"Is he awake?" Snow inquires. There's something almost mocking in her voice.
"Oh, yes," Stone replies drolly. "Awake and making a valiant effort to hideit."
I feel myself stiffen even further on the bed. For fuck’s sake. I hate being around other Liquid Onyx survivors.
"Exactly how many runaway OI agents do you people have lurking around this place?" I ask without opening my eyes.
My voice is croaky; it feels like someone’s taken a sheet of sandpaper to my throat. I let a large amount of spit fill my mouth before swallowing it. I don’t want to ask for water if I don’t have to.
“We’re glad to have you back with us, Mr Roth,” Snow says, ignoring my non-question like the overly tolerant dictator she clearly is. I have no idea how she managed to get her agents to respect her with an attitude like that.
If I were back with OI, an outburst like the one I had in Snow’s office would have resulted in me waking up bruised and bloody and chained to the fucking floor. Because that is what you do with things like me. You beat us into the ground and hold us there until we start to think we’ll never be allowed to get up again. You do that enough times, and things like me will stop wanting to get up. If we’re smart, we realise it’s better to stay down and brace for further impact.
I open my eyes, blinking rapidly as my corneas burn because of the bright lights of the medical room. I turn my head to the side, sweeping my gaze over Snow and the newest freak in FISA’s apparently extensive collection.
Stone Jr. looks a lot like his father. He has the same compact body, aquiline nose, and eyes so dark they’re almost black. The only mark of his mother is in his complexion. Other than that, he’s all Stone.
I start to laugh. It’s uncontrollable and awful. I don’t mean to do it. I really don’t mean for it to come out as deranged as it does. My laughter is loud and half choked and fucking horrific. I feel like a madman strapped to a bed, retching out an endless vomit of sound. I laugh so hard my body quakes, a wave of vibrations shaking down through my arms and wrists, causing the handcuffs around them to rattle against the metal bedframe.
Metal clinks against metal again and again and again, a succession of chaotic beats, creating a deafening racket that bounces off the wall of silence erected by Snow and Stone.
Good thing I’m not worried about sounding unhinged. I think that horse bolted when I had a meltdown in Snow’s office. I wonder if I killed anyone. It won’t matter if I did. Not really. But I don’t like not remembering shit like that. I hate spilling blood into a void. I don’t like feeling as if I’m hiding from myself. It’s weak to care, and it’s weak to not care about knowing the truth. I’m a goddamn mess of a thing. Just a terrible mess no one’s bothered to clean up yet.
FISA still could. These people could do what OI has only ever threatened. Snow might give the order to put a bullet in the back of my skull. Or maybe not. That seems a bit too TV mobster for FISA. Shot to the forehead, then. Like a soldier, not a dog. Humane murder is the name of the game when the law is on your side.
I can feel their eyes on me. Snow’s burn ice cold.
There are emotions on Snow’s face I can’t even fathom. I would call the look in her eyes concern if I wanted to be insulting. She’s standing ramrod straight, every muscle stiff as a board. There’s discomfort coming off her like a bad smell. You wouldn’t see those things if you weren’t trained to look for them, though. She’s putting on a good show of looking completely unbothered by me, Stone, or anything else besides.
Stone’s watchful gaze is easier to read and understand.
I still can’t believe he’s a FISA agent. Rohan Stone. The prodigal son. The lost boy wonder of OI. Heir to the metaphorical throne. Rohan Stone, with the eyes like liquified obsidian, just like his father.
I’ve been shown his picture countless times, always followed by a single order: retrieve alive.
Retrieve alive. Retrieve. Alive.
I thought it was a joke the first time. Then they told me who he is, and I thought it was an even bigger joke.
Fuck knows what daddy Ian Stone wants with his only son. He never used him properly before, so I don’t understand why he was so bothered when his son pissed off to parts unknown.
Or. Well. Not so unknown now.
Rohan Stone joined FISA.
That. Is. Hilarious.
I hope his father finds out and chokes to death from shame. I’m close to choking from just how funny it is.
Stone, unlike Snow, isn’t looking at me like I’m something strange and sad. He’s looking at me like I’m a monster barely leashed. It’s refreshing. Finally, someone who can get with the program. Figures that OI’s very own Damian would be the one to see it, that he would be the one to see me for what I am.
I flash a grin at Stone, putting as much bite and snarl into it as I can.
Stone doesn’t flinch. His mouth twists up at the corners. A small show of teeth. Not a challenge. A warning.
I see a flash of something animal in those eyes. Eyes as dark as pitch. Something wild and mean and familiar.
An alarm bell goes off inside me. It blaresmonster, monster, monster. Kill it. Stamp it out. And laugh and laugh and laugh as it.
