"How do you feel?"
"Wrong" Rodney said, picking a blade of grass.
"You will adjust. I promise"
"I don't want to adjust. I want you to undo the changes you made to my pod and I want you to kill me and then I want you to carry on like I am an animal, not a villain" he said, finally getting frustrated.
"You have four lives left. Four. If you regenerate again, you don't know what the symptoms will be. You're already emotionally tweaked and you somehow managed to genetically splice feline DNA into your human strands! You can't kill yourself again" I snapped.
"You're right, I can't. I can't kill myself until I know that my pod has been changed. As much as I hate being like... this... I'd rather be alive than completely dead" he laid backward into the grass.
I stared at him for a while before saying "Do you remember that I nicknamed you Scar fifty years ago?"
"Yes" he said quietly.
"I chose Scar because it struck me as odd that you had never fixed it in your pod. You never tried to get rid of the scar. Why?" I asked.
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath.
"Before I joined Brittock and his men, I was a foot soldier in squad led by a dictator. I joined him to protect myself... and my daughter. She had just reached her age cap, only been alive for five hundred years. So naive and innocent. Poor timing left her with four lives when the disease hit the pods. We couldn't buy a new one before they stopped selling. I spent centuries protecting her, but she was fragile. Too fragile. And she was gorgeous, she took after her mother. These dragoons, who I thought would have an ounce of dignity.... did not. They had to kill me eleven times before she died permanently from the trauma of their physical and sexual abuse. Every now and then, they'd leave me alive long enough to scar my body or make me watch. When I woke up from my twelfth death, I was alone in the middle of the desert with a pile of my daughters bodies" he told the story with a sense of calm serenity, like he had already come to terms with this. I had no idea what to say, so instead I waited.
"I'm not sure why they left me alive, but they did. Maybe to make me suffer, I don't really care. I swore, at that moment, to find them and kill them all permanently. The only problem? I had no army and no weapons. That was when I wondered upon Brittock and his men. I joined him, hoping to persuade him to go after the group without having to explain myself, but he had his own agenda. I improvised, trying to get him killed in order to take over and motivate the men to have a man hunt for the group that sabotaged and killed him. It was flawless... until you came along. Brittock had always been calm, cool, and calculating. He planned, he warred, and then he killed. He didn't care about the outside world or his surrounding. Then you show up and he started spending time outside his tent, roaming camp and watching people. In raids, he was asking questions before killing, especially the ones that tried to hurt you. You created problems I didn't want to deal with. He was also starting to realize that someone in camp was betraying him and I couldn't sneak around for much longer without him figuring it out. So I decided to use you as a cover, kill you, and continue with my plan. I was so hell bent on getting my revenge that I didn't even realize I had become the monster I wanted to hunt. I killed you... and immediately regretted it. But I wasn't man enough nor brave enough to tell Brittock the truth, so I lied. I lied and left, punishing myself to being an animal. But I chose a predator, which gave me pristine hunting skills and killer lust. I was still vindictive at first. I tracked down and killed three of the men that hurt my daughter before my mind started slipping..." he hesitated long enough to sigh "I don't know how I did it. How I killed you. You were a spitting image of my daughter, a replica. Temperaments were vastly different, but the face, the eyes. Perhaps that's what fueled my insanity, seeing your face and being reminded of my goals" he finished, still emotionless.
"How can you tell me this story without being emotional. You're worse than Brittock" I said, wiping a tear off my cheek.
"Like you said, my emotions are tweaked. I'm numb in this form... what do you mean 'worse'?" he asked, turning towards me.
"He has no feelings" I said bluntly.
"Well that's bullshit" he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
"Just because he has control over what he expresses doesn't mean he doesn't feel. He feels a lot. You can see it. If you're me, you feel it" he said cryptically.
"I don't-"
"When I killed you, I thought he was going to explode from his emotions. He looked like he wanted to kill me with his bare hands at first, then he appeared to want to hold your body for comfort. But soon after the initial incident, he fixed his face and gave me my ultimatum. Now that I am the way I am, I can sense how people react on a biological level. Part of being an animal. He still gets nervous around you, no matter how angry he seems. I can smell the increase in sweat on his body when you enter the room. Whenever you are around other males, me or Gerry for instance, his testosterone spikes with the need to claim his territory, and you don't even want to know how often he is aroused-"
"Stop stop stop stop" I said, closing my eyes and waving my hands.
"Its true" he said with a shrug.
"I'm sure... but I can't forgive him"
"But you can forgive me?"
"Yes, well your life story is absolutely terrible and as much as I hate that you killed me, I think you really feel awful for what you did" I said with a sigh, "besides, I have tons of lives" I casually waved my hand, tossing away his fears.
"He was as much betrayed as you were. And you know about his past about as much as everyone else... which is absolutely nothing. How do you know his past isn't worse than mine?" Rodney said, laying back into the grass. "I think you're just being a stubborn pain in the ass" he said, rolling over and placing his back to me.
