𝕬𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓
ACT TWO - DUST OF DREAMS
Chapter 17 - Truth
From the narrow and deserted balcony, he stared down at Pewter City. At its paved roads twisting and turning in serpentine fashion all across the town. He was a powerful man, dark and potent, deceptively agile. His muscles still felt taut from the thrill of his most recent meeting. It went well, in his own humble opinion, and he couldn't wait to speak to her. To see the expression on her face. To finally tell her.
His lips twisted into a small smile.
History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.
His companion's methodical planning had left nothing to chance. His own team had already infiltrated the museum in ways Lance Wataru would never imagine. And tonight… would be special. Tonight, they would steal their prize in front of the entire world, and make the League suffocate on its own shame.
Tonight would change everything.
For once, Dr. Pym would walk into the spotlight.
For once, Admin Petrel would step out from the shadows.
For once, he would take off the thousand masks he wore and show his true self.
The man that Time forgot.
The man who would make everyone remember.
The man who would bathe the world in oblivion.
But not yet. First, there was a special someone waiting for him.
Her.
His fingers twitched.
Delia…
He turned around and walked towards his room, filled to the brim with anticipation. As he approached, his partner's words resounded within his mind.
Phase Two begins. Get some rest. I will send you the signal.
Rest. He couldn't help but snort. He had no need for rest. Instead, he'd used the time to accomplish something vital, like getting Delia Ketchum right where he wanted. He wouldn't let her slip away like sand between his fingers.
No, she was his.
He walked past the hidden door on the left. She was awake now. She did not see him. Good. There was no trace of hysteria in her, but rather a calm fire glowing in those hazel orbs.
He smiled, wondering how long it would last.
Delia awoke in pain.
She was on her back. All her muscles felt like stone, tight and brittle. Her mouth was gagged and her arms hurt when she tried to move. It took her a moment to comprehend that her hands were tied behind her back.
What's going on? Am I— is this a dream?
She tried to lift her head, but a jolt of pain shot down her spine, convincing her otherwise. Confusion slowly transformed into fear, but that wasn't necessarily bad. The right amount of fear had a way of clearing the mind and making a person jolt into action.
Relaxing her hands, Delia slowly pushed against her binds while inspecting her surroundings. From the quality of the curtains and bedsheets, the room was similar to the one she was just in, yet it wasn't. For one, most of the furniture was covered in white cloth. But still, chances were she was still inside the same hotel.
But who brought me here? And why?
Her clothes were slightly ruffled, probably from her own movements. Nothing had forced anything on her, except the ropes on her back and the gag over her mouth.
It spoke volumes about her captor.
For one, it was a human, and not a pokémon. Albeit, a human who owned a sinister, purple-eyed pokémon. Delia presumed the man was old-fashioned. Most interrogators or criminals would've used a psychic-type to disable the victim. That was how it happened in the movies anyway. Either her captor didn't have one at hand, or—
She arrived at a blank.
Sighing, Delia looked around the room again. Clearly, her kidnapper had no intention of using it, or acquired it at short notice. But why? For her? Somehow, she doubted that Delia Ketchum rated high enough on the kidnapping list to have a room set up in advance, especially given the number of other VVIPs in town. And her captor clearly knew she would be there that very night. And that this place would be empty— mostly empty, anyway.
What were the chances?
Unless—
No, Delia told herself. There was no way Samuel had anything to do with this. The old man was nothing but kind, nor would there be any point in doing this. She'd listen to his instructions even without the gag and ropes. Plus, she had walked out in front of everyone inside the museum. Anyone with eyes could have seen her alone and followed her.
The real question was… why? Why would anyone kidnap and restrain her? She was a mere employee of the Parthenon, working for—
Delia froze.
Could it be?
Was her captor betting on using her as a hostage to get the Professor to do something against her wishes? No, that couldn't be it. Samuel knew something bigger was afoot before she even left. In fact, that was the entire reason he sent her to get Red's team and Arcanine. The police and Ace squads were posted all over the city, keeping their eyes on everything out of the ordinary. The Elite Four were there. Lance was there.
So why her?
Think about that later. First thing's first.
She needed to get out of her bonds. She needed to get out of this place. She needed to get her purse—
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Delia frantically looked, but it wasn't anywhere on her. It wasn't on the bed either. Her eyes scanned all around the room, but found nothing. Where was it? Without her purse, without her pokémon, she would be helpless. Tied to the bed, locked in a room, with no way out.
