There's a sudden, sad, even forlorn look in his eye as John places a hand on the helmet. Hooks his fingers beneath the genetic pokemon's controlling collar.
at least john isn't wearing a matching one.
A pang of something. guilt. regret. fear. violent repulsion to the idea of revolt -- and he slams it back down again. Securely in place. Before turning, bolting from the room.
the brief touch causes the creature to stir, the multiple wires attached to the armor swaying the slightest at the movement. he can’t move much, not with the machine keeping him still, but there’s something different about the man that had approached him. so much less of that putrid, twisted aura that radiated from the other one. still, the stench of human is stuck firm on him, just as sickening as everyone else.
despite of his psychic powers being suppressed, despite of the metal surrounding his body, he can feel the man’s aura.
someone has tarnished it.
only for a brief second does light shine into his eyes, right before the human seems to turn and bolt off, leaving behind the deafening silence.
@turnecoat
