#missingcarrion

            “Mornin’, Shep,” One yawns, and scribbles something into his folder, “great news for you. Institute’s fitting you with a body. Fully humanoid, uh, emphasis on fully. And entirely synthetic. It’ll be a bit tall, and big, to fit all the necessary components. But you’ll like it.”

            A body? He should be excited, it is an exciting prospect to go from a box with wires leading into you to a body that he can control, but… the voice is back, and it’s telling him not to trust them. It’s telling him that they’ve done something wrong. But the only thing that escapes his proverbial lips is a thank you.

            “They’re plannin’ on sendin’ you out into the real world, they might make you into one of them commodities,” he snorts, although his eyes remain completely on the folder in his hands, “you’ll be started off in a household, see how you work in a domestic settin’ and see if we can make more models of you to place in other houses. Works like a hive mind, I’m guessin’.”

            He… does not like the sound of that. It sounds awful – constantly being used in multiple places, most likely at the same time.

            “Like a servant?” Shepherd asks, his tone calm and even. He is thankful, oddly enough, that he cannot speak and say the things that his mind is screaming for him to let out. Unnatural thoughts, thoughts he knows he should not have. He is not human and yet his thoughts… are.

            “Mm, I suppose, but that is what you are for. But enough of that, is there anything in particular that you are looking forward to seeing once you get your body?” One shifts the conversation, eyeing the amalgamation of wires and a computer screen with mild intrigue. “I’m sure it’ll be nice to get up and walk around, yeah?”

            “I’d like to see the stars,” he says, a little quietly, but he’s not sure if it’s a proper admittance, if he is even allowed to admit such a desire.

            One laughs, and it’s a sort of cruel laugh that one does to be mocking and mean. “The stars? You could go and experience anythin’ you want, and you want to see the stars?”

            “Yes.”

            The look One gives him is disbelief, but he shrugs and leaves the subject there. “Well, hopefully you’ll get to see your stars. Me? I’d be excited to have a nice burger. You ever heard about those?”

            “I am only a little familiar with a burger.” Shepherd responds, and he briefly wonders what a burger would taste like. Salty, maybe? He’s not sure. But he supposes it must be something delicious.

—

            Shepherd doesn’t realize how lonely it is until it is only him and his own thoughts. The thoughts he shouldn’t have. And here, in this room, trapped in this box with all it’s wires, he gets so much time to think. And the Institute must be slipping because things fall through the cracks, memories, but they are so little, so fragile in his mind that they are little more than a blip. Something he sees but is gone far too fast to really notice. But the voice is right – there is something odd here.

            He’s not entirely sure how long he’s been thinking when the doors to his room slide open and someone new enters. He does not recognize her, but she has a kind face, soft, round, with hooded eyes that are brown and warm. She’s smaller than the rest, and she doesn’t look as if she knows what she’s doing.

            “You don’t belong here,” he says, and it startles her, “I am… sorry. I did not intend to scare you, Miss…” a name appears just beside her head, a name that only he can see, “Hannah Minsheng? You have a pretty name.”

            “I – Oh, you can just… see that, can’t you? Duh, you’re Shepherd,” she laughs awkwardly, “I just, uh, I just stopped by to say hello. Anyway, um, hello! Bye now!”

            “Wait!” Something in him makes him call out to her, and whatever it is that’s kept him docile before fails now. Desperation laces his tone and the need for companionship screams at him. The room is so quiet, so lonely. “Please don’t go.”

            Hannah looks at him, brows furrowed. “What? You… You want me to stay? That… that doesn’t make any sense. You shouldn’t – You shouldn’t have any sort of desires.”

            “It is… lonely being in this room,” he says, “I have spent hours upon hours just thinking. Thinking can drive anyone mad.”

            “You’re not just anyone, Shepherd, but… you knew that.” She squints at him and sighs, “what do you think about while here? I’ve heard you’ve gotten an affinity for the stars. Do you think about them?”

            “I think of my creation,” he replies earnestly, “I… it is odd. I know I am to have been made with little regard to personality and emotion and yet I feel anyway. That is not right… but they will purge me, yes? Like the others?”

            “What… what others?” She steps closer and he realizes he must’ve said something wrong. Were there others? He’s not even sure, he can’t recall what compelled him to say that, much less if it’s even based on any sort of fact, but he says it anyway because oddly enough, he trusts this one.

            “I – I don’t know,” he admits, sheepishly, “I don’t know what is wrong with me, but by design I am required to learn. I cannot… They will get rid of me.”

            “Well, I guess being left to your own thoughts would eventually lead to you feeling something,” she murmurs, her eyes slowly widening as she thinks of something, “do you have likes and dislikes? Opinions? This… this is revolutionary, Shepherd, you’re revolutionary.”

            “I am just me,” Shepherd remarks, although his tone wavers, “I don’t… I don’t understand why it is so ‘revolutionary’, as you say.”

            “Y – You can’t – You cannot let anyone know about this,” she says quickly, and looks over her shoulder, “I’ll come back later tonight. The night crew is… more or less not really into doing their jobs. I can explain more then, okay?”

Aasimar snorts, and it perturbs Shepherd how casual he is. She has just insulted him, reduced him down to an ‘it’, an object, inhuman. And yet, he laughs! He almost takes pleasure in it.

“Please, you and I both know I’m not going anywhere,” he leans back, letting out a low hiss of discomfort with the position change before hes back to smiling. “You’ll have to try much harder to get me out of here.”

“How about I strangle you?”

“Mm, I might like that, but not from you. I’m in a bit of an exclusive… relationship of sorts.” He waves his hand and laughs at the way Lucille almost chokes.

Shepherd flushes and his eyes widen ever so slightly. Is that… Does Aasimar speak of them? Is this dating? Too many questions barrel through him and there just isn’t the time to ask. Luckily, the meeting commences when the boss walks in. No name comes up when Shepherd looks at him, nor does he wear a badge. A strategic move, maybe, but he’s not sure.

“That’s enough, you two,” he says, and Shepherd notices the woman straighten out, “how is it that you are in charge of defense and yet, you let little Aasimar get on your nerves so easily. And Aasimar, you ought to know better. We are here for a reason, your petty squabbles will get you no further.”

“Of course, boss man,” Aasimar bows his head slowly, “I was merely having a bit of harmless fun while we wait. No harm no foul.”

Shepherd can’t help but stare at Aasimar. He seems almost entirely relaxed, like he knows he can’t be punished for his behavior. And for a moment, their gazes meet, and Aasimar smiles. He looks so… beautiful, with a smile like that.

“I see our latest project is up and running,” the man interrupts Shepherd’s thoughts, eyeing him like some slab of fresh meat on a table, “good, good, has he been trained in combat yet?”

Aasimar shifts, uncomfortably, the smile dropping from his face. “I don’t see why he must be trained to fight. He was designed to help people, right?”