Delia snorted. Was that what her captor thought?
As much as the kidnapping rankled her, the condescending attitude was even more annoying. She wasn't just some woman. She wasn't some researcher who was useless without her pokémon. She was an explorer, and a damn good one at that.
Retired or not, all she needed to do was squeeze her way out of these ropes and—
"And here I thought you were retired," came a voice from the doorway.
Delia flinched, before glancing at the wall to her right. A tall, dark, strong figure with blue hair and red eyes looked down at her. It was impossible. She had looked around merely seconds ago and there had been no one inside the room. And yet—
"But look at you!" the man exclaimed, taking a step forward. "Fifteen years out of the game, and your instincts are still just as sharp."
Delia gritted her teeth. Whoever this person was, he knew her. He knew her well. But she didn't recognize him at all. As he stepped closer, his face became more distinct, yet there was something blurry about him. Like she was looking at him through a foggy mirror. And no matter how much she blinked, it never sharpened.
"Who are you?" she angrily demanded. "Why have you brought me here?"
The blur lessened just a bit, revealing the face of the docent from the museum. The same man who had walked her and her son through the Museum just before she had left.
But— but—
"Why?"
His expression grew more pronounced. There was a strange insanity floating in his eyes. His red eyes, just like her son's. Eyes that felt awfully familiar, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it.
"Do you remember it, Delia? The last time we shared a bed, it was in a similar room."
Delia opened her mouth—
"Sixteen years ago. When I got you pregnant with our child."
Her blood ran cold.
Dr. Hiroto Fuji was a thin man of average height, his skin tanned by the sun. He looked to be anywhere between forty and sixty, his hair grey and neatly cut, and he wore a black suit with a white collar and tie. From his appearance alone, Red was reminded of how Parthenon made it a point to include physical training as part of the job description.
According to the old man, the Parthenon staff engaged in an 'exercise-dash' every morning. Something about maintaining a healthy body to keep a healthy mind. Between Oak and his mom, who was a hair short of being called a martial artist, Red had gotten the importance of physical training drilled into him from an early age.
And by the looks of it, Dr. Fuji belonged to the same crowd.
Why am I even surprised?
"You must be Delia's son," the man chirped, shaking his hand agreeably. Red was flustered by the recognition. Knowing the Parthenon staff wasn't a big deal. But seeing one of their top researchers acknowledging him as his mother's son— especially given how aloof Delia Ketchum was —surprised him to no end.
"I am," Red answered with a small bow. "Professor Oak wanted me to talk to you about—"
"Ah yes, the famous Project Red," the man chuckled. It was deep and baritone, filling up the space around him. The man was probably a good orator. "Samuel caught me by surprise on that one."
"Well I'm glad he did," Red weakly laughed. "It's nice to have my arms and legs back in functioning capacity."
The man pushed his glasses up his nose. "I understand you are having complications?"
"Some. I didn't notice it earlier, but I think I can't feel pain. At least, not as much as I should. Professor Oak also said that there might be something going on with my healing too."
"Can you elaborate?"
Red nodded. "I got a skin wound from my skarmory's feathers. It healed within hours, and barely ached. The old— I mean, the Professor thought it was odd."
"I concur," Dr Fuji replied, cupping his chin. "I'd have considered nerve damage to be the issue, but with the accelerated healing and incapacity to feel pain, something else is probably afoot. Do you have any more evidence of this healing ability of yours?"
"I… uhm," Red wondered how to put it without sounding like a reckless adrenaline junkie, "I may have been poisoned by an ariados while trying to kill it."
Fuji blinked.
Then blinked again.
"And… how exactly were you trying to kill it?"
"…With a knife."
Fuji looked like he was about to say something but then decided otherwise.
"Yeah, I know," Red continued, his cheeks red. At least Cynthia wasn't with him to hear this. The girl had left to find her friend Rin— whoever that was —but she promised to return shortly. A promise Red would be all too happy to see unfulfilled.
A single night, and he was probably on the shit list of the sitting Champion. He didn't want to know what spending more time with her could bring.
"Ariados venom?" The man's expression flickered between thoughtfulness and shock. "And I seem to remember something about a forest fire as well. I imagine you accumulated quite a number of burns and bruises."
Red gulped, but said nothing.
"Temporary increment in blood coagulation, decreased sensory perception to pain, increased rejuvenation…" he began counting off fingers, "significant resistance to neurolytic venom and…" he gave Red a glance over, "increased repair of scar tissue. Am I missing anything?"
