Already...?
I remember being disgusted. With everything. Wasteful.
His head hurt, it ****ing hurt. He was standing, walking. Bright lights. Dimness. What was going on? Then there was the violence, the lift of the scientist, the questions. #VII didn't care anymore. He just didn't. This guy wasn't any better than the rest, and #VII was disgusted. He simply walked past the scene, waiting for the rest as he scanned the corridors. Something was going on with his hands, and he didn't quite understand it.
The skin around his knuckles was bubbling up fluidly, like something were crawling underneath there. It etched its way down his fingers, and then back up, along his forearms. Shuddering, #VII looked away from his arms, folding them one over another and waiting impatiently.
Why the **** can't they just listen to the guy so we can get out of here?
Uneven temper, it was a Ginger thing.
The next thing he knew, #VII was against the wall, head slammed forcefully there as he dropped ot his knees, one hand against the wall, the other at his feet. He was swearing loudly.
Bright lights hit his eyes, and he was somewhere else. Everything was hazy. It was a birthday party, he was staring at a cake. It had nine candles. The frosting was imperfect, and surrounding him wasn't some happy home, but monsters? It had to be ogres. Crooked teeth and scrunched up faces, eyes too-close together. They were all laughing and yelling.... and then it was gone.
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