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As he felt the grasp of her hand wound around him, his fingers jolted to life.

 He didn’t know what to say, to scream, from that moment forward. Everything was a horrible, poetic realization that he deserved this all along. From the moment he looked into the little girl’s eyes to this moment now, he couldn’t help but laugh at his final thoughts being the first words he ever said to the child; how those words all that time ago were now thrust into the forefront of his memory, cradling her with a careful smile and a helping nod of his young, blond, and naïve head. And his mouth formed the same words they did back in what felt like another life.

 “I’m going to make you safe.”

 Though, words were just as easily broken as the mouths they had fallen from.

 When he finds himself mouthing the words, he assumes it’s his final moments and swallows his last gulp of air. Briefly, like a second in time, he feels an eclipse of his life flash in front of him like some off-beat movie that never made it past television. His simple childhood, his awkward adolescence, his years at the university, and then, those dark years. He tries to blur them together with his moments of Caren, of Layla, but he finds a terrible shutter in the back of his spine. The end of his universe, the hand of fate---

But, his whole body reacts to the smack in surprise. It is not a fated blow to his head, and it is not the end of his entire existence, not yet.

 It was funny, he had almost wished it had been.

 “Oh, God, please! We tried! We tried!” he cries behind stumbled, slurred words and salty tears.  They tried what, though? He wasn’t even sure what his words were getting at. Even as he was dragged up for what he thought was his final moments, he saw the effort that damned laboratory had put into her. Her skin withering, her body made of bones; she wasn’t that little, bright girl he could remember--- not from the clothes she was wearing or the skin that had been revealed.

 Whatever they had tried, it kept her alive.

 Whatever they had tried, it was killing her.

 And as the man shook, trying to paw at the floor below him, his head finally began to contort upward. He didn’t know what to expect, really. He could only assume the wisp of the girl he knew all that time ago, and even then, her body was deteriorating. A shiver, a shake, a quake, a cry. He felt completely dishelmed and lost--- where else to turn but a familiar face?

 But familiar, was not so.

 It was someone completely transformed. A hollowed human being, if their ever was one. The anger and sadness expressed in her features almost mocked his own, and the intensity of her eyes broke into his chest, stealing what was left of his empty soul. And her, so weak, yet so powerful. Her, so calm, yet so much rage. Her, defending death and avenging ghosts.

 Her.

“I’m. So. Sorry.”

you'll die when you die

Why won’t you look at me?

Her heart pounded in her chest and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She could hear and feel her breathing quicken, a little too fast, threateningly fast. All of this because of one confrontation that everyone should have been expecting. All this because she could see the tenseness spiking in his shoulders, settling in his spine, going down to form rigid icicle movements in his old doctor’s digits so he could try and calm himself by protecting his precious head. It was all the same. He moved like before and his hair was the same colour, but… now he was a traitor.

That was what this felt like. It was like she was punishing him for being a traitor. So long ago he’d helped her. Of course, then, when she was only an infant and a toddler, he couldn’t have known that the institution he involved himself in would be so ground breaking. No one could have known that the experimental treatment was something threatening or detrimental. It was one mistake after the other, and she could see that in the way he curled up.

He was so fucking intimidated, too. A part of that hurt. A part of her felt like she was being the monster they all rumoured her to be, even though it was furthest from the truth. She wasn’t malicious, but a malicious part of her needed to see his face in the carpet, even if it hurt.

His voice was kind, but scared, and hurt, just like she felt on the inside. It sounded like dog whimpering. Like a cat panting from exhaustion. He sounded like a wounded animal that wanted just a smidge of mercy.

“I was there for six months.”

She wasn’t sure how long Matthew had been there, but she knew it wasn’t even half of the entire run.

“Six months, I waited, and I waited. They-…” Her voice cracked, then, and she stopped herself. She usually ignored these memories. Now they were staring at her - or more specifically not staring at her - right in the eye. “There was always that. You could have helped me at any time. Or tried, even tried. But you didn’t. I was abused for six months. And you didn’t do anything. You didn’t even try.”