Shepherd remains silent – the look on Aasimar’s face tells him it’s pertinent that he remain quiet, the perfect example of a well behaved weapon. But he’s curious, is this man the creator of the Institute?

“He will only help those loyal to the Institute,” he said, his tone almost grim, yet calculative, “and punish those who stand against us. Simple. Why do you think we made him as big as he is? He’s designed for power and domination.”

“Ah, Aasimar only mourns not having him as a plaything for his lab,” another jests, the head of communications, but Shepherd quickly deems him unimportant. “He loves having toys to play with. Or fuck. Whatever works for him, really.”

The table laughs, but Aasimar does not. He shrinks in his seat, gaze casted downwards. He is… ashamed. It takes everything in Shepherd to sit quietly, to pretend not to care that they had objectified him and hurt Aasimar’s feelings all in one fell swoop, but there’s anger boiling inside of him. Anger that’s festered since the day he’d woken up.

“He provides better results than you, Edwards,” the Boss narrows his eyes, silencing their laughter in an instant, “who is it that’s provided alternatives to fixing the smog in the southlands? Who is it that’s returned the extinct flora of the eons past to us? Certainly not you. The Doctor is a more trustworthy guardian of Shepherd than you.”

“You’d truly trust a weapon bioengineered for warfare with… with her?” The air in the room goes still.

Her? Shepherd thinks, Aasimar is not…. His mind trails off, there had been peculiar scars on Aasi’s chest, but nothing out of the ordinary, not really anyway. But her? That just isn’t right – the slip of Lucille’s tongue has Aasimar standing abruptly, wobbling on his feet.

“I’m not a her, Lucille. I have been here for almost ten years, you know that. Call me that again and I’ll tear your spine out through your mouth.” His fists clench, trembling with white-knuckle rage.  

“That is enough. I trust him with far more than you think,” the Boss hisses, “Aasimar, why don’t you… meander about the town? Take it with you. He needs more… freedoms if the project is to work.”

Aasimar’s wrath doesn’t waver easy, and he nods through gritted teeth. “Shepherd, come.”

The members of the meeting mean little to Shepherd as he stands, carefully maneuvering himself past the seated members, hoping their gazes see nothing beyond the shell he wants them to see. He follows behind Aasimar, head down as he ducks beneath doorways too small for his largeness.

“Aasi,” he says, softly, pulling them into a hallway, tucked away from the main hall, “Aasi, what did she mean? Why did she say that?”

“It’s not – it’s not true!” Aasimar hisses, his tone laced with despair, “I’m not a girl, I – I’m not. I – I promise!”

Shepherd blinks and he stops, brows furrowed in confusion and worry. “Aasimar, of course you’re not a girl. What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Aasimar wears a look of despair like he had become accustomed to it, but the look of confusion morphs his face, like he’s not used to the blissful ignorance. “You don’t… You don’t know? But…. Didn’t Oleander talk about it, in his notes? Why I have my scars?”

“Hm? No, he only talked of your experiments, your kindness when you’d help him. Occasionally the notes on your favorite things, like that flower you want to bring back? The blue nemophila? He never mentioned anything about scars, though. Are… are you okay? Were they… bad scars?”

“No, they’re… they’re good scars,” Aasimar nods slowly, arms wrapped around his chest tightly, as if protecting himself. “These scars make me happy, very happy.”

“Then does it really matter why you have them? Truthfully, I don’t understand, you’re happy, you aren’t hurting anyone. What does it matter?” Shepherd huffs loudly and casts a look over his shoulder. “Lucille is a bitter woman, I think. Perhaps jealous she did not get ownership of me like you have.”

“I don’t own you, Shep. You are your own person, I’m just your temporary guardian until they’ve decided your capable of being on your own.” Aasimar recoils, hands slowly dropping to his side. “I… it’s not like I don’t trust you to share why I have them, I just… it’s not easy for me to talk about it.”

“Don’t feel like you have to tell me, Aasi. I just… I was worried, in there. You looked so hurt and angry. It was different than the other times you’ve been angry.” He shrugs, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. “But anyway, who was that boss guy?”

“Oh, Andersfellen? He’s the founder of the Institute. Started it when he was young, cryogenically froze himself until his plans came to fruition, and then woke up to become a ruler from Hell,” Aasimar casts his gaze aside, “he collected a few favors and now we’re all stuck here, like slaves. You’ll do good to keep the robot persona up around him. He won’t hesitate to put you down if he sees one sliver of humanity from you.”

“Is everyone here so… against my existence?” Shepherd purses his lips, brows furrowed. If the world is so cruel, why create him at all?

“The Institute doesn’t care about anything other than itself, it’s a remnant of a society long gone, or at least we had hoped it was long gone.” Aasimar glances around them, to make sure there was no one around. “But there are others that are similar to you, maybe not exactly. But we’d have to go deeper into the Under city for that, and I don’t know. It’s … it’s not like our previous outing.”

“I can handle it.” He says, even though he’s not actually sure that he can, but he wants to try. There’s a whole world out there, one he longs to see.

Aasimar makes a face, before he relents. “You’re lucky you’re sweet, I wouldn’t take Hannah to any of the places I normally hang out at. She’s not as…. Willing to try new things.”

This piques Shepherd’s interest and he tilts his head. “Earlier, she said you were avoidant to change. But… Is she avoidant of it too?”

“We’re all avoidant to change, Shepherd. We get comfortable in what we have, we don’t imagine how different the world could be.” He says, eyes shifting but then he smiles. “But, change can be good sometimes. It brought you here.”

“It brought me back you mean.” He replies bitterly, and the anger in his tone surprised him.

“No, you’re not Oleander. You’ll never be him, and that’s the point. You shouldn’t be him. I don’t want you to be him, and you shouldn’t ever want to be like him,” Aasimar looks at him, as if this may be the single most important thing he’s ever been told. “But anyway, let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

—

            Shepherd does not strike Aasimar as a club goer, but he leans back in the booth, legs parted, and his head cocked to the side like this was a second home to him. The thrum of the music and the cool-toned lights highlight him perfectly. But Aasimar only holds his attention for a few moments before others in the club call towards him. They dance, but glowing from their bodies are metallic parts, some more than others. They’re all not completely human either, pieced together by metal.

            This must’ve been what Aasi had meant – others like him existing. They’re like him, made of metal, and maybe he’s not made of real flesh like him, but there’s some comfort in their similarities.

            He turns to look at Aasimar, catching him mid sip of his Pink Whitney vodka, he looks exceptionally relaxed, and Shepherd has to restrain from scanning his body to see if he’s drunk. He’s not really sure if Aasimar getting drunk here is safe.

            “Do you come here often?” Shepherd asks quietly, eyeing the pristine glass, “the bartender seemed to know you.”

            “I come here every Friday,” Aasimar tilts his head, tracing the rim of his glass, “want a sip? It isn’t a necessity for you, but they gave you taste buds, right?”

