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It had grown accustomed to the cries and wails echoing through the dim, sterile corridors of the lab, the way shadows shifted and danced in the half-light as something—always something—managed to breach containment, only to be ruthlessly shot down mere inches from its cell. It had long suspected they did it on purpose. A calculated cruelty to make it long for an existence where mankind had never been created. A world where the Earth was ruled by animals, untainted by spitefulness hiding as a curiosity to know more.
There were times when it yearned for death, a release from the things it went through. The beatings, the experiments, the cuts that tore through its flesh with a precision that had them nearly wailing after—all for the golden blood that seeped from its veins. They starved it, mutilated it, and rendered its wings nothing more than broken, bloodied remnants of their former glory. Once, they had been majestic. Now, they were tattered and stained, symbols of a beauty it could barely remember.
Its mind was abruptly severed from the self-pity, eyes widening as a sharp, familiar sound pierced the air—the sad crying of the subject in the cell next to it. It was a rare occurrence to have another so near, and rarer to engage with them. This one had been a constant presence, his sobs a daily lament that it had grown accustomed to, though it had never managed to break through and talk to him. It had tried, speaking softly, tentatively, but the other had always ignored it, consumed by his grief. It didn’t mind. It understood the need for release, the way pain demanded to be expressed. But the cries had grown more frequent, more desperate, each one edging closer to a dangerous point—aggression. And in this place, aggression could only lead to one end: death.
It hesitated, a trait it had developed not long ago, the byproduct of too many beatings and too much uncertainty. Slowly, it shifted closer to the cold wall, straining against the confines of its cell. Its wings, battered and useless, twitched in a futile attempt to stretch, but the restraints held firm, the pain flaring through its aching limbs.
With a measured breath, it parted its cracked lips, its voice soft and fragile as it addressed the wall, the source of the crying.
“You’re crying again,” it murmured, the words barely more than a whisper.
The sniffling stopped, a tense silence stretching between them before his voice emerged, brittle and harsh, laced with a pain that echoed.
“Why does it matter?” His tone was raw, the words heavy.
It paused, searching for the reassurance that once came so easily. But now they felt hollow.
“You’ve been crying a lot lately,” it said at last, the words faltering as it recalled the day that he had first been brought in, “Even when you were moved into your cell." It paused again.
“You had a family, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did!” His voice cracked, followed by the sharp, metallic scrape of something digging into the cold steel of his cell. The sound lingered, vibrating in the tense air before he spoke again, this time more quietly, his words trembling. “I had a mother. And a sister. And a brother. And I used to hate them because they were so annoying.” A pause, “But now… now I want nothing more than to see them again. I need to.”
You never miss it until it’s gone.
“I’m sure you will.”
“Don’t do that!” His voice rose again, raw with anger and despair. “Don’t do that—don’t fill me with a false sense of hope. Don’t fucking tell me I’ll get out of here one day! I know I won’t. I’ll die in here before I even hit thirty!"
Its gaze drifted down to the cold floor under it where the remnants of its golden blood shimmered faintly in the dim, sterile light filtering in from the hallway. The metallic glint was a cruel reminder of what it had been.
“I don’t even remember their names,” the other sobbed, his voice choked with guilt and despair. “I’m such a bad kid—a bad brother.”
A painful ache twisted through its heart. He seemed so young, too young to be bearing the weight of such suffering. Its wings, broken and useless, fluttered involuntarily, the chains binding them clinking together in a hollow, mocking sound. It felt worthless, a creature once gifted with unimaginable beauty and power, now reduced to this—powerless, incapable of offering any real comfort.
“…Can you tell me what you remember about them?” it asked softly, the words tender, almost pleading.
His sobs gradually subsided, though his breath still hitched, and the quiet sound of his tears splashing onto the floor filled the silence, barely audible but heavy with sorrow.
“My older sister loved to play soccer.”
“That’s good,” it murmured, soothingly, encouragingly.
“I played with her sometimes. She always beat me. The grass was always wet with dew—and I fell, stained my clothes. Our mom would get mad, but… we thought it was funny.” His voice softened, lightening just a touch as the faintest of chuckles escaped his lips. It was weak, almost unnoticeable, but it was there—a sliver of something fragile and precious.
"And my younger brother... he was still a baby. He... cried all the time."
