( all of medicine pocket's other words blur contrasted by the last thing that they ask. an effect 4 experiences with certain words put together just so: the stone throne into a body of water, the ripple effect of it all. the problem: he is the stone throne and the water. it makes it difficult for him to parse, thorned and brambled by the convoluted nature of pretending to be someone else, for someone else.
and yet. it was ...for a reason. wasn't it?
to create a duplicate, triplicate, or a fourth, erasure of memories is a given.
but what the mind forgets the body sometimes remembers.
do you belong to anyone? medicine pocket asks.
for a split second, 4 closes his eyes and sees a small candle's flame, sees an outstretched hand of a new classmate too kind for this place, sees green eyes he's supposed to also have but sharper and a little deeper and with them the scent of those rare commodities 4 so quietly holds as precious: books.
do you belong to anyone?
well.
his mind settles, calms. in the quiet it takes the shape of one of the many laboratory rooms of peil. a table to be strapped onto, a chair to be secured in. the list goes on.
do you belong to anyone?
yes. no.
when 4 opens his eyes again, his expression looks no different than normal. only the permet wreaking havoc on his weakened body gives anything away. )
You'd have to take it up with Peil Technologies.
( he offers neither yes or no in the end, and tells himself it's not because he doesn't know the real answer himself. at least, as far as he's concerned, that much is true. it is not as though he isn't replaceable though and he leaves that rather significant fact out, very aware his successor waits in the eaves for when 4 inevitably fails, dies due to the permet in his system, or is at some point deemed less than acceptable in his performance as "elan ceres". whichever comes first.
an attempt to stand proves futile. his legs fold beneath him instantly and the landing is jarring. he sighs. )
no subject
and yet. it was ...for a reason. wasn't it?
to create a duplicate, triplicate, or a fourth, erasure of memories is a given.
but what the mind forgets the body sometimes remembers.
do you belong to anyone? medicine pocket asks.
for a split second, 4 closes his eyes and sees a small candle's flame, sees an outstretched hand of a new classmate too kind for this place, sees green eyes he's supposed to also have but sharper and a little deeper and with them the scent of those rare commodities 4 so quietly holds as precious: books.
do you belong to anyone?
well.
his mind settles, calms. in the quiet it takes the shape of one of the many laboratory rooms of peil. a table to be strapped onto, a chair to be secured in. the list goes on.
do you belong to anyone?
yes.
no.when 4 opens his eyes again, his expression looks no different than normal. only the permet wreaking havoc on his weakened body gives anything away. )
You'd have to take it up with Peil Technologies.
( he offers neither yes or no in the end, and tells himself it's not because he doesn't know the real answer himself. at least, as far as he's concerned, that much is true. it is not as though he isn't replaceable though and he leaves that rather significant fact out, very aware his successor waits in the eaves for when 4 inevitably fails, dies due to the permet in his system, or is at some point deemed less than acceptable in his performance as "elan ceres". whichever comes first.
an attempt to stand proves futile. his legs fold beneath him instantly and the landing is jarring. he sighs. )