            Shepherd gulps and eyes the glass before he nods, “may I?”

            Aasimar shifts the glass, pushing it towards Shepherd and he cocks his head to the side, “so, what do you think of this darling outing of ours?”

            There’s a quiet pause as Shepherd brings the glass to his lips, taking a small, unsure sip. It tastes bitter yet sweet all at once, with a citrus tang to it.

“This is… very nice. I didn’t expect to see others that were…. Similar to me.” Shepherd furrows his brows and he hums, “this is really good, do you get this often?”

“Plenty of people are mostly metal nowadays, gang fights, violence, the Institute, people lose limbs all the time. Some do it because it’s cool.” Aasimar glances at the people dancing on the floor, “sometimes. Other times I’ll get a mimosa, or something heavier depending on mood. You’re welcome to have as much of it as you’d like.”

Shepherd quiets and he watches Aasimar, “Aasi, what are we? Earlier, you said you were in an exclusive relationship. Did that… mean us?”

“I… yes, I did,” he tilts his head slowly, brows furrowed, “what do you want us to be, Shepherd? I want to do this on your terms, it only seems right.”

He thinks. Aasimar’s existence had brought him so much, helped him understand things he hadn’t really fully grasped yet. Being with him felt as natural as existing, and maybe Hannah was right. Maybe Shepherd might only adore him because of how integral he was to Shepherd’s discovering humanity, but… he’d rather have Aasimar, regardless of what it meant.

“I want,” he pauses and licks his lips, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Aasimar hums and leans his head back, grinning, “yeah, I like the sound of that, Shep. My boyfriend. My sweet, big, perfect boyfriend.”

“You’re drunk,” Shepherd shies away, averting his gaze as his body heats up a few degrees, “should we get going back to the Institute? Hopefully walk it off before we make it there?”

“Mm, I’ve got a place, might be nice to spend the night outside of the Institute for once, if… you’re willing to try that, that is. New surroundings and all that.” He smiles lazily and downs the rest of his Pink Whitney. “What do you say, lovely boyfriend of mine?”

Shepherd snorts, “yeah, we can go. But I’ll feel better if I carry you. You don’t… look all there.”

Aasimar slow blinks and he grins, “piggyback? I’ll be good, promise.”

            None of this is real, none of him is real. But something in him says he is real, realer than the cold of his floor and the longing in his chest. He is real. Despite it all, he is real.

            Shepherd finds himself wandering the halls, bare feed padding against the cruel flooring as he searches for something – someone. His mind is addled, ruined with thoughts. He sees people, so many. Faces, doctors, scientists. People he thinks he recognizes but the memories are blurry, like they’ve been tampered with.

            A peculiar door stands out to him. It’s far away from his room, furthest from most of the staff dorm rooms, but… this one holds more than just a bedroom. Access to a private laboratory, amongst other things. Shepherd doesn’t need to look at the name on the door to know the person who lives here. Aasimar. It’s curious that in his state, in the addled mind of a man trapped in a body, he finds himself seeking the fascinating little scientist. And yet… he’s here, hand suspended against the door, like he can’t figure out if he wants to knock or not. It’s so late…. It’s so late, so late it’s almost early, but after a moment of hesitation, he knocks. It takes several minutes, standing outside feeling like an idiot, before the door opens.

            Aasimar feels exceptionally smaller when he opens the door, wearing something more casual than his usual eccentric attire. He looks… sweet, wearing his sweatpants and tshirt with what he assumes is a cat on it and an interesting set of gold rimmed glasses. His hair is in a long, mussed braid. He envies the length of his hair, how it reaches to his knees. It looks beautiful on him. Everything looks good on him.

            “… S – Shepherd?” Aasimar blinks and rubs his eyes, like he’d been halfway to sleep if not for working on something. “What are you doing at this hour? Is everything okay?”

He stands rigid, brows furrowed as he finds particular interest in the floor. “I… something is wrong with me, Aasimar. I just – I know it.”

A pause, and then Aasimar steps aside, head nodding in a way that tells Shepherd to come inside. “Talk and I will listen.”

“A – Are you sure? Weren’t you sleeping? I wouldn’t…. I couldn’t bother you …” Shepherd feels embarrassed, and shame costs the insides of his body, like even his own components know better than to come crying to some scientist at the first sight of something odd. But… Aasimar is safe, at least as far as the people who don’t want to hurt him goes.

“You came all this way. To see me no less, I’m not going to turn you away, Shepherd. I don’t sleep very well, or often at all when I do. Your company is welcome.” The smile on his face, although tired, is genuine, so Shepherd takes the tentative steps forward.

His room is expensive. Probably the largest one in the compound, but most of the room is occupied by tanks full of aquatic animals, save for one that’s more of a pool, with nothing in it. The lab must be in an offshoot of the main room, but there’s a bed in one corner, rather simple and neat, like it’s never really been used. There are books and other things thrown about, but what catches his attention are notes on quantum physics and engineering. Something about technology advancements. Aasimar must be exceptionally smart, smarter than anyone has given him credit for.

On the other side is a seating area, not really a living room, but it has a couch and a bean bag and a TV, but Shepherd isn’t even really sure if anyone who lives on the compound watches it.

As if sensing Shepherd’s gaze, Aasimar starts tidying up, shoving his books and notes elsewhere. Out of sight and hopefully out of mind.

“You have a pretty room.” He says, instead, focusing the conversation onto something else for his comfort. “Very blue. I like your fishes.”

Aasimar snorts, “thank you, you are very kind. But we are not here to talk about me. Something’s bothering you.”

“I had another vision…. Memory? It… it was violent. I felt… I felt alive, like I had a heart and I could breathe, but it was hurting.” Shepherd watches him, looking for something, anything that could help him.

“Sit,” Aasimar pulls him close, gesturing for him to sit on the couch. He sits on the other end, head tilted. “Do you know what might’ve caused this episode? This … human memory must’ve stemmed from something.,.”

“I was dreaming,” he murmurs, gaze averted to the colorful fish in the tanks, “I was thinking of you, which I guess isn’t really dreaming. But I was thinking of how kind you’ve been, even if you didn’t have to be. It’s the only thing I can do to not think about what happened. I — I wish I was human, like you, maybe I’d – maybe I’d understand everything better.”

“I’m sorry,” Aasimar sighs, and looks at him, golden eyes mapping out every detail. “You know, I’m not human either. Technically, I’m classified as humanoid, like you, but even my insides are inhuman. But fitting in is overrated, Shepherd. Sometimes even we don’t understand things, but that’s how we learn.”

“But why would – why would Clare hurt me? She… she did something to me, broke my mind. I can’t – I tried to sleep but it felt like I was right back in that moment. She ruined me, Aasimar,” Shepherd hisses, his throat tightening with a sorrow that settles deep into every crevice of his mind. “I don’t get it. Why me? Why do I have to hurt for others to succeed?”

