By Moony
Chapter Two: They Grow Up So Fast!
Nene stared, slack-jawed, as dozens of horrified thoughts raced through her mind. See what, exactly? See Macky's defective corpse, the result of a odd virus they'd been too late to counter or even identify? See him in an unending coma, the result of endless amounts of excruciating pain?
'Stop being so morbid!' She commanded herself, momentarily clamping down her eyelids.
See him nak—
'BAD THOUGHTS! BAD THOUGHTS!' She shook her head vigorously, straining to hold back a frustrated and exhausted scream. A muffle squeal managed to break through and when Nene opened a single eye, she noticed Sylia giving her a concerned look.
"Are. . . you all right?" She asked, uncertainly. Nene's other eye shot open and she leapt to her feet.
"Fine! Just fine!" She replied, a bit loudly. She took a few steps and stopped, collecting herself. With her back to Sylia, she took several deep breaths and spoke again, her voice calm.
"I'm sorry." She said. Then, almost afraid to know the answer, she continued. "How is he?" Nene turned her head to the side, watching Sylia over her shoulder. Sylia cast her gaze away, tilting her head. Silvery-blue strands fell across her cheek, hiding her expression, and Nene feared for the worst.
"Sylia. . ." She said, and she thought she heard her own voice crack. She didn't care. Through the whole series of events dealing with Galatea, she'd always feared for Macky's safety above most everything else. She'd watched him become endangered to the point of no return and it had driven her mad with anxiety and pain. She'd come to terms with Macky meaning a great deal to her, she thought of him as. . . as a best friend. So why, when Galatea was finished and there was no need to worry about Macky's safety, was he causing her to care so much now? It wasn't fair.
"He's not hurt, he'll live, and he's perfectly fine." Sylia interrupted. Her voice was rigid, leaving no room for argument, but Nene didn't hesitate in elbowing her way in, regardless.
"Yeah? Then what's with the look--"
"Nene?"
"Yeah?"
"Just go see him."
~
Nene slowly entered the room, sneaking in through the door and allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmed lights. She noted Nigel leaning against the far wall, his eyes closed and his arms bent across his chest. He made no move to show he knew she was there, and she turned to study the rest of the room. A series of cabinets were lined up along the right, several of the drawers opened. Syringes, scalpels, and screwdrivers littered a nearby table like a perverse take on a child's bedroom, and a nearby cushioned table provided a makeshift bed for the patient. Nene could see that Macky's eyes were closed, a sheet covering his body, but not his head. She sighed, her shoulders falling dramatically.
He lived! She felt a wave of relief wash over her and she quickly approached the bench. A chair sat next to it, Macky's jacket, shoes, and bandana resting upon its seat. She cast a glance back at Nigel and, upon seeing that he still wasn't watching her, she quickly grabbed the white fabric of Macky's bandana and pocketed it. She didn't know what inspiration she'd had for doing so, but she didn't put it back, either.
'I'll. . . just give it back later.' She thought, her eyes falling on Macky's face. He slept, his face bearing a peaceful expression, and his hair hanging around his eyes. She reached down to flick it away in a fond gesture. A smile graced her lips as she watched him, but it was quickly replaced by a slight frown. She cocked her head, studying his face. Did he really look that different without his bandana on? She didn't think so. Something was off, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
Soft footsteps caused her to look up, and she saw Nigel heading towards her, his expression placid and unrevealing. When he arrived at the bench he took the corner of Macky's sheet in his grasp and pulled it to the side with a yank of his arm. The fabric fell away, revealing Macky's form and favourite clothing.
It took Nene a moment to realize what was different, her eyes widening as soon as her brain was able to process what she was seeing. Macky's usually-baggy T-shirt was tight against his chest, the sleeves coming up to meet his shoulders. The white fabric ended at his stomach, instead of his hips, and his pants fell a few inches short of his ankles, revealing thick bones and enlarged feet that clearly wouldn't have fit into his normal shoes.
"H-he grew?!" Nene's voice cracked again, confusion becoming her most prominent emotion. She shot her eyes upwards, meeting Nigel's' gaze, and whirled around when she heard Sylia's voice provide an answer.
"He aged." The older woman added, "Approximately 4 years, we believe."
Nene blinked, her jaw dropping as Sylia's words bounced around inside her head. Sylia nodded as if to reconfirm what she'd just said, and she turned back towards the door, gesturing for Nene to follow.
"Come, we'll discuss it outside. Let my brother rest."
Nene was about to say that she thought Macky was resting just fine, but she heard a low groan and turned to see him shift uncomfortably. Nigel replaced the sheet and nodded his head towards the door, clearly inviting her to leave.
~
Sylia crossed her legs, sitting uncomfortably on a cold, steel chair. She cast a look of minor disgust around the room, obviously displeased with her boyfriend's choice of furnishings. She shifted around in her seat, but found no satisfaction, and eventually gave up. Nene did not even bother to sit down for a moment, instead staring expectantly in Sylia's direction.
"Nene, please, just have a seat." Sylia commanded, softly. Nene furrowed her brow, but complied in hopes of appeasing to the great Goddess of Information and finally earning some answers. She silently implored for them with demanding eyes, and Sylia noticed the look, casting her eyes downward and daintily picking at the hem of her skirt.
"It appears that Macky has aged." She stated. Nene gripped her knees, digging her nails into their caps.
"I can see that!" She declared, finding her voice at last. Sylia shot her a silencing gaze, but the younger girl merely returned it. The former sighed. She flipped a stray lock of hair over her shoulder and turned to look Nene evenly in the eyes, her expression serious.
"Voomers are made of organic material which allows them to grow. To keep them from doing so in a manner that could impair them in their work, their physical forms are programmed into them, much like their tasks and attributes." She explained. Nene nodded in response.
"I know, that's why when they go rogue, both their attitude and their body change." She stopped, her eyes widening in horror. "He didn't. . ."
"No." Sylia assured her hastily. Her voice was stern at the thought and she was quick to banish it from Nene's mind. "Rather. . ." She trailed off, an amused expression coming out of nowhere and growing on her face. "It seems he simply reprogrammed himself." She waited, smirking, for the other's reaction, and wasn't disappointed.
"What?!" Nene demanded, shocked. "Why?!"
Sylia arched her brow, giving Nene a disbelieved look.
"You don't know why?" She sounded generally surprised, and Nene soon realized why.
"Oh." She said, simply. Her face flushed with embarrassment and she quickly tried to suppress the blush. "Then, how?" She asked, trying to recover. Again, Sylia smiled.
"I thought you taught him to program. He's a Stingray, Nene, he's certainly not stupid."
Nene stared, her mouth agape.
"You're starting to resemble a fish. Really, I'm surprised you didn't see this coming." Sylia teased. When she didn't receive a reply, she continued. "I hope he makes you call him 'sir'. Now let's go run you a nice hot bath and get you some breakfast, I think you need it."