Sweet Heart [Editing?]

009

The Order of the Omni Codecs.

That's who they were. Carnivorous aliens who'd run tests on anything they could chase down. That was their one purpose. They didn't eat, didn't sleep. At least, from what he saw they didn't.

He couldn't even remember the last time he put real food in his mouth. The chemicals pumped into him sustained him. If they killed, they took what they needed and left the rest. He watched them come back with jars and containers of animal parts or bugs. They had no passion to their work. They simply did things. Just carried out tasks like goal-driven robots. Their species was certainly a selcouth sort. Just busy, busy bees.

He watched them drag a whole deer into the lab during one of the rare times he was conscious, a trail of blood leaving crimson stripes on the flooring behind it. That was the day his heart stopped.

The day his soul snapped in half. Though it wasn't just a snap. It a was a million tiny little breaks and cracks that shocked him until he felt nothing, and then it all hit like a bag of burning bricks. His heart seized and stopped, his lungs slowed and he thought his skull had cracked in half. He felt warm liquid drip past his ears, and thought it true until he'd seen himself in the reflection of his glass cell. He had black horns bending up and behind his head. He didn't know what he was anymore; certainly not human. Humans need a heartbeat, and the ability to breathe. They took that away from him.

He escaped that night. They left his cell open, and through his quaking pain he escaped. Into the cold night air. He loved that feeling. Coldness. Frigid air. He let the sharp wind numb his pulsing agony as he wobbled through the woods. He remember the smell of damp earth and moss. He liked that too.

Then he remembered collapsing, bare feet, and warmth again. Not painful warmth. Comfortable warmth. It reminded him of...something...He couldn't remember anything from before. Though he knew it wasn't an Omni Codec. No, this was something he knew, just didn't remember. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember. Apparently, they took his memories too. Little by little he forgot until all he knew was pain and broken pieces of an outside life. He knew bees, flowers, the sun, animals, his language. He knew his name: Ambrose Respa Alaviv. His age. But nothing more. Nothing less.

He owed his life to the people who took him in. Who he came to know as Alastair and Alan Moon. Alastair was an artificial demon too; but he was turned by black magic. A less painful process.

He'd fall apart every now and then. His chest would explode with flaring torment. His head would sting and pulse, and make him gasp for air. It'd all cascade into his arms and legs, and he could barely move without them aching.

Luckily, Alastair built him a solution. A dark room with a pool of water in it. Big enough to sit in and have your head poking out. He said the water had healing properties. That it was from some other planet. He was done with things from other planets , by that time. But he wasn't about to say that to the man who housed him. He respected him so much.

After weeks and weeks of hiding in his room , and getting used to normal life, Ambrose met Septimus MacHeap. A rarely-sober Irish man who grew up in Hell. (That's not the figurative Hell. There's a city to the southwest of Fraelle called Hell. Also, where Alastair and Alan are from. Don't worry about it.) They became fast friends, and often went to restaurants and bars to hang out and flirt with women. They never took anyone home. Just went home with each other and played video games until the sun tinged the sky peach. The moments with Septimus were his everything.

He felt so good with him.