Kori was shaking, now, uncontrollably. The tremors in her hands were relentless. If she were still holding the gun, it would have been useless. And those sobs. . 

She leaned down and took a fistful of the fabric at his shoulder and pulled, but stopped. And then she hit him. Like a slap across the face, but to the side of his head, impulsive. Rough. But she didn’t sound any happier about it after she stood up again and panted with frustration.

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His fingers barely brisked the back of his hairs, standing up on the edges of his skin. The frozen state that once took him over had began to melt with the tremors,  fingers patting his neck and hair line as if counting down to the end. The big explosion. The thing he had been waiting for all this time, all these goddamn years sprawled out before him. All that paranoia finally leaking down to the one moment where he was not prepared. Not in surroundings, not in apparel, not in his mind. He was, to say the least, sporadic. Unprofessional was the word that lit up in his mind, but wasn't quite the word he was searching for. 

Drool began to pool before him, his mouth opening wide to let out a harsh rush of air. Abashed. Aghast, Alarmed-- a list of possibilities ran through his mind like quick fire-- symptoms of paranoia, of 'flight or fight'-- apprehensive, blanched, cowardly. He remembers cutting ties with S.C.R.E.E.N., getting away with what sanity and morality he had left to grow again. He remembers their first update letter, the first time they contacted him while he was living a normal life once more. He remembers the day his daughter was born, and how S.C.R.E.E.N. had sent a deathly 'congratulations' message personalised for Matthew. He remembers being anxious of every day of his life, until the moment he begins to settle. The moment he thinks reality is coming back to him.

The moment S.C.R.E.E.N. sends a message, a blip, any notification that told Harson to keep on his toes, or he might be dragged back into hell.

The moment where he realises he's already in hell.

His hands release slightly, his head tilting to ground level. 

He doesn't look up, not yet, he still has fingers dancing in the grey-blond hair, hiding his skull. Those experiments- rehashing her whole immune system, her whole biological make up. Everything about her was experiment after experiment. He dragged her out to shore, and left her out in the deep end with the sharks when things got bad. 

And, sometimes, he even was one of those sharks. 

Looking at her was looking into him, looking into disappointment that he couldn't handle on his own. He was tired, yes, tired of being pushed and pulled, yanked about.

"I wos told you were to die."

It was the truth, that was the least he could give her now.

"That I couldn't---" his voice, shaking, trembling on words that hadn't been spat out yet. "That I couldn't save you. That their was....was no saving you." 

'I ruined you' was the words that lit up in his mind, but a laundry list of others began to make themselves present. Failure. Role model. Abandoned. 

Human.

But they both knew this was hardly work of mere humans, no, but monsters. Reflected in one another.

"Korinthein, please, don't---." and his voice, choked by another sob of fear.

you'll die when you die

“You’re not. God damn it, look at me!”

Kori was shaking now. It was a mixture of anxiety from this, all of this, the memories, even the soft plead of his voice that was somehow so familiar— and the anger. It was the anger, too. She was infuriated and betrayed, used and abused and she finally felt like she was getting some kind of revenge. Something, if anything, and he didn’t seem to really get it.

She felt small at the moment. She was the one towering over him, practically threatening him, scaring him into his own personal nightmare, but she felt tiny. She always felt tiny. She didn’t want to feel tiny right now, though. She wanted to be something tangible. She wanted to be able to focus.

Like his control, hers was slipping. She wasn’t a trained con artist. She wasn’t skilled in interrogation. She wasn’t an expert. She was just being impulsive. 

And then, again. He spoke.

“Changed? Are you fucking kidding me?” Her hands shook from anger and she felt her jaw set.