Red flushed, feeling like a five-year-old being chastised over something stupid. "I also had this episode with Mia. That's my gardevoir. We're kind of… connected, I guess? I can sense her emotions, and sometimes even what she's thinking. Does that count?"
"And an empathic bond with a fairy-type largely known for its empathic abilities," the man sighed. "You, sir, are a melting pot of exotic ingredients. It's no wonder Samuel obsesses over you."
"That explains why I feel like a lab rat."
The two of them chuckled.
"This doesn't seem to be mere healing," the researcher went on. "Or neuronal tissue damage, for that matter. This is simply more." Dr. Fuji met Red's eyes, a strange reluctance held in them. "Tell me Red— can I call you Red? — what do you know about this therapy you went through?"
Red frowned. "I know it was an experimental procedure using ditto-cell transplants. The doctors told me I would've been a vegetable for the rest of my life if it wasn't for the therapy."
Dr Fuji's expression cracked. He looked around, as if unsure whether he should be talking about this in a public setting. The two of them were fairly isolated amidst the crowd, with everyone busy mingling with one another. Finally, he exhaled. "Tell me Red, do you know the main limitation of ditto-cells? Or ditto as a shapeshifter?"
Red bobbed his head. "They reform back into ditto when they run out of juice."
Dr. Fuji gave him a half-grin. "A bit crude, but it'll do. Interestingly, it is the same reason why ditto-cells can't be used for stem-cell transplants."
Red narrowed his eyes slightly. He had a gut feeling he wasn't going to like whatever the man was about to say next.
"A ditto consumes a lot of Aura— as you put it, juice —to keep itself morphed. The Aura requirements for keeping ditto-cells posed as, say, a human body neuron is at least five times more than what the average human can produce. Using these cells for transplants, even minor ones, is more than likely to drain the body's total Aura capacity, decreasing one's immunity rapidly. In ninety percent of the cases, the person begins to suffer from an intense case of dementia, if not death."
Red must've looked horrified at that image, as the scientist chuckled morbidly at his expression.
"Dr. Fuji," he gulped, "what exactly is Aura?"
The doctor tilted his head. "Different people would describe it differently. Samuel in particular is very philosophical about it. To put it in a nutshell, it is the life energy of a person— or creature, for that matter. Every being of flesh and blood produces Aura, and given time and proper training, can use it to perform all kinds of wondrous feats."
Red had no problem believing that. One only needed to look at Bruno to confirm that statement. Not to mention, the Professor's own demonstration on stage earlier.
"Then, the fact that I'm alive… Does that mean my body produces a lot of Aura too?"
The man wryly grinned. "Bruno is publicly known to have the largest APR in the last several decades. But not even he can survive a ditto-cell transplant without being seriously weakened."
Red's jaw dropped.
"Personally," Dr. Fuji went on, "I would highly suggest that be the story you stick to for the foreseeable future. While outlandish, it's the most believable tale you can spin should someone ask."
"But that doesn't answer my question."
"True," he sighed. "Even if you did have tremendous APR reserves like Bruno, you'd be bedridden at best, not pouncing on an ariados with a knife."
That shut him up.
His mind tried another avenue. Did the Professor make a breakthrough in ditto-cell research? Maybe this Dr. Fuji was just trying to keep it hidden because it was cutting-edge technology or something. Or maybe the man was just pulling his leg, and the scientists had already found a way to keep ditto-cells morphed at low Aura consumption. That seemed like the only possible solution. Unless…
It retains the ability to not only morph into any cell, but remain in that state perpetually.
Oak had declared that during the presentation. Perpetually. That meant Mew cells were capable of not only synthesizing their own Aura, but producing it to the effect that it allowed them to stay morphed in any form for long periods of time.
This Mew can intensify or reverse growth at will, becoming a fully-grown apex predator like dragonite with as much ease as a newborn abra.
Or even a human nervous system. Red's body began to tremble as a strange, icy feeling grew in his chest. These cells, the same ones the Parthenon was using to create a man-made God, were inside his body? Was it Mew cells that had enhanced his healing? Was it because of them he survived the unsurvivable? Why he had managed to hold onto his sanity despite the horrors that Not-Mia had put him through?
Gods, he needed a drink. Urgently.
