(fic) cronos
Cronos |radishface
Watchmen → Adrian, babyAdrian.
There can only be one Adrian Veidt.
A/N, Previously titled Gestation; written for the KM prompt asking for Adrian and cannibalism. This is the only situation in which I could envision that happening. 1024 words.
They're doing something amazing these days, the research department tells him.
A line of human stem cells, created the same way Dolly was. Somatic cell nuclei inserted into egg cells, eleven of them. Adrian is intrigued, to say the least. He cancels his appointment with Indra and moves the meeting with Pepsi Co. to next week. It can wait, but Veidt can't. He flies over the next day to meet with Dr. Woo Suk Hwang, the leading expert on stem cell research in this part of Asia.
Dr. Hwang is nothing but hospitable and keeps up a steady stream of friendly chatter as he leads Adrian through the university's facilities. He skims through Dr. Hwang's research findings that night in a trendy Apgujeong hotel, eyelids heavy with a certain contentedness as he turns over the last page.
Something other than the usual logic is driving him when he signs the paperwork, when he makes arrangements to fund Hwang's research. He walks into Hwang's lab in Seoul National University, holding out his pinky finger to let it be pricked; the drop of blood sinks into the glass tube and sliding in a plasma-slick trail down to the bottom, and Adrian feels a small thrill of wonder and possibility like he hasn't in a long time. It's named Project V2, not subtle, easily decipherable. But the very self-aware, self-conscious part of Adrian seems incapable of protesting humility now.
The meniscus wavers, and the researcher pulls away to put the tube in the centrifuge. Adrian doesn't think. Only hopes.
*
Veidt Enterprises (through Pyramid Transnational, of course) rents some space in Kaesong, right along the border of North Korea. The project moves along in complete secrecy below a cold, barren acre of asphalt, concrete and dead foliage. The lab hums under a vista peppered with six-foot smokestacks, curving ventilation units peeking out from under the concrete blanket. A barrel-shaped structure conceals an elevator within. At the end of the ride down, Adrian has his fingerprints scanned and a UV-lit hallway disinfects him as he passes through. An attendant on the other side hands him a lab coat and a gas mask and a retina scan confirms his identity for the second time.
A sterile white hallway separates the different laboratories, the warehouses framed with wall-to-ceiling glass and fluorescent lights. Two men in lab coats-- they might be researchers, maintenance workers, administration-- are chatting at the end of one hallway. They speak easily, gently to one another, sharing a physical intimacy beget from the hours of work and an ease of conversation wrought from intellectual understanding, heads inclined toward each other. It occurs to Adrian that the men appear familiar, that they can be anybody, dressed in lab coats with their backs turned to observers. They could be brothers, lovers, fathers and sons.
Adrian lets himself indulge the thought for a moment. He fingers the lining on the inside of his lab coat and lets himself believe for a moment that he is anybody, with anybody. The thought floods through him, wilting and sensual, traces of nostalgia coloring his vision sepia and lifting the corners of his mouth.
The men at the end of the hallway see him watching them and nod embarrassedly, scurrying off to their respective lab stations. Adrian watches them leave with something like heartache.
*
At the end of nine months, Adrian is standing in the middle of a sterile room and Dr. Hwang places something warm and beating and squirming in his latex-gloved hands. It beams up at him, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed, and Adrian's hands sink into the flesh sumptuously, the fat deposits in its thighs and buttocks warm around the pads of his fingers. It giggles in his grip, a wet, warbly-throated little burst of laughter. The researchers all laugh as if a weight has been released from their shoulders.
And for a moment, Adrian is there with them, a smile stretching out over his lips. He is heady with happiness, with someone. Little fingers are clutching his, little toes sinking into the crook of his elbow and burbles of something like speech winning through the congratulatory hum around them. And somewhere later, he is bent down on one knee and gathering a quivering, jumping bundle of autumn energy in his hands, fresh home from school. Daddy, look what I made today--
It's as if he's suddenly risen from the water, reality hitting him sharp in the chest like a gasp for fresh air. If he indulges this any further then he will forget the sacrifices that have preceded him; if suburban charms and dreams win him over, he will forget the reason he's here. Remember, the mantra repeats, a gentle, willowy voice. His very own Oracle. For Adrian Veidt, there is nothing but one path. And it is a road only for one.
There is an overwhelming sense of regret, because he knows how this is going to end. The smile doesn't fade from his face; he's aware of where he is now, who he is with, but the smile doesn't fade. If anything, it grows harder. Resolute. From whence it came, it will go--
Staring into the thing's deep blue eyes,
looking here, into his own eyes,
this little bundle of XY and tens of thousands of years of history, destiny-- now asquirm in his hands and now pressed close to his chest-- Adrian knows that it will understand.
*
The phone in Adrian's apartment is ringing, ringing, ringing; they want to know where it is. Dr. Hwang is beside himself, is threatening to sue Adrian and the Veidt Corporation for all he's worth. But no, Adrian will not tell them. His apartment reeks of nostalgia, Nostalgia, and himself and no, he will not tell them. The cutlery is stacked high in the sink and the cutting board is raw and the kitchen is still hot with residual heat. He is too full to move right now, his stomach sinking like so many stones into the pillowed cushions of his couch.
The air is heavy with savory smells and spices and no, he will not tell them.