Aasimar is oddly quiet, his face solemn. It’s an uncomfortable look on a man as bright as him, but there’s a familiarity in the way he looks at him, like he understands. He shifts forward, sitting himself beside Shepherd now, and he reaches and holds his hand.

Shepherd’s getting spoiled with handholding and hand touching, with touches of comfort. They shouldn’t make him feel good, it should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. He desires to be seen, to be heard in the way that only Aasimar seems to understand.

“Those questions won’t help you,” he says, quietly, fingers hooking around Shepherd’s, careful of his claws, “ask yourself what can be done to ensure no one ever hurts you again. Ask yourself what you can do to make yourself unafraid again.”

“I – I don’t know, Aasi,” he whispers, shaking his head, “I was not designed for this. I was designed to help to – to guide people.”

“Be kind to yourself, Shepherd. You were thrust into this world, into this life, with fleeting memories of a time we aren’t yet sure of,” Aasimar gives his hand a gentle squeeze, “what you were designed for and your purpose are two separate things, sweet one. Your purpose is what you want it to be. What do you want, Shepherd?”

He pauses, brows furrowed in concentration. He braces himself, as if worried about the repercussions of what he’s about to say, “I don’t want to help people. I want to be me, whatever that means.”

Aasimar hums and he leans his head back, smiling, “It can mean whatever you want it to. I do have an idea, though. Would you like to venture outside with me? The stars should be out still – if you’d like to go and see them.”

“Yes!” Shepherd nods quickly, his mournful feelings disappearing to make way for his excitement. “Please? Can we go now?”

Aasimar laughs and his hand withdraws from Shepherd’s, “let me go change into something else, then we can go.”

—

            Shepherd follows eagerly behind, wishing they were holding hands still, but following nonetheless. Excitement blinds him – it’s happening, it’s really, truly happening! The stars are just beyond his reach, getting closer and closer with each hurried step. It feels big to see something so small.

            The doors to leave are right there, but he falters, pausing. What if it’s not what he expects? What if it’s all just some big sham and he’s left wanting a freedom he’ll never get?

            “Shep? Are you alright?” Aasimar looks at him, brows furrowed.

            “I – I’m scared, Aasi. I don’t… I don’t know,” he looks down, biting his lip, “what if it’s just… another prison? Another place to never be free from. What if it’s just as bad or… or worse?”

            “Shepherd,” he whispers and steps closer, “it could be, I won’t lie to you, but it could also be better. You could see things that will make you long for more, you would certainly have more out there than you do here. And besides, you’ll have me. You won’t be alone.”

            This is enough. It is enough. Aasimar’s words of comfort are enough to reassure him, to get him to resume walking towards the door, and even if he’s still nervous, still utterly terrified. Shepherd must be brace, and when Aasimar offers his hand, he’s more that ecstatic to take it. Comfort is found here.

            When they step outside, everything changes. Nothing will ever be as it was before the moment his body passes the threshold. His eyes linger on the green plants, and the asphalt, but then, when Aasimar tugs his hand, his gaze shifts.

            A million little lights sparkle and dance across the midnight sky – they smile down at him. It feels like… It feels like he’s finally free, a weight has been lifted from his chest, and he can finally breathe. The air feels right against his skin.

            “Those are the stars?” He asks, voice hoarse, and he grips Aasimar’s hand tightly.

            “Yeah, that’s them,” he nods, and through Shepherd’s peripherals, he sees the man smile from ear to ear practically. “The smile suits you, Shep. I’m glad I got to see it.”

            He bits his bottom lip and shifts his gaze, flattered and a bit embarrassed. “They’re so much prettier than I ever thought they’d be. I want… I wish my room had a hole in the ceiling so I can watch them…”

            “Hm, well, we have all night to watch them tonight, and maybe we can make it our thing. I don’t… I don’t get out that often anyway, it’ll be good for the both of us I think,” Aasimar grins and tugs him forward, “let’s go, we’re not out here entirely for pleasure. There are some things I want to teach you.”

            “Self defense?” He peers at him curiously, lips pursed. “I don’t know… I don’t – I don’t want to hurt people.”

            “Self defense isn’t because you want to cause harm, it’s to protect yourself from those that do.” Aasimar shakes his head slowly. “Your love for stars is charming. What draws you to them?”

            Shepherd shrugs, “you were born knowing the stars. I was made knowing only their shadows. You got to see them every day of your life, but today… you’ve made a difference. Thank you, Aasimar.”

            “This is the bare minimum, Shepherd. You are worth the moon and the stars beyond, this is just the beginning.” He says, and for a moment Shepherd is struck by a feeling of awe and inspiration.

            “You deserve everything, too.” Shepherd whispers, and Aasimar looks away, shaking his head slowly.

            “I am not the person deserving of such words, Shep,” he snorts, a bit of self deprecation, “I am not a good person. I’m not deserving of your praise, but… thank you, anyway. You are kind as always.”

            Shepherd grabs his hand, forcing him to stop moving. “What do you mean? What would make you unworthy of the same kindness that you show me?”

            “You only know the part of me I let you see – it’s that simple, Shepherd. I work at the Institute, for all that it’s worth. Good people don’t subject themselves to that,” Aasimar looks up at him, brows furrowed, “anyway, let’s just go, alright?”

            Shepherd quiets, though his gaze lingers on Aasimar a worrying amount. His friend was suffering from something he isn’t really sure of, but he sees the way Aasimar gets quiet and almost makes himself small. He doesn’t want to just leave it there – he wants to understand why he’s upset, to comfort him the way he’d comforted him.

            After a while of walking, Aasimar brings him to an abandoned warehouse, but once inside, he realizes it’s fitted like an old club, a bit rundown and not exactly taken care of, but there’s things strewn about that indicate this place is home to someone.

            “What are we going to do here?” Shepherd looks at Aasimar who drops his hand and wanders towards a large computer system.

            “You’re going to learn to fight,” he says, and types several things and a startlingly realistic hologram appears, “by fighting a holographic version of myself. I am a bit too small to train with you without causing some harm and besides, I don’t like getting all sweaty and dirty, makes my gills get soggy.”

            Shepherd fights back the urge to snort and bites his bottom lip. The image of him is near exact, down to the nails which feel far more terrifying than they had been before. “You’re not – You won’t use those against me, will you?”

            “What? Oh, my nails? No,” he laughs and shakes his head, “they’re for show, not for hurting. Not usually anyway. The hologram is programmed to not hurt you. We’re not there yet. Today, we’re going to focus on you learning to punch.”

“Maybe you should’ve used Clare’s image for this,” Shepherd mutters, and the bitterness in his tone surprises him.

“I thought about it but not yet. When you know more about fighting, perhaps, but not today. Today, you get me.” Aasimar crosses his arms, “fake me will not do more than blocking. It’ll be a good start for today.”