"I see you realize it now?" Dr. Fuji's voice went down to a whisper. "We are not allowed to speak about it. However, that does not stop me from indirectly admitting whether someone else's deduction on the topic is true or fabrication."
This was not what he was expecting. Mew cells in his own body? The same cells from which they were trying to recreate the original? No, not the original, but a replication using the mind and body of an alakazam. A foreign body upon which the original cells would grow and take control.
Much like his own.
Already, he was suffering with healing and sensory issues. What was next? How much longer until he could no longer call his body his own? What if—
"Red!"
"WHAT?"
The doctor ignored his outburst. "You're shaking."
Red focused on the constant motion in his muscles.
So he was.
With an iron will, he forced himself to still. "Will this— will this change me?"
"I… don't know," the researcher exhaled. "To be quite frank, we are operating in uncharted waters here. Normally, rejection by the body is the main issue when it comes to grafting or transplants. But in your case, it is actually the verse. Mew cells are perhaps the most sophisticated, advanced entities that can be considered 'living'. Their potential is simply unmatched. The human body is a tauros-driven cart compared to its internal combustion engine. And I am only speaking of a single cell."
Red sighed. "Well, that's not scary at all."
This was it.
The answer she'd been searching for all these years.
Delia's eyes carefully scrutinized every inch of the man. His face, his blue hair, his red eyes, that nauseatingly smug expression on his visage. This was the face in the shadows she'd cursed nearly every night. The mystery figure who had changed her life forever, yet she couldn't recall a single thing about it. And now, he was standing before her, like a predator before striking its prey.
Without preamble, he pulled the gag off of her.
"Who— are you?" she growled between coughs.
"An interesting question," he thinly smiled. "My victims know me as Pym. My… acquaintances call me Petrel, the Shadow Admin of Team Rocket." Delia paled. "But here and now, I'm someone you once knew," his expression softened to an unnatural degree, a sharp contrast to the smugness that existed merely seconds ago, "but was made to forget."
"By who?"
She wanted answers, and she was determined to get them one way or another.
"It doesn't matter."
"To you maybe," she spat, "but it sure as hell does to me. It was you, wasn't it? What did you do? A psychic obliviation? A modified Confuse Ray?"
The man chuckled. "Nothing so sinister. And yet, something far more… robust."
She tried to jerk her hands free, but it only tightened the binds. A handcuff knot, she belatedly realized. THey were useful for incapacitation, but rarely used these days. It reminded her of… those days.
"How–how do you know me?"
The man arched a single eyebrow, as if to ask — why would you ask such a stupid question? Slowly, he trudged forward and sat on the bed next to her. Delia quickly backed away, as if struck.
"We met during the Galar expedition. I… used to be a researcher at the Parthenon. A man Samuel Oak thought of as a son and someone who'd one day inherit his legacy. I wonder if the old man subconsciously still thinks of me when he sees my son."
"He's never mentioned someone like you before."
"He wouldn't remember me."
Delia narrowed her eyes. This was the second time he had mentioned this forgetting thing. And to an extent, she was inclined to believe it. The man somehow got a hold of her and psychically made her forget, to a level of expertise that even a pokémon like Kaz was unable to recognize the remnants of despite constantly being by her side.
As unbelievable as it was, she was willing to buy it.
But Samuel Oak? There was no way in hell this schmuck got the better of the Boogeyman. Besides, how could anyone just forget a single person so thoroughly? It didn't make any sense.
The knot slowly unraveled. She had to keep talking.
Just a little more.
"I don't believe you," she declared. "Why would I just forget you like that? Or Samuel, for that matter? You're just a con artist. Or, a hustler. That's what you are," she nodded to herself.
But contrary to her expectations, the man simply threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, how right you are. I am, in fact, a hustler. And a swindler, a cheater, and a liar. But more than that, I am the man whom you once trusted with your deepest, darkest secrets. I know why you ran away from home, why you jumped on Samuel's offer despite knowing next to nothing about research. I know all about you, Delia Ketchum."
Delia saw red. "Prove it, you scumbag," she hissed. "Prove it."
There was a spark of amusement in his eyes.
And then, he told her. Everything.
…
…
…
Delia felt the bottom of her stomach fall out. It was like being drenched with icy water, being unable to move as the chill spread across her throat and slid down her spine. She swallowed a mouthful of fear before regarding the poisonous smile on his face.
"…How?"
It only made him smile wider.