“This is me. It’s always been me- I’m not a monster. Is that what they told you? Did those pretentious assholes tell you that I was some kind of abomination? That’s just like them though, isn’t it? I’m a fucking human being.” She wanted to turn from him but couldn’t. She couldn’t stop looking at him now, the hand clenched on the back of his head. It was like he thought he was going to die.

“This wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this to happen. I look like a fucking corpse now- do you get that? Look up at me!”

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"I'm sorry," a broken voice uttered from his throat, unceasing as a pocket of a tear sank beyond his sliding glasses.

This was it, he thought. Everything that he had worked so hard to keep in order was crashing down in front of him once more, as it did, as it would always do. S.C.R.E.E.N. would always find him, always shoot a jolt of terror into him and vanish for another year or so, just to keep him on his toes and his mouth shut. But tonight seemed to go a bit overboard-- possibly it was the file transfers back in May that still read 'M.G. Harson, S.C.R.E.E.N. medical advisory' atop of them, or perhaps his wife's work on PTSD and her observations on her 'subject' (clearly Matthew, himself). All the hiding, the building of a new life- wasted by some blond who had an unsolved vendetta, finally getting what she wanted after all this time.

Another brief sob of "I'm sorry" into the carpet, before her final words resonated through his mind.

He wasn't sure if he could properly look at her again. It had been seven years too long, she could have been a million things. A proper monster as S.C.R.E.E.N. may have trained her, completely wiped of sympathy and now finishing the job Harson created. A full circle, from her birth to his death. A funny sort of way the facility would say 'thanks for all your hard work, goodbye now!'. Looking at her might have been his death sentence, yes, but looking at Ocronon now would warp his sensation of peace within his dying. That time spent blocking out images, names, faces, all of it for nothing.

Broken.

Instead of looking towards her, his hands moved to wrap around his head, protecting his skull. If she killed him as is, he thought, it would at least been less painful than to stare her into the eyes and plead for forgiveness. All he ever wanted was this moment to come, and now that it had finally occurred, he wasn't prepared in the least. All he prepared himself for now was death. Weak. Cradled, letting off soft mumbles as flashing of the horrific facility played through his mind. Briefly, he found himself having confidence in his words- No tears shed, no cracked, weakened voice. He was the strong and stubborn scientist he used to be,  and the phrase he repeated in such a stoic voice was

"They changed you, you're not you, Korinthein. Think."

Thinking wasted on the thoughtful. 

you'll die when you die

The woman hesitated as he did, hoping to god he didn’t resist, because she didn’t want to really threaten him. Not yet, not at this point. Right now, he was terrified. He didn’t even know why she was there.

And a part of her mind said, “Well, he should.”

He lowered and lowered, knees and hands on the carpet and then face. She was still in the doorway when she realized that his blinds were still open, so she muttered a quick “don’t move,” as she lowered her handgun to close them and leave the two of them there, alone together for now. Then she was going around the room, watching him, heart pounding. Her expertise had her looking through his drawers for any kind of weapon that he could have used against her - and luckily, her hands were still covered by expert gloves.

The room seemed safe— And he dare asked her what she wanted.

In the middle of looking for cracks or inconsistencies in his bookshelf, she let out a choked laugh. A mocking laugh. “You—. . you know, you know, Matthew, just once, I would love to hear someone from the medical community apologize to me. To say sorry on behalf on all of the arrogant faces and ass-faced doctors that, you know. But you’re not sorry, they’re not sorry. No one’s sorry.”

She continued her search and placed her gun on his desk with a soft clunk, signalling that she’d be leaving that resort alone for now. She ran her hand over her mouth to try and rid the excess emotion that was clouding her brain. In her effort, she noticed that Matthew Harson, the once brave and medically interested doctor, was shaking.

“Look at me.”

She stood over him, boots settling into the carpet that had so become acquainted with the doctor’s cheek.

“Look at me.”