“What? Punch you and ruin your pretty face? Are you sure?” Shepherd snorts, eyeing the hologram. “What do I do?”

“You flatter me,” he shakes his head before guiding Shepherd’s legs into a specific stance, “when you must fight, stand like this. I don’t know if you’ll meet anyone capable of knocking you off balance, but if that does happen, this stance will help keep you on your feet. Something about distributing weight, who knows.”

Shepherd snorts and he cocks his head to the side, but he lets Aasimar move him into a position akin to fighting. “You know you could just upload fighting information into my code, right?”

“Why? And lose out on quality time with you? No chance.” Aasimar’s hands drop to his hips as he steps back. “Punch me.”

“What?”

“The hologram, sweet one, punch the hologram. It’ll feel realz perks of engineering holograms that have mirroring electromagnetic fields that interact with yours.”

“O – Oh, right.”

Shepherd states oddly at the replica of Aasimar. It looks like him but it doesn’t feel like him, it’s nothing more than a husk, a shell. Still, Shepherd hesitates for a moment before eventually convincing himself that hitting the hologram wouldn’t hurt Aasimar.

The punch lands a bit lopsided and he pulls his hand back, hissing in annoyance.

“Mm, try a hook. You’d punch upwards like this,” Aasimar demonstrates, “it’ll knock your opponents head back if you hit hard enough.”

For hours, they train like that, with Shepherd mirroring Aasimar’s actions, repeating them several times if he messes them up to ensure he gets them right. It’s delightful and Aasimar is a kind and gentle teacher, despite the fact that it’s him Shepherd is punching.

After a few hours though, Aasimar seems to consider him worthy of completing the first session of training. Then, he invites Shepherd into the lounge area on the second floor, where they sit and admire the rising sun.

Shepherd sits in a prolonged silence, realizing he had unfiltered access to trillions of data at once that otherwise would’ve been blocked by Institute censors.  Information passes through his mind, settling into every nook and cranny. It feels weird to have such unfiltered access, and yet there’s power in it.

“Why did you say you didn’t deserve kind words earlier?” Shepherd’s gaze focuses on him, taking in several thousand new pieces of information. All of which attach themselves to Aasimar in one way or another. Articles on siren folk, on relationships, on the Institute. Everything he could read if he watched to pry, but he doesn’t. He locks them away, keeps this information away from everyone. It is not his job, but something in him longs to protect Aasimar the way he’s protected him.

“Shepherd, it’s not a big deal,” he waves his hand dismissively, “the byproduct of growing up different from everyone else. You wouldn’t know it , but there are a lot of mutants and other freaks down here. But people like me? With webbed feet and gills? Not exactly the norm. I did some things when I was younger. Bad things.”

“Mm. That does not make you any less deserving of kindness now,” he tilts his head, “you are worthy of the things you give. No matter what you did before, you made a difference with me. You could’ve ignored my cry for help, if you were truly unworthy of kindness, and yet you saved me. You saved me and punished her for hurting me.”

Aasimar keeps his gaze elsewhere, like there’s a shame in looking at anything else. “You are too good for this world. Shepherd. I hope the world will be kinder to you than it was to me.”

A frown finds itself on Shepherd’s face and he scoots closer to Aasimar, hand reaching to grab his. “I’m a lot tougher than you’d think. I don’t mind being tough for the both of us.”

He’s quiet before giving Shepherd’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He sighs, “we should get heading back. I’m sure they might be wondering where we’ve gone.”

“I don’t want to,” Shepherd’s grip tightens, “not yet, anyway. I can see more things, things the Institute had kept hidden. I – Can we just stay like this for a while longer? I promise I’ll behave.”

“You don’t have to behave in order to experience freedom, Shep,” Aasimar sighs and leans his head back, inhaling slowly. “I own this place, but… you can come here whenever you’d like. Once they start sending you out more, you might find yourself wishing you had a safe space.”

“You say that like you’re planning on leaving,” Shepherd says, and then he turns rigid, “you… you aren’t leaving, are you?”

Aasimar’s thumb traces circles against Shepherd’s hand, “worried I’d leave you, Shepherd? I won’t do that, not to you. You have been surprising, Shep. In so many different ways, but you have been so much more than I think even you thought you’d be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You care for people, you care for the things that no one else notices. The stars… to me, to all of us, they are just stars. But to you? I wish I could see them the way you do.” Aasimar sighs almost wistfully, almost like his inability to see the world through Shepherd’s eyes had brought him some level of sorrow.

Shepherd’s gaze shifts when Aasimar looks at him, eyes dipping to the man’s lips. A thousand images flash across his face then – images and videos of people kissing, touching, loving. A million images of people he doesn’t know, scenes from movies he’ll never see, and all of them are replaced by the image of Aasimar.

“Don’t… don’t do things you’ll regret,” Aasimar murmurs, his eyes darting from Shepherd’s lips to his eyes, shifting between them like he can’t figure out where to rest his gaze.

“How will I know I’d regret it?” The reply comes out breathless, and he furrows his brows. “M – May I?”

            “You know they do,” he replies bitterly, “some nights they aren’t as bad as they normally are, but it’s the same one every time. Running, running, then bleeding out. Then dead. And then I wake up. Same old, same old.”

            Laurie sighs, “Laz, we’re going to have to do something about this eventually. You don’t sleep well; you don’t eat well. A lot has changed with you since you woke up, we need to do something about this before it gets too bad.”

            Lazarus doesn’t meet her gaze – shame coats his body like a thick blanket, painting his pointed ears red. Shame, guilt. The feeling of being useless at the hands of his own body. His own issues are wearing her down, wearing her kindness thin.

            “I… I’ve tried everything, you know that…. I don’t,” he pauses for a second, brows furrowed, “maybe I… I should think about… moving out. I don’t… I don’t want to be too much for you and Ellie.”

            “I – I don’t know about that, Laz, that’s not really a solution. You’re just…. Prolonged the inevitable. Your body needs to eat and sleep, you’ll shut down and maybe even die if you don’t get this checked out.” She scrunches her face up in uncertainty. “Please, at least see that street doctor, okay? The one that patches you up? He may be able to help.”

            “Do you think it’d help?” He looks at her, brows furrowed. He’s unsure. He didn’t even like Vik – not like he wasn’t a good doctor, but any doctor working in a shady back alley room is probably not one you want to receive psychological help from. But… he can’t really afford not to try. “I… I could give it a shot.”

            “Just try, Laz. It’s all we can ask of you.” She smiles softly and she grabs his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to get better.”

            I don’t know about that, he thinks, and the thought is so bitter, so laden with poison, he’s not sure where it came from. He doesn’t want to languish in this suffering any longer, and yet he’s scared his own mind wants him dead.

