Reality Check
By Rowe
Summary: Three little boys born at Manticore grew into three very different men in different worlds. But one thing they all shared was their need for a purpose in life. This is their story.
Thankyou to my wonderful betas, Sorrow and JensEnigma.
Chapter 2: Cracks in the world…
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The light that filtered into the warehouse cast deep shadows. Dirty and disused, the smell of chemicals was still strong enough to burn his nose a little. He used the niggling pain as a reminder that he was a soldier and he should show no weakness. He delved inside himself to seek the calm self-assurance of the soldier he knew he should be and came up empty. Turning to his weapon collection he started the task of cleaning his arsenal.
On the wall, his hastily scrawled letters served as another stark declaration of how tentative his grasp on his mind was quickly becoming. What was his mission? What was his duty? He shook his head to clear the doubts that whispered maddeningly in there. The mantras of his childhood echoed in his head, as did the sound of combat boots marching in precise unity. They taunted him with his inadequacy.
He had placed his donation at the feet of the Blue Lady. One of the few places he felt at peace was under her gaze. Yet the doubts were growing stronger; not in her, never in her, but in himself. His gifts would allow her to keep him safe, make him strong. She would help him because he was NOT a nomalie. He didn’t want to be taken away to the bad place.
The Church had been empty but for the priest who had watched him in silence. He had often wondered about their faith in books and words. His faith was in someone real and she would protect him. As he had turned to leave, he had nodded to the man in black for allowing him his silence. His thoughts had still been in turmoil as he had left her, he knew that he needed to find a new high place in this city. Somewhere he could go to think. A space outside of this world that he had no real place to be in. Somewhere he could be free.
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His briefing had been straightforward. His mission laid out before him looked simple enough. He still needed to work on his cover to allow his infiltration of the Berrisford household. As a concert pianist of some note he would need to able to convince them of his authenticity. His recovery of information to assess the danger Robert Berrisford posed to Manticore was his initial mission parameters. He would be updated further when he had completed that task.
Adjusting his posture slightly to accommodate his aching back, he lifted his hands and placed them confidently down again. He had been at it for hours now, but he knew he couldn’t stop until he was fully prepared. His fingers flew nimbly over the keys. His mind processed the sheet music, the sounds and the visuals quickly and efficiently. The notes flowed smoothly, rhythmically, precisely.
As he brought the piece to a close his instructor stepped forward nodding slightly. "Well done, 494. You appear to have mastered the technical aspect of playing admirably." The instructor paused, 494 turned his head towards him awaiting further drill exercises. "But to make your playing more believable you will need to start exercises on expression."
At the look of puzzlement of the young man’s face he elaborated on this.
"Music requires emotional input. The better this is applied, the more enjoyable a piece becomes. A pianist of Lehane’s stature would be required to inject something more than technical ability into his performance. I will work on that with you." 494 nodded his acknowledgment but still remained a little confused to what was being asked of him.
The instructor pressed a button on a control, the room filled with music. It was the piece he had just completed but the passion with which it was being played changed it, transformed it into a tragic story. The bittersweet melody, supported by quietly sad chords was enhanced by the more flexible use of time and dynamics. As the music swept to a climax and finished, 494 let his breathing return to normal again. He had been caught up by the exquisite sorrow hidden in the music. This was going to be far harder than learning technical brilliance.
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The young man opened the car door for his wife. She gently lay the baby in the car capsule and strapped him in. She knew that he was their job but she was already attached to the little blighter. Still only 3 months old the child was already growing fast. She knew he would not remember this place, he would not bear that scar. He wasn’t unique, she understood that, but for now he was theirs and that was all that mattered.
Her husband watched as she finished buckling the child in. He looked at the seemingly defenceless infant and smiled. This child bore no barcode; he was unbranded. The insertion of that DNA had been forgone to allow simpler assimilation into the outside world. He had been designed for murder and destruction but maybe this one had a chance for something more. He started the ignition quickly as his wife took her seat. Manticore had always given him the chills- so cold and efficient. For now, they wouldn’t need to comeback. The only contact was to be the filing of regular reports on the boy’s progress; on his new son, Cain.
He awoke lathered in a cold sweat. The nightmares were plaguing him again; violent and incredibly bloody. He ran his hand up through his damp hair, tousling it into spikes. His heart was still pounding loudly in his ear, every beat in exhilaration not fear. They were getting worse and more vivid. He could almost taste the blood, for some reason he craved it.
Slipping out of bed, he dressed quietly. He knew that it was time for some desperately needed meditation to calm his soul. He was revolted by what he was seeing or at least he tried to tell himself that. A small part of his mind whispered dangerously seductive things to him, tantalising him into the darkness. His troubled thoughts meant sleep was to be once again forgone.
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He addressed the mortician and flashed his credentials. Another body, another victim of 493’s madness. Lydecker looked at the corpse seeing only failure. The pattern was getting more pronounced, and it was getting harder to throw the authorities off the scent. Disposing of evidence could only discourage them so much from looking further into the murders. More difficult was silencing his victims’ families.
The victims appeared to be totally random. Were they people he knew? At least he was moving from place to place. That had prevented people looking too closely at what was going on. When it became clear that there was a serial murder on the loose he would be unable to control things so easily. His power of influence could only stretch so far.
Once again the teeth were missing. This might be the important clue as to why he was killing. The problem was, he had no idea what that clue meant or whether it was just a random fixation of a mad man. He shook his head at that thought. He knew what that would mean for the others. All would suffer if it came to that. It was becoming urgent that he find 493. It needed to be before this escalated any further. The world was not ready for one of his kids to explode.