She relentlessly struggled against her bindings, but they only constricted her further, cutting tightly into her wrists. Damn this man! Whoever he was, he knew her. He knew the skeletons in her closet, more intimately than anyone else in her life.
Dangerous. That was what he was. And she needed to— needed to—
"The knot won't unravel so easily. I specifically tied it that way. You know it's futile."
Feh. That didn't mean she was going to stop trying.
"Contrary to how the situation may seem, you aren't in any real trouble." The man lifted his hand, and Delia could suddenly feel a spike of… something around him. "I arranged this meeting to speak with you face-to-face and tell you what you need to know. Because of what happened in the Past, Reality itself denies all knowledge of my existence. No matter what I do, no one remembers the real me. Unless," he paused, "I make them."
"So you're going to make me remember?" she bit out.
"Indeed."
"Why now?"
That made him pause. "I don't understand."
Delia shook her head. "Even if what you're saying is true, if you are who you say you are and you can make me remember, you could've easily done it before. Why wait this long? You've proven skilled enough to weave through League security and attend tonight's event with no one the wiser, so forgive me for not buying into the crap that tonight, of all nights, is random."
"…Still ever the cynic. But you would be. You would be," he murmured. "You're right. All these years, I've watched you from the shadows, and stayed an arm's length away. But with what's about to happen tonight, it's imperative you stay here. Safe."
All sorts of alarm bells went off in her mind.
"What's going to happen to the event?" she demanded.
"Oblivion," he replied nonchalantly. "And in a way that no one is ever going to remember it. When that happens, I don't wish for you to be caught in the middle of it all."
"Well my employer, my entire life's work, and my son are all out there," Delia snapped. "So forgive me if I seem a bit desperate to go warn them about all this."
"You don't need to do anything," he stressed. "Delia, please! I can— I can help you not forget me. Never again. There's just so much you need to know, so much you don't understand. But you will. Once I tell you."
"Bullshit," she spat. "I'm done with your games, you fucking psychopath. Untie me right now or you're going to see firsthand what kind of nightmare Delia Ketchum can really be."
"Listen," the man hissed. "I'm not fucking around here. I promise you, I won't let our son perish. But you cannot leave this place. Do you understand me?"
"Bite me," Delia snarled from the bed. "You want to keep me here? You'll have to do it yourself."
"Oh, I will." he climbed up on the bed right next to her. Delia kicked out at him, but to no avail. Holding her legs underneath him, the man straddled her waist and held her down with his own body. "I. Will. Make. You. Remember."
His hands grabbed the sides of her head, and his thumbs met on the middle of her forehead.
"Whether you like it or not."
Delia screamed.
"I don't understand," Red faintly said. "Why would the old man do something like that? From everything you said, it sounds like it could've killed me."
Dr. Fuji looked at him with sad eyes. "You can't blame Professor Oak. He only has your best interests at heart. I remember looking at your diagnosis after the incident with the pikachu." He closed his eyes, as if trying hard to remember something. "Severe trauma to the brain, one kidney unsalvageable, subdural hematoma with severe spine damage, burnt nerves. You mentioned earlier you could've been a vegetable for the rest of your natural life. That, I believe, was an optimistic version of events."
Red wanted to go find a bucket to throw up in.
"You were dying. There were no two ways about it. The only thing that could help you was a miracle."
"Mew cells," he murmured. "Did Professor Oak know it'd work?"
Fuji rubbed his temples. "I… like to believe so. I doubt Samuel wanted Delia to go through what I did. I had a daughter, you see," the doctor clarified. "Amber. She was like you. Smart, talented, among the highest-scoring of her year. But as she began her trainer journey, fate had other ideas."
"What happened?"
"Shedinja," Fuji replied, his tone hardening. "Amber had caught a nincada in Viridian Forest. That… thing evolved into a shedinja, a ghost-type. My baby girl, she was," his voice cracked, "trapped within her own mind. She— she—"
"What happened?"
Fuji wiped an errant tear off of his cheek. "It was a curse. A heinous, vicious, malicious curse. It shut her body down completely. Her brain was working fine, but she couldn't move anything but her eyes. She was scared, screaming on the inside with no other option."
Red gulped. A part of him just wanted to run away from the tale of loathing horror and hide under a desk.
