Icicles filled the long window

[pinnaculum]

Characters: Sephiroth and you!
Setting: The dormitory floors, Floor 81, possibly moving to other floors
When: Forward dated to event start, April 15th
Format: Starting as action brackets, but I'll match you
Summary: Brainwashed Sephiroth is in group C. He does his duty. Except when he doesn't.
Warnings: Body horror, blood, possible violence


I: Dormitory Floors
[Sephiroth is standing quietly in your room, by your bed, when you wake up. The small child's body parts have been swapped, seemingly at random, his legs reversed, his arms uneven, his fingers out of order. There's a hospital gown sewn to his body, and his green eyes are glowing. There's no way of telling how long he's been standing there, but he must have been watching you sleep, possibly for some time.]

II: Dormitory Floors
[Sephiroth is suddenly overcome with the urge to do something... He doesn't know why, but he wants to experiment. That would be interesting, wouldn't it? There must be a suitable experiment in the area that he can work on. He moves through the dormitory floors quickly, teleporting from place to place down the corridors, studying everyone he sees, searching for a likely subject. He won't give up until he's found one.]

III: Floor 81
[Wearing nothing but his sewn-on hospital gown, he stands on the glass of the bulging out windows, gazing up at the stars. He'd woken up here suddenly. This is one of his favorite floors, isn't it? He likes to watch the stars, but he doesn't remember coming here. He's aware that something's very wrong, but he's unable to do anything about it. He looks down at his hands. They're covered in blood, and he's carrying a series of small, fleshy objects in his arms, the remnants of body parts. He doesn't remember where they came from. He glances down at the glass beneath his feet and sees that he's standing in a pool of blood, with a trail of blood leading back to the stairs.

Yes, something is very wrong.]

Comments

[pinnaculum]

[Sephiroth shakes his head, emphatically. He had been in pain, before, but it is gone now, even as altered and bizarre as his body currently is. More than that, he wouldn't admit to weakness, even if he did feel some pain. He's not used to being weak, and he doesn't like the idea. It's important that he always be capable, in control.

Not that he is in control, now. He can feel the urge again, telling him to work. He turns away with a stiff movement that's almost robotic, struggling internally as he does so.

He gestures down the hallway toward the elevator. That was where they'd taken him. Away, to where they'd operated on him. It was the administrators' doing, obviously.]

[destructiveprinciple]

[So, no physical or emotional pain. Just brainwashing like in those old alien sitcoms, and modification of the body on par with the handiwork of any self-respecting deranged scientist. Stiff movements implied a reluctance to move or muscles that didn't respond properly to the demands of the brain.

Just fucking fantastic.

Really, he was about as enthused about this grand mess as a teenage schoolgirl wearing a short shirt was delighted to step in a fresh dog turd. He looked in the direction Sephiroth had gestured to, following it down to the part of the hallway where the elevator was placed.]

Huh, so that's where you lot disappeared off to? The downstairs?

[pinnaculum]

[He takes a halting step, but Sephiroth manages not to start to leave and return to his duties, although it takes him another moment of struggling to regain some control over himself. It's difficult. He doesn't know how long he has. Before he loses himself again.

He manages to turn back toward Avenger. Sephiroth nods. That's where they had gone. He had been working there. He wants to say what had happened, but he can't, so he frowns. He gestures with his hands, spreading them wide. There were many retrieval units. He gestures to himself. They had done this to him.]

[destructiveprinciple]

[A short laugh, snappish and quiet escapes his mouth in a snort when Sephiroth's jerking nod and spread arms, indicating many and gestures toward himself, indicating the results in concern to his own body. The child was far from the only one who had been operated on. The pink collar wrapped around his neck showed that since it matched the color of the other new drones.

The administration's methods were what his master would called with a fury deplorable. One of the lowest.]

You're struggling.

[A frank remark.]

[pinnaculum]

[Sephiroth had seen the others who had been operated on, too. He does not think he is alone, even if his own body is the only one he can point to.

He considers the remark. This is difficult, but he is stubborn. He doesn't like to admit to any weakness, and he doesn't like to give up. He hesitates.

Then, slowly, he nods his head. He is struggling, fighting mind and body, but he will continue to struggle.]

[destructiveprinciples]

[Angra regarded him passively until Sephiroth finally inclined his head in a hesitant nod.]

If it becomes too much, I can kill you.

[He offered. Not before that, not before it becomes too much. The child obviously still had the strength of resistance burning inside him, the desire to put up a fight and desperately cling to survival. He wouldn't take that away from him without explicit permission.]