[ rhys hates being dead. when he woke up, he found himself lying there on the ground for an exceptionally long time, parsing through his feelings and what -- what even just happened. it's all such a blur and for a long, long time he just sat there and tried to remember what was real.
he remembers being shot, remembers the look on jack's face -- the sting of betrayal lingering behind his eyes as he lifted the gun and before anyone could even stop him, there was a bullet in rhys' skull. rhys thought that was in, genuinely couldn't imagine anything beyond that but as the pygmalion has proved time and time again, there was always more.
he remembers his body hurting, the throbbing of the metal in his brain pulsating with each passing moment. he remembers the shifting, cracking, breaking down of his bones as his body transformed into this -- this monster. he remembers the complete abject horror he felt when he realized he had become the same thing that elizabeth was, the same thing that threw his body like a rag doll and woke him up enough to be there when jack shot him. he remembers staring right at jack and as the monster talked, his conscious screaming wait no, not jack! before a claw came down and he -- it -- they escaped into the vents together.
he thinks he blacked out after that.
it was a strange, humming kind of conscious. he wasn't there, not really, because he was -- he was dead. sometimes though, the body would shift and the wires in his brain would connect just enough so he could realize what was going on. he remembers being curled in a corner of the vents and the creature lifting a clawed hand to his own eyeball, so angry at these handicaps it had to deal with. remembers the excruciating, brutal pain as it clawed out the organ and tossed it to the side, a mess of wires and blood.
that's better, it thought. help, he thought.
it was the pain that did the trick, actually. enough sensation running through his shambling corpse that the leftover dregs of his mind were able to pick up on it, to remember it. the monster was constantly in pain as the days went by, the bullet still buried deep in his skull and it considered -- if for just a moment -- trying to take it out. another handicap that just had to go. of course, the monster still had things to accomplish, had made promises it knew it had to keep, so it wouldn't risk damaging this shell more than it had to. the eye, the arm, they were dragging it down and making its mobility suffer, they had to go.
rhys wished it was over, silently begged for death at his increasing inability to tell himself apart from this thing as the days went by. it was shifting too fast from him to it and back to him again without him being able to do... anything. the creature was usually able to keep its host at bay, rewrite what it wanted to make sure they were completely unaware but -- the two of them were beyond that point, curling together in this symbiotic death as the thing dragged rhys and his corpse along with it for his last final days.
of course, the creature was growing impatient. it needed to kill, needed to take something of theirs for its promise. it needed to make up for the failings of his host and for the loss of his partner because this is what it owed. it needed to do this or there would be a punishment far, far worse than anything alice could do.
so, it tried to take care of its mortal body. the bleeding was getting excessive, the eye crusting over in ways that were even starting to hurt it. its thoughts were breaking down into something incoherent, more instinct than the practicality it usually knew. it couldn't let this get out of hand before --
harold arrived and it knew what it must do.
later, rhys found himself injured far, far worse than he ever thought he'd be. there was a panic to its movements but also a resigned feeling from the both of them -- this was the end. he (no, it. it.) had made good on its (his) promises, knew that it'd done enough to be allowed to die with mercy because truly, this was the more merciful option for it. maybe not for rhys though. rhys' terror thrummed white hot inside of this thing, wondering if maybe he... deserved this? maybe now, that he knew what he was, maybe it was all inevitable.
maybe jack was right.
with fiona's bullet nestled right next to jack's like a well deserved goodnight kiss, rhys was finally able to let go. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if this was mercy or revenge. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if he deserved worse. this was really way too simple, wasn't it? he... he hurt so many people, he let so many things pass him by, he was a monster and nothing could really make up for that fact. the only thing the pygmalion did was finally make it a brutal, physical thing for him to deal with but rhys knew, he's been a monster since the day he sent helios crashing to the ground.
a death in four parts, part one of four.
he remembers being shot, remembers the look on jack's face -- the sting of betrayal lingering behind his eyes as he lifted the gun and before anyone could even stop him, there was a bullet in rhys' skull. rhys thought that was in, genuinely couldn't imagine anything beyond that but as the pygmalion has proved time and time again, there was always more.
he remembers his body hurting, the throbbing of the metal in his brain pulsating with each passing moment. he remembers the shifting, cracking, breaking down of his bones as his body transformed into this -- this monster. he remembers the complete abject horror he felt when he realized he had become the same thing that elizabeth was, the same thing that threw his body like a rag doll and woke him up enough to be there when jack shot him. he remembers staring right at jack and as the monster talked, his conscious screaming wait no, not jack! before a claw came down and he -- it -- they escaped into the vents together.
he thinks he blacked out after that.
it was a strange, humming kind of conscious. he wasn't there, not really, because he was -- he was dead. sometimes though, the body would shift and the wires in his brain would connect just enough so he could realize what was going on. he remembers being curled in a corner of the vents and the creature lifting a clawed hand to his own eyeball, so angry at these handicaps it had to deal with. remembers the excruciating, brutal pain as it clawed out the organ and tossed it to the side, a mess of wires and blood.
that's better, it thought. help, he thought.
it was the pain that did the trick, actually. enough sensation running through his shambling corpse that the leftover dregs of his mind were able to pick up on it, to remember it. the monster was constantly in pain as the days went by, the bullet still buried deep in his skull and it considered -- if for just a moment -- trying to take it out. another handicap that just had to go. of course, the monster still had things to accomplish, had made promises it knew it had to keep, so it wouldn't risk damaging this shell more than it had to. the eye, the arm, they were dragging it down and making its mobility suffer, they had to go.
rhys wished it was over, silently begged for death at his increasing inability to tell himself apart from this thing as the days went by. it was shifting too fast from him to it and back to him again without him being able to do... anything. the creature was usually able to keep its host at bay, rewrite what it wanted to make sure they were completely unaware but -- the two of them were beyond that point, curling together in this symbiotic death as the thing dragged rhys and his corpse along with it for his last final days.
of course, the creature was growing impatient. it needed to kill, needed to take something of theirs for its promise. it needed to make up for the failings of his host and for the loss of his partner because this is what it owed. it needed to do this or there would be a punishment far, far worse than anything alice could do.
so, it tried to take care of its mortal body. the bleeding was getting excessive, the eye crusting over in ways that were even starting to hurt it. its thoughts were breaking down into something incoherent, more instinct than the practicality it usually knew. it couldn't let this get out of hand before --
harold arrived and it knew what it must do.
later, rhys found himself injured far, far worse than he ever thought he'd be. there was a panic to its movements but also a resigned feeling from the both of them -- this was the end. he (no, it. it.) had made good on its (his) promises, knew that it'd done enough to be allowed to die with mercy because truly, this was the more merciful option for it. maybe not for rhys though. rhys' terror thrummed white hot inside of this thing, wondering if maybe he... deserved this? maybe now, that he knew what he was, maybe it was all inevitable.
maybe jack was right.
with fiona's bullet nestled right next to jack's like a well deserved goodnight kiss, rhys was finally able to let go. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if this was mercy or revenge. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if he deserved worse. this was really way too simple, wasn't it? he... he hurt so many people, he let so many things pass him by, he was a monster and nothing could really make up for that fact. the only thing the pygmalion did was finally make it a brutal, physical thing for him to deal with but rhys knew, he's been a monster since the day he sent helios crashing to the ground.
nothing on the pygmalion would change that. ]