"We tried everything, including ditto-cell transplants supplied by external energy sources. But nothing worked," Fuji morosely spat. "The curse caused the cells to go erratic. Amber's body was disfigured into something terrible. I— my team managed to upload her consciousness to create a virtual simulation of herself. Since then, Amber has been part of Parthenon's computing system, maintaining our servers for us. But two years ago, when we realized the potential that Mew cells held, I knew it could one day become the chance my Amber never got. Samuel clearly shared my vision, which is why he used them on you."
Red just stared at the man. For him to be talking freely with someone who received the chance his daughter never did… He didn't even know what to say. Dr. Fuji really was an exceptional man.
"So," he swallowed, "what happens now?"
"Honestly? I'm not certain," Fuji shrugged. "Normally, your success with the Mew cell treatment would warrant a permanent stay at the Parthenon facility, or at least within Pallet Town for the foreseeable future. It's an unprecedented chance to see the cells interacting with human tissue effectively. We even offered you a junior researcher position, which I am told you rejected."
A stab of guilt speared through his heart.
"I wanted to be a trainer," he replied, his tone hollow.
"I will be candid, Red." Fuji grasped his shoulder. "You show great promise as a junior scientist. Your CET scores are proof enough, and that is without Samuel Oak himself vouching for your competence. However, the good professor drew the line in the sand, using his authority to keep us from doing anything else to keep you at the Parthenon. He even argued that exposure to external stimuli would give us a better idea of the treatment's effectiveness." He rolled his eyes. "Of course, he wasn't fooling anyone. He just wanted to give you your fair shot at becoming a trainer."
Something inside him just… broke.
"I…" he began, but words failed him. So much effort had been put into him, so much had happened, yet the old man had never uttered a single word. All those times when he'd constantly hounded him to reconsider becoming a trainer, he had laughed at the old man's attempts and batted them away. The field-researcher position, Red now realized, was a way for him to stay connected to Parthenon while allowing him to pursue his dreams. After everything that had happened— the Pallet Forest incident, the Viridian Forest fire, and everything else—
Every time I cross a hill, there's a mountain behind it.
"How–how am I supposed to pay him back?" Red desperately asked.
Fuji softly smiled. "By fulfilling your dreams. Samuel believes in you. And I believe in his belief. As for the Mew cells problem, I can't say for certain how to fix your problems, but I have a suggestion. A starting point, if you will."
Red leaned in closer.
"As you know, the Mew cells have a sky-high APR, one that is several magnitudes above what your body can normally produce. This imbalance in Aura production may be throwing things into haywire. Perhaps if you could look into training your body to deal with higher levels of Aura, the negative side-effects may start to disappear."
His eyes widened into saucers. "Doctor, you can't possibly be suggesting that I—"
"Later," the scientist gently cut him off. "Now come. Mewtwo's creation is about to begin, and I for one do not want to miss out on the birth of a God."
Exhaling, Red quickly followed after him.
It was unnatural.
Yes, that was an apt way of describing it. Delia's face was pressed into the pillows as this monster of a man straddled her, with his palms against her forehead as he… chanted? She wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but it felt unnatural. A growing sense of unease gnawed at the corners of her mind, and she began to flail desperately.
It was completely fruitless.
The man just kept droning on and on in that peculiar language of his, one Delia didn't recognize in all her years of research. Her confusion and loathing soon morphed into mounting dread that something was coming, and it was loud and alien and wrong. With every syllable that escaped his lips, that ominous presence about him began to grow more and more pronounced.
She twisted and turned her legs. She tried to move her head. She tried to bite his hand.
But nothing worked.
The strange, discordant humming grew louder. His voice grew harsher.
She closed her eyes, but it didn't help in the slightest.
The doors of the room began to bang as a weird wind blew around, as if something fiendish was trying to find its way in. Into what? Into her? Into the room? To stop what was going on, to kill her? What? It made no sense. She had no idea what the hell was happening— only vague impressions of vague thoughts that she couldn't begin to comprehend. And yet— and yet—
Delia screamed.
The humming grew louder and louder and LOUDER, until—
Gone.
It was gone, as if never there.
Tiredly exhaling, the man pushed himself off of her. Feeling the lack of pressure, Delia slowly opened her eyes and…
Stared.
At him.
At him.
The spiked blue hair, the red eyes, the chiseled jaws, the pointed hawk-like nose. She had seen him, interacted with him, suffered at his hands, and yet she did not once recognize him.
Until that very moment?
"You— you're—"
The shock and disbelief in her tone reverberated throughout the room.
"…Cyrus?"
Editor: Solo Starfish, the best goddamn starfish the world has ever seen.
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