___________________
"No, like this" I said with a laugh, correcting Gerry's sign.
"This is so confusing" Gerry said, dropping his hands into his lap.
"You're doing great" I said, rubbing his bald head.
"She's going to laugh at me" he whined, covering his face and throwing his head back.
"No she... Well... Maybe..." I admitted with a laugh. "Where is the confident, cocky bastard I'm used to?"
"He died whenever a cute little brunette suddenly appeared"
"Well aren't you just adorable" I said, pinching his cheek.
"Quit that" he swatted my hand.
We sat in silence for a few seconds before I halfway mustered up the bravery to say what I wanted to say.
"I have known you for a good bit of time. You lie to me, you verbally abuse me, but you can never just be quiet. What's wrong?"
I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees.
"And you only do that" he gestured to my entire body, "when you're nervous or afraid".
"Have you seen Brittock lately?" I asked quietly.
"No, I haven't in a day or two, but... wait, Brittock?"
"Brock, yes. Sorry, Rodney says Brittock, it slipped" I said, covering my track.
"Uh huh" he said, giving me a 'you're bullshitting me' look. "Yeah well he's somewhere in the building, top two floors. He hasn't gone, I know that"
"I need to talk to him" I mumbled.
"Why?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Because I got yelled at by your girlfriend"
"She's not my girlfriend" he said, blushing.
"Not yet" I corrected with a laugh, rising and heading to my room.
I grabbed my journal and my art kit and headed to the elevator.
"Where are you going?"
"To the roof. I haven't had personal time with my sketch book in a while" I said, climbing in and going to the roof.
___________________
The moon was full, completely lighting up the world below it. From the top floor of The Penthouse, you could see over the vast wall protecting The Metropolis. Far off, in the distance, I could see the ocean, beautifully reflecting the glow of the orb above it. So gorgeous, and yet beneath the surface, the water was radioactive and disgusting, destroyed beyond repair. Sounds so familiar.
I opened my sketchbook to a blank page and pulled out my piece of charcoal.
Oh how I treasured this book. I found it on accident, considered using it for toilet paper, but then I realized that I had a talent. An ability to draw that I had never quite honed in my earlier lives. I scanned through the pages, as I always did before I began a new picture. My first images were rough, obviously done by a novice. Nature scenery, wild animals, my favorite weapons. But as the pages progressed, I began to get pretty good. I stopped turning the pages as quickly when I reached the section that involved portraits.
My mother, her hair loose and flowing in this picture, was so detailed I could even imagine the red color it held in real life. This image was cemented into my brain, a time before she began pinning her hair up in tight chignons everyday.
My father, his face covered with a thick beard and blue eyes sparkling with happiness and joy. I had always wanted his free spirit. Instead, I achieved a rebellious streak, a poor substitute in comparison.
I grabbed the edge of the picture, trying to turn the page...
But I couldn't bring myself to do it.
I knew, by heart, what picture was next. Whose face would be staring at me when I flipped that flimsy page.
I jumped slightly when I heard the elevator door slide open. Someone was coming on to the roof. I sat around the corner of a metal shed attached to the elevator. From where I was sitting, if the individual walked straight out of the elevator, they wouldn't see me.
I heard the soft padding of feet on the roof, a sound that was proven when I saw two bare appendages slowly gliding across the tiles of the roof.
Brock continued to walk all the way to the railing, where he rested his left hand on the metal length. In the other was a glass bottle of amber liquid, what I could only assume was liquor. He took a large swig and then continued to look out over the city.
Not being able to fight it any longer, I let my gaze slide down his body... which was cloth-less except for the long, black pajama pants that hung low off his hips.
I had never seen him in so little clothing. His body was...
Fabulous.
Perfect.
Insufferably, annoyingly amazing.
A sigh from his direction caught me off guard, snapping me out of my disgusting reverie.
The blond giant reached up and rubbed his face, swaying slightly when his hand left the railing.
"He's drunk" I whispered to myself with a shocked smile.
Leaned over the railing, Brittock hung his lithe torso precariously over the edge.
I felt my body tense as I watched him sway with the breeze.
Gently, I attempted to put my items away quietly, keeping my eye on him simultaneously.
"I am not drunk" he said suddenly, his words a little slurred.
"I think your actions right now say the opposite" I quipped.
"Perhaps this is how I always am" he said, taking another drink from the bottle.
"I doubt it. It's impressive that you knew I was here" I said honestly, approaching with my backpack and journal in hand.
"I did not know you were... At first. But I will always be able to recognize the sound of your voice" he said when I came up even to him. I saw his brow furrow, as if he didn't know why he said that.
"Why are you drunk?"
"I am not drunk" he reiterated, turning his head to look down at me.