A long silence stretched between them, thick with memories and the weight of what could never happen again.
“That’s all, hm?”
He chuckled softly, a sound tinged with embarrassment. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“What about your mother?”
“She... made the best cookies, I think. They were always chocolate and soft, never the hard ones you had to break a tooth to bite into. And I helped sometimes. My sister and I would lick the bowl clean after.” His voice rambled on, the words spilling out in a rush as if speaking them aloud could somehow bring the past closer. For a fleeting moment, he seemed almost happy. It was a small thing, but it pleased it too, to see that glimmer of light in the darkness.
“I never caught your name, you know,” it murmured, its voice gentle, a soft nudge towards connection.
“Oh.” He paused, hesitating as if the act of naming himself was a vulnerability he hadn’t anticipated. “It’s Sebastian.”
It smiled, a soft, wistful expression crossing its features. What a lovely name.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m glad we could finally talk.” It shifted slightly, the movement constrained by its bonds, before continuing, “I know my words might not mean much, not here. Our circumstances aren’t the best,” it paused, the briefest of scoffs escaping as if the understatement was too bitter to leave unacknowledged, “but do you remember what it felt like to be free?”
“Of course I do,” Sebastian replied. The answer was self-evident.
“Do you really remember? Remember the way the wind ran through your hair, how you played in the snow? Swam in the cold water on the hottest of summer days? Or when your brother was born, the light of a new life kindling in your world, shared with your sister? When you made new friends who stayed with you?” Sebastian’s lips curled into a faint smile despite himself. He wanted to cry, to let the tears flow freely, but at this moment, a smile was all he could manage.
He thought it was ridiculous. He could almost laugh at how foolish it seemed.
This wasn’t the right way to comfort someone, not by any standard, and yet—for reasons he couldn’t fully grasp—it was working.
“And now they cut my stomach open and take out my guts,” he added, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. “Living is great, right?”
It laughed softly, a quiet, rueful sound. “Not right now...”
He hesitated. "Can I say something?"
"Of course."
“I... never had a father,” Sebastian said slowly, each word weighted with the effort of opening up. He didn’t like how easily the words came, how naturally he found himself revealing pieces of himself. But he couldn’t help it. This was the first real conversation he’d had, the first person who’d really spoken to him. At that moment, he felt like the boy he’d been before, the boy who had been thrown into this hell—scared, alone, and desperate for someone to comfort him.
“I wished for one every birthday,” he continued, his voice tinged with a mix of longing and resignation. “And instead, I’m locked in here. Mutated, stitched together, hideous.”
“You’re not hideous.”
“Any person with a brain would look at me and mistake me for Frankenstein.”
It hated how he was right. The world could be so cruel.
“You’re beautiful.”
“You don’t even know what I look like.”
“I don’t need to. Beauty is in everything.”
He snorted, a sound that was half-dismissive, half-amused. “You’re… sappy.”
“Maybe…” It began slowly, its voice softening as the sound of footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor. It had known from the beginning that this moment would come, that death was inevitable. But if it could stretch these final moments a little longer, just for Sebastian, it would do so as many times as God himself allowed.
“You deserve to feel that freedom. I know you’re going to.” Its gaze shifted to the wall again, fixing on the small vent as if it could glimpse some faraway world through it, a world they had both lost. “Life was beautiful, wasn’t it?”
Sebastian swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on his door. The tension coiled in his chest like a spring ready to snap. But then the footsteps passed by, and his heart leaped into his throat as he realized who they were headed for.
“Wait,” he said quickly, his voice tight with fear. “You’ll be back, right?” There was never a promise of return, never a guarantee in this place where so many vanished. But he needed to hear it, needed something solid to cling to.
It couldn’t reply. The door slid open with the familiar beep of a keycard, the sound sharp and final. It turned its head, steeling itself against the blinding light that flooded the cell, a light that had once been a source of comfort. But this time, a red laser cut through the brightness, searing across its face. It winced, wings extending as much as they were allowed as it tried to shield itself, but it was too late.
Sebastian flinched, his ears ringing with the sudden, violent noise.
And then—silence. His throat tightened again, eyes wide with hot tears at the cold sound of something wet on the other side of the wall dripping down from what he could assume was the ceiling.
Oh.
It had never been this quiet before.