*
Watchmen → Adrian, babyAdrian.
There can only be one Adrian Veidt.
A/N, Previously titled Gestation; written for the KM prompt asking for Adrian and cannibalism. This is the only situation in which I could envision that happening. 1024 words.
They're doing something amazing these days, the research department tells him.
A line of human stem cells, created the same way Dolly was. Somatic cell nuclei inserted into egg cells, eleven of them. Adrian is intrigued, to say the least. He cancels his appointment with Indra and moves the meeting with Pepsi Co. to next week. It can wait, but Veidt can't. He flies over the next day to meet with Dr. Woo Suk Hwang, the leading expert on stem cell research in this part of Asia.
Dr. Hwang is nothing but hospitable and keeps up a steady stream of friendly chatter as he leads Adrian through the university's facilities. He skims through Dr. Hwang's research findings that night in a trendy Apgujeong hotel, eyelids heavy with a certain contentedness as he turns over the last page.
Something other than the usual logic is driving him when he signs the paperwork, when he makes arrangements to fund Hwang's research. He walks into Hwang's lab in Seoul National University, holding out his pinky finger to let it be pricked; the drop of blood sinks into the glass tube and sliding in a plasma-slick trail down to the bottom, and Adrian feels a small thrill of wonder and possibility like he hasn't in a long time. It's named Project V2, not subtle, easily decipherable. But the very self-aware, self-conscious part of Adrian seems incapable of protesting humility now.
The meniscus wavers, and the researcher pulls away to put the tube in the centrifuge. Adrian doesn't think. Only hopes.
*
Veidt Enterprises (through Pyramid Transnational, of course) rents some space in Kaesong, right along the border of North Korea. The project moves along in complete secrecy below a cold, barren acre of asphalt, concrete and dead foliage. The lab hums under a vista peppered with six-foot smokestacks, curving ventilation units peeking out from under the concrete blanket. A barrel-shaped structure conceals an elevator within. At the end of the ride down, Adrian has his fingerprints scanned and a UV-lit hallway disinfects him as he passes through. An attendant on the other side hands him a lab coat and a gas mask and a retina scan confirms his identity for the second time.
A sterile white hallway separates the different laboratories, the warehouses framed with wall-to-ceiling glass and fluorescent lights. Two men in lab coats-- they might be researchers, maintenance workers, administration-- are chatting at the end of one hallway. They speak easily, gently to one another, sharing a physical intimacy beget from the hours of work and an ease of conversation wrought from intellectual understanding, heads inclined toward each other. It occurs to Adrian that the men appear familiar, that they can be anybody, dressed in lab coats with their backs turned to observers. They could be brothers, lovers, fathers and sons.
Adrian lets himself indulge the thought for a moment. He fingers the lining on the inside of his lab coat and lets himself believe for a moment that he is anybody, with anybody. The thought floods through him, wilting and sensual, traces of nostalgia coloring his vision sepia and lifting the corners of his mouth.
The men at the end of the hallway see him watching them and nod embarrassedly, scurrying off to their respective lab stations. Adrian watches them leave with something like heartache.
*
At the end of nine months, Adrian is standing in the middle of a sterile room and Dr. Hwang places something warm and beating and squirming in his latex-gloved hands. It beams up at him, ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed, and Adrian's hands sink into the flesh sumptuously, the fat deposits in its thighs and buttocks warm around the pads of his fingers. It giggles in his grip, a wet, warbly-throated little burst of laughter. The researchers all laugh as if a weight has been released from their shoulders.
And for a moment, Adrian is there with them, a smile stretching out over his lips. He is heady with happiness, with someone. Little fingers are clutching his, little toes sinking into the crook of his elbow and burbles of something like speech winning through the congratulatory hum around them. And somewhere later, he is bent down on one knee and gathering a quivering, jumping bundle of autumn energy in his hands, fresh home from school. Daddy, look what I made today--
It's as if he's suddenly risen from the water, reality hitting him sharp in the chest like a gasp for fresh air. If he indulges this any further then he will forget the sacrifices that have preceded him; if suburban charms and dreams win him over, he will forget the reason he's here. Remember, the mantra repeats, a gentle, willowy voice. His very own Oracle. For Adrian Veidt, there is nothing but one path. And it is a road only for one.
There is an overwhelming sense of regret, because he knows how this is going to end. The smile doesn't fade from his face; he's aware of where he is now, who he is with, but the smile doesn't fade. If anything, it grows harder. Resolute. From whence it came, it will go--
Staring into the thing's deep blue eyes,
looking here, into his own eyes,
this little bundle of XY and tens of thousands of years of history, destiny-- now asquirm in his hands and now pressed close to his chest-- Adrian knows that it will understand.
*
The phone in Adrian's apartment is ringing, ringing, ringing; they want to know where it is. Dr. Hwang is beside himself, is threatening to sue Adrian and the Veidt Corporation for all he's worth. But no, Adrian will not tell them. His apartment reeks of nostalgia, Nostalgia, and himself and no, he will not tell them. The cutlery is stacked high in the sink and the cutting board is raw and the kitchen is still hot with residual heat. He is too full to move right now, his stomach sinking like so many stones into the pillowed cushions of his couch.
The air is heavy with savory smells and spices and no, he will not tell them.
*