"Fine. Why are you drinking?"
"Because the sun always sets in the west" was his response as he looked upward at the moon. He lost his balance and took one step back, making me nervous about the fact that he was going to fall. I put my hand on his tricep, steadying him.
"I don't know what that means"
"No. You do not" he said, looking down at my hand. He reach across his body and put his hand on top of my own. "I like the way that feels" he said with a sigh, then pulled my hand off and pushed it away.
"Then why did-"
"What are you doing up here?"
My instant response was to get angry and prepare a sharp retort, but then I recalled Rodney's words the other day.
"I was sketching" I answered honestly.
"I did not know you liked to" he whispered.
"There's a lot you don't know. But yes, I enjoy it" I said, trying to get him to look me in the eye.
"May I see?" he asked after a few seconds, finally making my eye contact.
"Yes" I whispered. I gently sat my backpack down on the ground. "But you have to give me the bottle first... and you have to sit. I don't want you dropping my book over the edge".
He nodded, never breaking eye contact, and handed me the bottle. He clumsily sat down, placing his back against the railing.
Funny, I could have sworn his lives tattoo was on this side. Maybe it was on the other side, and I just missed it...
He held his hand out, palm up, wanting the book. I looked down at him, then slid down to rest beside his long form.
He cleared his throat, but continued to hold the proffered hand up.
I placed the black bound sketch book into his hand, which he placed in his lap and opened to the first page.
"When did you start drawing?" he asked, blinking slowly, I assume to try to steady his vision.
"After my parents died... before I met you" I answered, reaching across his body to help him turn the page he was struggling with grasping its thin corner.
"I can... I can do it" he said tapping my hand almost...
Playfully...
I quickly looked at his face, searching for emotion.
"Yes?" he asked, arching a curious brow.
"Nothing!" my voice squeaked. "Mmm, nothing".
"Ah, yes. Nothing always causes people to stare" he said.
"Are you... are you teasing me?" I asked, shocked.
"No, no, not me" he said, shaking his head.
I leaned in closely to look at his mouth, searching for any hint of a smile.
"My best advice to you is to not stare at my mouth like that"
"Oh, sorry" I said, shocked I got caught. He was looking down at me, eyes lit by the moon, just like the ocean view from earlier.
He shrugged, turning another page. There was my mother, in all her glory.
"Constance" he said slowly.
"Yes... how did you know?"
"I guessed" he admitted, "it was the fake name you gave Gerry".
"Wow... I'm surprised you knew his name"
"Hanniter? Gerry. Middle name: Lukas. Height: six feet two inches. Weight: two hundred and ten pounds. Military experience: two centuries of marines. Weapon specialty: semi-automatic firearms. Intelligence Level: above average. Maturity Level: far below average" he finished.
"Did you just make a joke?"
"I can" he said quietly, turning the page.
"No... you can't. You should drink more often" I teased.
"Funny" he said, "and this is your father?"
"Gerard Buchanan" I nodded.
"What did he do?"
"He owned things... a lot of things" I whispered.
"A business man. An admirable quality" he said, grasping the edge of the page.
"Wait" I gasped, placing my palm flat on the page.
"Yes?"
"Tell me" I asked, my heart pounding.
"Tell you what?"
"Something. Anything. Anything about your past"
He stared into my eyes before sighing and leaning his head back against the railing.
"You don't have-" I said, not wanting to ruin the tiny moment that was going on.
"I was seventeen years old in the year 2012, barely old enough to pledge myself to the marines, but with my parents consent, I enlisted. In 2013, I graduated High School valedictorian and went to boot camp to become a member of the United States Marine Corps" his eyes were still closed, his body unmoving.
"That's impossible. That makes you an Original human being, one born before the pod times. There were very few of those people alive when I was born... that makes you over three thousand years old" I said, mouth agape.
"I look good for a grandpa" he said, never changing facial expressions.
"I'm considered old for my age" I was still blown away.
"Yes well not as old as me" he responded.
"So... continue" I said, adjusting myself closer to him, plastering on an expectant and, hopefully, encouraging look.
He cleared his throat again, before continuing "I served for twelve years, where I quickly climbed the ladder to military success. I was the best the program had ever seen. I had prevented thirteen potential World War situations with covert ops missions run by myself with a select group of men. I was considered the most important man in history that no one would ever know about" he hesitated.
"That explains your military skill level" I commented.
"Yes, well all good things come to an end" his tone was calm but almost... Disappointed.
"What happened?"
"I got sick" he said bluntly.
"With?"
"Cancer. Metastasized brain cancer"
"But... cancer was deadly back then, right?"
"Yes"
"Then what-"
"They decided I was not allowed to die, so they pulled Project Infinity out of animal trials and used me as the first human trial"
"Project Infinity?"
"Yes" he slid his icy gaze to me , "you would know it better as Regeneration Pods".