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O Children - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

They are knocking now upon your door

They measure the room, they know the score

They're mopping up the butcher's floor

Of your broken little hearts

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At first, he was still. Unmoving, stuck in a frigid stare into the items that he left on his desk that afternoon. A few articles of recent medical journals: head lines of weight loss fighting intestinal worms, a pill for fighting symptoms of breast cancer, medicinal errors in pills, HIV, dentistry. All of this just more work to keep him away from the bottle, and addicted to something else, even if it was just for a while. Even if it had a 2/10 chance of succeeding most days. Amongst the journals were sprawled picture of his family, hidden deep behind notebooks and beer bottles that it wasn't noticeable. Class rings and wedding rings, trinkets of the past.

His life, literally flashing before him, as he had a gradual shift in body weight.

Still, he couldn't look her in the eye after all these years. He knew it was her, though. Not even from the voice flux, but the commandeering sound that rose from the back of her throat. She wound her thin fingers around the situation, making him shake uncontrollably like the old fool he was. He was tempted to ask 'And if I don't?', the idea surging through his mind like a whisper.

But, also like a whisper, it was their and gone without a second thought. His palms were pressing the carpet within the next bit of dialogue he granted himself. 

"Wot the hell do you wont from me?" his plea, a soft, posh accent that he hadn't let slip since his days at the laboratory. His knees bent downward, his eyes shutting tight. Here he was, a man with nothing but regrets filling him since he left, and nothing but remorse as he began to get dragged back into the mess. A gurgling sensation hit the back of his throat and the shaking, still present. But, for dear life, he held onto the strength of his words- whispering out another "Please, let it be done." into the synthetic fabrics. He tried to pull himself together, but the scenario was everything he had nightmares of.

For a moment, he recalls a time when they were both so young and just. A joke of a time where her eyes would look at him with care, with confidence. 

Whatever S.C.R.E.E.N. had turned her-- the both of them-- into, he never would have fathomed in their youthful days as patient and doctor. 

His body ceased control, shaking. 

you'll die when you die

Anger continued to boil within her when she saw him tense up, just a slight bit, body frozen. He didn’t look at her. A part of her wondered if she could even handle seeing his face, especially with the emotion already coursing through her.

She remembered a time that felt like yesterday. Screaming, fighting the doctors, resisting tests that weren’t really complicated, but unwanted nonetheless. It was how her fear of needles started. It was why she had only recently searched for help regarding how small she was. And wouldn’t it be a sight for Matthew? She was fuller then. More lively, Had more energy - and now? Skin and bones. She felt like a shell encasing what should have been.

She remembered the first time she tried to escape, after two months, and she ran down hallways until he, of all people, helped restrain her. The only thing she remembered from the remainder of that day was biting him and being sedated.

It wasn’t fair.

It was inhumane.

And he’d know. A part of her wanted to see that scar on his arm. 

At first, she didn’t know what to say. Dozens of comments filtered through her brain as she considered her options. Like any trained agent, she had been trained to control herself. She wouldn’t lose her cool. Couldn’t, really. Her anger stayed strong, but her hands stayed steady. This had to be right.

“Get on the floor. Now.”  Her voice was strong and firm, but with a hint of nervous and angry emotion. She gave up at this point on controlling that, or her breathing, which was naturally regaining steadiness.

Revenge.

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followed: snicket, lemony

An interesting sort of fellow, aren't you? 

Another well-dressed sort. You must be one of Caren's associates, then? She's out on a business trip, unfortunately, and won't be back 'till midweek. 

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followed: S.C.R.E.E.N.

Suffering. Countless suffering. I did oll I could, I did oll I could.

Leave me be. I'm done. That poor girl. Monsters, the lot of you, monsters.

Monsters

Monsters

Monsters.

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followed: norris, cate

Good evening, miss. 

You look like the sort of well dressed, ready for business type; perhaps their is something I could aid you with? Or, possibly, you might be looking for my wife- Caren? One of her colleagues, then?