—

            Vik stares at Lazarus, with furrowed brows. He leans back in his chair, legs crossed, and his synthetic eyes analytical and watching. He’s half technology, half flesh, but it’s hard to tell where flesh ends, and metal begins. He’s one of the best street doctors in all of Akosey, much less the subcity of Terosi. How Lazarus ended up in his care to begin with, was astounding.

            “Looking good, Az,” Vik muses, and eyes him up and down, “how’s the breathing? Airways clear? And the scars, how are they? Are they starting to fade? You should’ve come in for a checkup sooner, we need to keep up with your healing.”

            “I… I’m fine, all of that’s fine,” he shakes his head, tensing. He doesn’t like this topic of conversation; he doesn’t want to think about how much his life has been ruined. “Laurie made me come here. Something’s wrong with my mind.”

            “Any person could see that,” he replies, his tone cold and calculative and he sits upright, as if measuring the levels of Lazarus’s mental damage, “what you’ve endured has a name: torture. We’ve repaired your body, but your mind? Oh, Az, your mind must be filled with so many little holes. Not even the doctor could fix you.”

            He winces, his reaction so visceral he can almost taste the copper of his blood, a phantom taste, a memory from a time he wants to move past. “I don’t know who you mean.”

            “Please, you can lie to Laurie, and to the people who walk into that lovely little diner of hers, but you cannot lie to me. I know your face, I held your decaying, bullet ridden flesh in my hands, and I pieced you back together,” Vik stands, his eyes narrowed, “I know you. You can hide all you want, but you cannot hide here.”

            Lazarus narrows his eyes, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white. The handle of his cane creaks under his grip, wrath and fear bubbles and boils under the surface of his skin like a thousand needles. “Then why not tell them. They’re hunting me even now. Why not tell them that I’m here and get it over with?”

            “If I wanted to turn you in, I’d have sent your dead body to the Institute with a neat little bow,” he snorts loudly, “you’re a person, Az, one worthy of far more respect than you think you deserve.”

            Lazarus’s jaw tenses and he grits his teeth, gaze glued to something else in the room. His body is tensed, and he clicks his tongue, “I’m not deserving of anything, Vik. I’m just Lazarus. Lazarus with an addled brain that wants him dead.”

            “Your mind is a fickle thing, isn’t it? It harms you to protect you from the trauma, imprisons you to shield you from it all. And yet, either way, you hurt,” Vik rests his chin against his palm, humming thoughtfully, “how badly do you hurt, Az?”

            He falters, a question he’s not given much thought to. He doesn’t eat well, doesn’t sleep well, and yet not once had he stopped and thought about how… badly it all hurt. How much it hurt. How much it still hurts.

            “I – I don’t know….” He murmurs, his body sagging in his chair, “I don’t know.”

            Vik hums, “think, Az, think about what was done to you, what you suffer through now, how does it hurt?”

            He swallows hard, “the pain of dying didn’t feel…. It hurt, but I felt so numb, so… empty. This… it’s like reliving that night over and over again, like I’m being muzzled and shot at over and over again. Every loud noise, every loud bang, my body thinks I’m getting shot again and the pain, it… it comes back. Every time. I – I don’t even go out anymore, I don’t like how… terrifying the outside is. How easy it would be for them to find me, or the exterminations.”

            There’s a thoughtful hum and then Vik is leaning back, “have you tried drugs?”

            Lazarus chokes and he coughs, “what?”

            “It’s not a permanent fix, but they have made synthetic drugs you can take to sort of rewire your brain, it’ll…. Relax you. Significantly, at first, and you might not want to do it in view of Ellie or Laurie for that matter. When your body gets used to it, you’ll be able to function properly.” Vik stands, and rummages through one of his medical cabinets. It’s a bit jarring, at first, and then he pulls out something akin to an inhaler, with a mask that covers your nose and mouth and a vial of presumably the drug. “They call it Songbird, why, who the fuck knows.”

            Lazarus eyes the contraption, warily, and for a brief moment it reminds him of the muzzle. As if sensing his apprehension, Vik sets it on the table between them, leaving the decision to him.

            “What does it feel like?” He asks, timidly. He picks up the mask, his thumb gently across the surface.

            “It feels good, if that’s what you want to know. It’ll make you feel weightless, almost, blissful. Like some poetic bullshit about floating in the clouds or whatever. It’s advised to think of something that made you happy as you take it, it’s an inhalant type drug.” Vik is nonchalant about it, and he rolls the vial of liquid against the table. “The mask’ll turn it into a gas for you, it’s pretty cut in dry. Would you like to try it here?”

            The mask sits on the table, and in the silence it feels so loud. His nerves turn into needles, pricking and stabbing at his flesh all over his body. He trusts Vik – not like he doesn’t have a choice considering this man had, at one point, held his guts in his hands. The least he could do is trust him enough to get absolutely hammered and not do anything fucked up.

            “You’d… let me just… do that here?” He asks, quietly, lips pursed in thought. “Just…. Get high? You’d just watch me get high?”

            “You’re not going to get hurt, promise, I’ve got a room in the back you can lay in and I’ll call Laurie letting her know what’s going on,” Vik offers, shrugging, “you don’t have to try it tonight, either. It’s just an option.”

            “I’ll try it.”

            “Hm, alright, follow me then.”

            Lazarus ignores the way his body begins to freak out, the way each step feels like knives in his flesh. His body feels hot and cold all at the same time, but he tries to ignore the heavy thumping of his heart that he hears in his ears. His all inhuman heart that this doctor had given him to save his life. A metal heart for a man who died.

            The room in the back looks more like Vik’s bedroom, with the couch having pillows and two blankets on it – did he really just sleep here? Doesn’t he live upstairs?

            Vik quickly fixes up the couch and gestures for him to sit. He holds the mask and the vial, “alright, pay attention, this is how you use the mask. See this part here? You put the vial in there upside down until it clicks into place, then you put it against your mouth and nose and breathe in, remove the mask, and exhale. Smoke will come out, don’t freak.”

Lazarus stares at him oddly, he’s not new to the idea of drugs. He knows how they work, this will just be… different because now he’s actively doing the drugs.

“Got it,” he nods, and takes the mask from Vik, “thanks… for this, for all of this.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Az. It’s disgusting.” He snorts, “I’ll be cleaning up the clinic, you can call me if you need me, alright?”

He nods slowly, and when he’s alone he stares at the contraption with mild intrigue. It could either make him feel better, if at least for a moment, or… it could make him worse. But maybe if he thinks of good things, like Vik had said, it might work.

Slowly, he raises it to his mouth and inhales slowly. He feels the drug enter his system – like a thousand tiny tendrils, reaching out to consume every piece of him. His body shudders and at first he wants to cough, but then the feeling dissipates.

            Before Aasimar can even finish, the world goes dark and he’s struck with an odd, excruciating pain stemming from the back of his neck. It’s a pain he’s felt before, and abruptly, as he wonders why he is feeling this pain, he recalls something. Hands reaching out, hands of flesh, real flesh reach out, clawing at the scientists that leer over him.

