything to protect her, and like a deity above, she was not consulted. His jurisdiction to decide what was in her best interests. Towards these ends he had made a neat list of goals.
Friends could not be discouraged; she needed them to stay grounded, to keep interested in day to day life. Love on the other hand, had the potential to make her messy.
Humans and transgenics alike did stupid things when they indulged in heavy emotions. Giddiness left one oblivious to attack; and worse yet, a person in love often felt the need to be nobly self-sacrificing. Therefore, his ward would be gently dissuaded from loving.
Its plan was two-fold. First he would shake her faith in Cale's loyalties. Then he would use psychology like a battering ram, to show her the error of loving a human.
The setup had been simple. A little eavesdropping and a few innocuous questions to Max's friends had told 494 all that he needed to know about the relationship between Max and Cale.
In all reality, It did not believe that they were really suited to each other. Cale was a romantic, Max was passionate. The two qualities were quite disparate and statistically did not make a very strong relationship.
The virus had been the problem. History would seem to indicate that Max wanted things that she couldn't have the unavailable male. As a romantic, Cale was moved by the idea of a beautiful queen, untouchable by him, the lonely knight.
Long-term, Cale needed someone to appreciate the grandiose gestures of candlelit dinners and moonlit strolls on the beach. Max needed someone full of life and desire.
All that It needed to do was get Max to believe in these facts. To 494's advantage, she underestimated its ability to think. Psychology could be hidden neatly in bite-sized innocuous comments.
The only thing lacking was opportunity. Max showed an unfortunate tendency to dislike speaking to him. He needed time alone with her.
That was when it came to him. Cale had been extremely reluctant to help the transgenics break into an honest business. If something were to go wrong with the theft, Max would recognize the gruesome possibilities that Logan might have sabotaged her.
At the same time, he could arrange one of those oddly frequent interludes in which Max and he would be forced to hide from the enemy in a tight space to avoid capture.
Now the only consideration was ensuring that Max would not be injured or captured in the incident. __________________________________
494 watched its watch assiduously, counting down the minutes of safety as it carried crates to Max.
Forty-five seconds of break-time while the camera focused on their area. Max was on the other side of the building, now was the time to strike.
Pulling a painfully concealed pocket-knife out of its wetsuit, 494 walked into the next room and through a door marked "cleaning tanks".
It bent over a sodium hypochlorite tank for a moment. As it walked back to Max, carefully hoisting a last crate, it could here the faint spurting of bleach as it sprayed the floor.
In ten seconds, the electronic sensors in the tanks would register the leak. Ten seconds until the safety alarm sounded, calling a single technician from his warm bed to check the spill.
But Max wouldn't know that the alarm wasn't sounding for her. She wouldn't know that a single, slightly overweight chemist would be the only reinforcements to investigate the alarm.
Picking up its speed, 494 grabbed Max's arm and pulled her carefully into a side room and boosted her up into the ever-convenient heating duct which it had singled out as the staging grounds for their conversation.
Max didn't know that she wasn't in any danger. Somehow it thought that she might relish the rush of fear spurred adrenaline. If It had been capable, It would have been smiling at that moment.
I learned in that first blistering day exactly why the soldier felt no pain. It sent it here to me. The pain which could distract it was banished like all other distractions to this space of grey.
I learned in that first bitter night how to hold it. How to build around it a wall, a wall of mental bricks. Now I mourn even the loss of the pain. Now there is nothing left, not even the insanity.
I am not. I am nothing. What I was fades, I am no longer, and yet I am forced to stay. Ice freezes my eyelids open, fire consumes me without warmth.
How do I live in a hell of my own making, how do I watch her life go on. The fire is her sadness. Consumption, the idea that her tears are shed for me. Torture, that there might have been something there, something that I missed, or something that I saw too clearly but never acknowledged.
The 12 is Pandora's grey box. I let It out, him. All that remains with me is one small spark of hope. I feel it flickering, flagging. I let It out and now I must watch Its betrayal. Anger burns my throat as I watch It. It must have a reason, and if It does not so help me, I will destroy us both.
Conscience safely bolted within, It was free to move on with its plans. 494 had been charged with protecting her.
To It she was a goddess. It would do anything to protect her, and like a deity above, she was not consulted. His jurisdiction to decide what was in her best interests. Towards these ends he had made a neat list of goals.
Friends could not be discouraged; she needed them to stay grounded, to keep interested in day to day life. Love on the other hand, had the potential to make her messy.
Humans and transgenics alike did stupid things when they indulged in heavy emotions. Giddiness left one oblivious to attack; and worse yet, a person in love often felt the need to be nobly self-sacrificing. Therefore, his ward would be gently dissuaded from loving.
Its plan was two-fold. First he would shake her faith in Cale's loyalties. Then he would use psychology like a battering ram, to show her the error of loving a human.
The setup had been simple. A little eavesdropping and a few innocuous questions to Max's friends had told 494 all that he needed to know about the relationship between Max and Cale.
In all reality, It did not believe that they were really suited to each other. Cale was a romantic, Max was passionate. The two qualities were quite disparate and statistically did not make a very strong relationship.
The virus had been the problem. History would seem to indicate that Max wanted things that she couldn't have the unavailable male. As a romantic, Cale was moved by the idea of a beautiful queen, untouchable by him, the lonely knight.
Long-term, Cale needed someone to appreciate the grandiose gestures of candlelit dinners and moonlit strolls on the beach. Max needed someone full of life and desire.
All that It needed to do was get Max to believe in these facts. To 494's advantage, she underestimated its ability to think. Psychology could be hidden neatly in bite-sized innocuous comments.
The only thing lacking was opportunity. Max showed an unfortunate tendency to dislike speaking to him. He needed time alone with her.
That was when it came to him. Cale had been extremely reluctant to help the transgenics break into an honest business. If something were to go wrong with the theft, Max would recognize the gruesome possibilities that Logan might have sabotaged her.
At the same time, he could arrange one of those oddly frequent interludes in which Max and he would be forced to hide from the enemy in a tight space to avoid capture.
Now the only consideration was ensuring that Max would not be injured or captured in the incident. __________________________________
494 watched its watch assiduously, counting down the minutes of safety as it carried crates to Max.
Forty-five seconds of break-time while the camera focused on their area. Max was on the other side of the building, now was the time to strike.
Pulling a painfully concealed pocket-knife out of its wetsuit, 494 walked into the next room and through a door marked "cleaning tanks".
It bent over a sodium hypochlorite tank for a moment. As it walked back to Max, carefully hoisting a last crate, it could here the faint spurting of bleach as it sprayed the floor.
In ten seconds, the electronic sensors in the tanks would register the leak. Ten seconds until the safety alarm sounded, calling a single technician from his warm bed to check the spill.
But Max wouldn't know that the alarm wasn't sounding for her. She wouldn't know that a single, slightly overweight chemist would be the only reinforcements to investigate the alarm.
Picking up its speed, 494 grabbed Max's arm and pulled her carefully into a side room and boosted her up into the ever-convenient heating duct which it had singled out as the staging grounds for their conversation.
Max didn't know that she wasn't in any danger. Somehow it thought that she might relish the rush of fear spurred adrenaline. If It had been capable, It would have been smiling at that moment.