Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Nine - Reflection

"What happened?" The man asks. His voice is lined with a sternness that reminds her of the people in that lab- that pristine white lab that smelled like bleach and burned her eyes and nose with lights that were far too bright. The Thing growls, jerking her back, forcing words from her mouth.

'Why do you care?' The Thing snaps, voice low, carrying her body further away with each step the man in black takes, reaching out to her carefully, opening his mouth to speak. The Thing turns and flees. She twists her head back, only to see the stranger melting into the shadows. The motion sends an odd twisting feeling into her heart.

The Thing twists her head forward, strangely gently. 

'Do not trust. Yet.' The Thing states, carrying her faster than she's ever run before, even faster than when she fled the nurse, Claire. She likes the name. She frowns. She still doesn't have a name. For all she knows, she might not have a name. She could be a nameless experiment. Penny is wrong. There's no way that it's her name. For just a moment- a second- her mind is blank. There's just nothing besides her feet hitting the ground, her heavy breaths falling from her lungs, fogging the air in front of her face. She's always loved running, ever since she ran- the way it burns her calves and thighs, how her feet hit the ground and it reverberates all the way up her legs. 

Her steps only became stronger when she found her job, when he found her- when Ja-

Her breath hitches at the memory, her feet stuttering to s stop as she grasps at the tendrils of memories fading from her. She reaches up, threading her fingers in her hair, clenching her eyes, desperately fighting against her own mind as the fleeting images disappear, taking the memory of the man who pulled a car over with a warm smile, offering salvation, offering a place of oasis, at only a small price-- a price that she regretted.

Headlights blind her. She recoils, eyes widening as the truck descends upon her. Time stutters to a standstill. Her ribs crack and burst into fragments, digging into her lungs. Her scream dies in her throat and she heaves through bleeding lungs. Glass is in her skin, in her flesh, scraping against her bones. Three of her nails are gone, torn from her fingers by the tire. 

She slams against the asphalt. She shudders. She can breathe. She can breathe. And by God, she's trying. She's trying-- her mouth and throat begging for her torn lungs to work. Rot is screaming, shrill between her ears. Then everything is cracking and popping. She can scream, but her voice is still gone, her bones grinding. The thing's snapping her back together from the inside.

The entire time it's been inside of her, its hated her, and she's been nothing but scared of it. Yet here it is, screaming when she hit the ground, snapping her bones back into place as she struggles to breathe, crooning tuneless songs that she doesn't recognize or understand as blood falls out of her mouth and slips down her cheeks before that stops, too, and she pulls herself up, confused and dazed, but no longer bleeding or broken. Her limbs shake, her head muddled. She feels like she should hurt, yet she stands, anyways, her legs holding her steady. 

The Thing falls silent, and she looks to the man that followed after her.

The man, dressed in black, is frozen, hands in the air, staring at her, head tilted to the side, mouth twisted into a confused scowl. Not even she understands how the Thing pieced her back together. She's breathing. Nothing hurt, nothing broken, no bleeding from her skin, or from inside of her. The Thing nudges her and she's going again, racing away as fast as she can, heart racing in her chest as the woman who hit her yells, telling her to come back, asking if she's okay, dialing the police. 

The Thing hums again, leading her legs in a maze of alleyways and dark streets. Finally, it slows, and she releases a rush of air, her lungs loosening in her chest. Her limbs still feel shaky, her bones throbbing. Her head is swimming in circles, still expecting each step to hurt, each breath to snap against broken lungs.
"What are you?" She mumbles, brushing the hair stuck to her forehead away. Sweat is caked to her skin and falling down her back, soaking through her shirt. The Thing leads her to a car, and she nearly expects it to break the window and force her to drive, yet it simply holds her in place.

She stares at her hands before lifting her head, looking into the window. A reflection that isn't hers stares back. Instead, a monster returns her gaze. 

Her breath stops in her throat, lodged painfully as she stares what she can only describe as Death itself straight in the eyes. A gaping maw with glimmering teeth tinged yellow, dripping with saliva, grins at her. Slitted eyes, torn at the edge with wild claws, squint at her. She tilts her head, watching as it moves, too. She scowls. It doesn't copy the motion, only grinning wider, oddly sheepish as it tilts its head to the side.

"That doesn't explain much." She finally mutters. The heaviness in her feet, keeping her cemented in place, fades away. She shifts, rolling from her heels to her toes, keeping her gaze on the beast in the windows reflection. She swallows, roughly, unsure as to what else to say to it. Neither of them trust each other yet, not really. Forced to share a body to survive, they're wary.

'Humans call us Symbiotes.' It growls. She watches as the mouth in the glass follows the movements. She isn't even sure if this is real, really. 'You are the first host I have... liked.' 

She scoffs to herself, crossing her arms above her throbbing heart. "Why is that?" Her knees are unsteady, bracing her unsteadily against the ground, even as the urge to turn away and try to run from the Thing inside of her veins burns behind her eyes, melts into her muscles. The Thing that hasn't even told her its name, if it has one.

'You listen. You are stronger than you remember, but I do.' It replies. She shakes her head, opening her mouth to retort, yet it shuts her mouth and speaks instead, silencing her with an odd constricting feeling in her throat. She can't even hum. 'You will not get them back. I do not know how to make you remember.' The Thing adds, voice oddly somber. 'I do not think you want to.' 

She smiles, ruefully, her chest aching. The grip on her throat, coming from the inside, loosens. "Neither do I." She murmurs, rubbing her eyes. Her eyelids feel like they're made of cement. Even her nails are back, from when they were torn from her hands. "What now, though?"

It doesn't answer, only moving her feet for her, until she starts stepping herself. Then it retreats, resting somewhere below her lungs, yet around her heart. She dislikes the feeling, but walks where the nudging beneath her skin tells her to go. She isn't completely sure why she's following it. Still, it can easily take over and control where she goes, anyways.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

This is a (slight) warning: I've outlined most of the plot, at this point, and it's longer than I originally thought it would be. When I meant slow-burn, I really meant slow-burn. It's kind of daunting.