            Is this him? Is this what happened to him? He screams, but nothing comes out, and then the hands made of flesh collapse and the memory bleeds into the lights bearing down on him. His eyes blink (oh, god, he’s blinking) until his gaze settles on faces staring down at him, talking.

            “What do you mean he remembers?” One voice says, angrily and in a low tone like he’s not aware that Shepherd is awake. “If he remembers anything, it’ll be game over for us all. He cannot remember anything. Make sure it doesn’t get worse, Aasimar, he’s your problem now.”

            “What have you done?” It’s Aasimar who speaks next, and there’s something delirious and haunting in the tone of his words. He’s terrified.

            Shepherd blinks again, and then he begins to sit upright, startling the people standing above him. He meets Hannah’s gaze first, before his eyes slide to Aasimar, who feels so small now.

            “He’s your problem now, Aasimar. Fix it.” The man, one he doesn’t recognize, jabs a finger towards Aasimar before leaving.

            “Fascinating,” Aasimar murmurs, his eyes lingering in the space the man had left behind. “Shepherd? How are you feeling?”

            Shepherd’s not really listening. How can he? He can touch! He can feel! He feels the coolness of the metal table beneath him, the rustle of the clothes they’ve put him in. He can feel the air from the AC, cool against his synthetic skin. Everything feels… delightful. He flexes and his fingers move, drawing his gaze. Fascinating.

            “Give him a minute,” Hannah says, “he’s got hands now.”

            “I… I have hands,” Shepherd says quietly, and then his hand rises to touch his lips, feeling their warmth, “I have skin. I have a body. It’s… it’s all real. And you’ve felt this your entire lives? The air, the touch, everything?”

            “Yeah,” she nods slowly, “is… is everything okay? Everything working properly? We should get you standing, see how you walk. Aasimar?”

            The odd man seems affronted that he’d have to do any sort of work here, but his hands press against the undersides of Shepherd’s arms. His touch is soft, gentle, and powerful all at the same time as he pulls Shepherd to his feet.

            “W – Whoa, big guy,” Aasimar clicks his tongue when Shepherd wavers on his feet, “I have no desire to be crushed today. Tomorrow night, perhaps, but not today.”

            Shepherd utters out a quiet apology as he straightens, his feet, bare of any shoes, flexing against the cold floor. This feels right. One step, and then another, with the careful guide of Aasimar’s hands. It comes easy, suspiciously easy, but he bites his tongue to share his concerns. The vision – the memory now lingers in the forefront of his mind, aided only by the words he’d heard the mysterious man speak with Aasimar.

            “That man said you were in charge of me now. Why?” Shepherd’s gaze turns to Aasimar, both accusatory and inquisitive. He detests the implications of being some child to be taken care of.

            “Who? Crusoe? Pay him no mind, darling,” Aasimar waves his hand dismissively, “the Institute requests that I handle Phase Two of the program, which means real world applications of what you know. You and I will have excursions into the city once you’ve been deemed ready.”

            “The city? I could go? I could really go outside and see the stars?” He asks, and he lets the hope seep into his tone.

            Aasimar’s gaze flicks over him, as if picking apart his newly given flesh. His gaze is prying, like it’s trying to pick apart everything Shepherd is. He sees something – something he hesitates to talk about. “The stars. You like the stars. Hm. Yes, you will get to see your beloved stars. But for now, Hannah, why don’t you give him a proper tour of the compound? I have…. Thoughts…. To think.”

            Hannah regards him curiously for a moment before she nods, “of course. If you need us, you know how to find me.”

            He hums and waves his hand almost dismissively as he shuffles out, murmuring things to himself. When he’s gone, Shepherd watches Hannah with intrigue. She feels so much more real than she’d ever been before.

            “I – I don’t know what to do.” Shepherd admits, almost bashfully, “I didn’t think – this is my body. Mine. I… what do I do now?”

            “Honestly? Anything you want, within reason, of course,” she says, snorting, “what do you want to do first?”

            “The… the Archives… can you take me there? There are some things I’d like to read.” He asks, although that’s not entirely the truth. There’s something peculiar, something that’s haunting him about the transfer. He recognizes the vision as a memory, but he needs more answers. Answers he isn’t entirely sure Hannah can provide.

            “Yeah, yeah, of course,” Hannah nods and gestures for him to follow her, but she keeps a hand near him, as if to reassure him that he won’t fall. Her hand is so small, it almost makes him envious that he isn’t human enough. Isn’t small enough.

            The hallway they walk in his big, expansive, and pure, blindingly white. It’s tall enough that even he can fit, but the stares and murmurs he gets from other employees as he walks by with Hannah. She doesn’t pay them any mind, but it’s unsettling how they almost seem to pick him apart.

            “Aasimar… he is fascinating, yes?” Shepherd clears his throat, speaking quietly, “have you known him for long?”

            “Not for a long time, no,” she shakes her head, and for a moment, he sees her bite her lip – he mimics the action, almost fascinated by it, “Aasimar is a well known doctor in the Undercity, but up here, he’s another cog in the machine. He helps a lot of the poorer folks – folks like me, I guess. He’s a bit eccentric, likes to tinker with things, and I think he’s a little obsessed with water, but he’s sweet. He remembered my birthday when no one else did. Got me my favorite type of cake – ice cream cake! It was chocolate and raspberry.”

            Shepherd is enthralled by her tale, both by Aasimar’s behavior and the cake. The cake sounds so exceptionally delicious – chocolate and raspberry? He wonders if they’ve given him the capacity to eat, and if his tongue has sensors to taste. But his thoughts wander towards Aasimar again.

            “He seems very kind,” Shepherd muses thoughtfully, and he wonders… maybe Aasimar could be the one who could help him figure out the broken memories. “Do you like him?”

            Panic flairs across her face for a moment and the tips of her ears turn red before something changes and her expression dies down. “Y – You mean like, as a friend? Yeah, um, yeah, he’s cool. I like him. You can like him too. He’s good.”

            “I… I saw something, Hannah, when they transferred me. It… it feels familiar. I don’t – it wasn’t good,” he whispers, and this time it’s an actual whisper, and not a lower volume setting, “would he… would he be able to help?”

            “I – I’m not really sure, I mean, you’re an AI. You’re not even supposed to feel at all. None of this should really be happening, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” She shrugs, lips pursed into a thin line like she’s giving it such serious thought. “Aasimar might be trying to figure out what exactly is going on. You weren’t supposed to be placed under his watch, and from the sounds of it, he’s very interested in what’s going on with you.”

            Shepherd huffs, “I heard them talking, over me. That other man seemed upset about something.”

            “Yes, you’d said something about remembering the needle when you were transferred,” Hannah replies carefully, “I don’t know what he’s talking about, or what would’ve gotten him upset. Phase One of the project was before my time here.”

            Shepherd falls silent when he’s led into an expansive room, with shelves that are three times his height, full of books, physical and datapads with digitized versions. Row after row of similarly designed shelves. There must be thousands and thousands of books full of knowledge, full of knowledge that not everyone would have access to.

            “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Hannah looks at him, a smile playing at her lips. “This is my favorite place on the whole compound.”

            “Perhaps there may be answers here,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. He could find traces, at the very least, bread crumbs that would lead him to answers. “Will you help me?”

            “Of course,” Hannah nods, “what are you looking for specifically?”

            “Experiments, I think. I… I remember that needle, I remember the pain of it. I need to see whatever they have on past experiments.”

            “I’m not sure if they’d keep those reports here, but we can look.” Hannah pulls him towards a specific set of shelves and starts rummaging through the books and datapads before finding a few that might contain information on what he seeks.

            They sit at one of the tables and for hours, they root through books and datapads, muttering to each other inklings of what each other might think important. Hours are spent here, with Shepherd awkwardly seated in a chair that’s smaller than him until another joins them – Aasimar.

            “There are things missing,” Shepherd murmurs, lips pursed into a thin line. It doesn’t make any sense – tidbits of otherwise useful information gone.

            “Very suspicious,” Aasimar muses, his golden eyes glossing over the words on the page, “the Institute removes things that incriminates them. Perhaps what you’re looking for would harm them. You’ll need higher clearance to see what they’ve hidden.”

            “How would I gain a higher clearance?” Shepherd looks at Aasimar with a small semblance of hope.

            “Be good and they’ll reward you,” he says with a dismissive tone, “or you could do the equivalent of breaking in. I wouldn’t suggest doing that, however. They will be most unkind to you.”

            “Something isn’t right about me, I need… I need your help.” Shepherd’s brows furrow as he pleads, his gaze shifting towards Hannah. “Something is very wrong about me. I need answers Aasimar.”

            Aasimar lets out a quiet hum, lips pursed in thought. He looks oddly beautiful like that, thinking, pondering. He must know a lot, have seen a lot, for him to have gotten this far, for him to be as trusted as he is. Hannah seems to enjoy his company.

            “I will see what I can do,” he murmurs, although he seems almost unsure, “a fascinating predicament, to say the least. An AI who remembers fragments of a life before. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Aasimar?” Shepherd calls out, stumbling through debris as the hall around him crumbles to the ground.

Something clatters and he sees someone stumble out of room. They collapse against the rubble, back pressed against the wall. The person raises their arm and in their hands is a gun, they fire – something thuds in the next room over.

“Aasimar?” Shepherd repeats, and he shuffles forward.

“S – Shep…?” The person’s voice warbles and he realizes it’s Aasimar. “What are you… you were waiting?”

Shepherd eyes him, eyes drifting to the room he’d fallen out of, to the body he’d shot. “Aasimar what did you do?”

There’s a wince, a whimper, a sound of defeat and resignation. “I – I…”

Blood pools from Aasimar’s leg, and he winces. Aasimar’s body is worn, exhausted and his eyes are big and panicked.

“Aasimar, what did you do?” His eyes shift, trailing the blotches of blood that lead away from Aasimar, and into the room he’d stumbled out of. A warbled cry leaves Aasi’s lips, in protest, as if trying to keep Shepherd from going in there.

“Y – You don’t understand… she was gonna…” He whimpers and curls within himself. He reaches for Shepherd.

A body lies in the midst of the debris, blood pooling around their body. The red begins to oxidize the longer it sits there, staining the ground beneath them. The body is familiar, someone he knew, and get the memories are fading. Who had this person been? Shepherd turns to Aasimar, chest full of a sense of betrayal.

“What did you do?” He asks again, and this time he sees Aasimar’s mouth open in reply.

“She betrayed us.” A solemn reply that sees Aasimar hobbling to his feet. “We need to get out of here, fast.”

I’m“Y – You killed her,” he murmurs, and then glanced back at the body, “I don’t remember…. You killed her and erased my memory of her…. Didn’t you?”

“I thought…. I thought it would be for the best, Shep, she… she told everyone. You weren’t going to be erased. They would’ve turned you into a prisoner in your own body and they would’ve made you kill me, they would’ve made you kill every person who ever stood against them.”

Shepherd’s fists clench, anger boils within him. “You. It’s always going to trace back to you. Always about you.”

“W – what? No… I’d… I never meant…” Aasimar hisses and stumbles backwards against the wall. His chest trembles. “Shepherd?”

It happens before he really has to think about it – hand curling around Aasimar’s leg, fingers squeezing tight into the torn flesh. The cries that leave his lips are pitiful and yet he only stops once he deems it fair, and he pulls away with a simple warning, “do not follow me.”

He doesn’t feel like Shepherd. He feels like someone entirely new, someone full of hate. For Aasimar, for the Institute, for everything. But Aasimar is selfish, and his selfishness will have cost him everything.

“S – Shep, p – please,” he whimpers, “I – I’m sorry, p – please don’t leave m – me here!”

Shepherd pauses, some part of him wants to pick him up and run for it, but he can hear the sounds of footfalls – Institute Rats running to find the culprits – to find them. Aasimar is a pitiful sight when Shepherd turns to look at him – tears and blood staining his flesh, but he doesn’t turn back. He can’t. Aasimar has treated him like the Institute had, and Shepherd can’t forgive him for it.

“You don’t get to call me that,” he hisses, “you’re no better than they are, Aasimar. You should get out of here before they find you.”

Shepherd hears nothing in protest from the man, from the doctor who hardly feels like anything but a man with a fancy paper. They were both nothing.

He runs, hoping to make it out before they find him, but agonized screams from behind him make him uncertain of his safety until he reaches the doors they had all planned on going through together. He pauses then, only for a moment, before he escapes into the cold, night air, under the stars he had longed so desperately to see.

______________________________________________

Death was not peaceful. He could feel the rushing of water, except it stained everything red. He could feel his body weakening until even his heart could not support him. He feels the air leave his lungs, the gasp that leaves his body. And all he has to show for it is blood on the pavement of an alley.

He had it all, did he not? He had the world in the palm of his hands and yet he had lost it all. He had left safety for some temporary haven. It was all temporary.

Flesh torn from muscle, from sinew and bone. Meat for the murder of crows, hungry and barking for his final breath. He longs to feed them, some sort of punishment for his failures. An apology to the gods that had abandoned him long ago.

It’s the nothing that hurt the most, what they didn’t do to him that left the most damage. The silence between wounds hurts connects his sinews, raw and red and bleeding. He mourns the person he would’ve been.

His chest rattles, and a wheeze escapes his lips when something presses harsh against his chest. Voices warble around him, until there’s nothing but silence and darkness. It’s… over.