Random possible dark altfuture drabble oh god it's terrible
These are the things he knows:
That he is not human. That he is not from this world. These are things he should have forgotten but he knows it, by instinct and by the hum in his chest. The City is full of people with strange powers, and that tells him he's from elsewhere - but the fact that he was never human is spoken only by the web of immortal energy at his core. And he knows that, too - that without the crystals, he cannot die.
The Other has the crystals. The Other always has the crystals. The special ones, the ones that don't detonate when he's undone. So it is. So it shall be.
He wakes, sucking in cold air, and he knows it is winter. He remembers, vaguely, the last battle and he knows by the newspapers that it has been three days (again) since he last died.
He has procedural knowledge. He speaks three languages, two of which no human should be able to pronounce. He knows things about science that he cannot put into human words. These are things that She doesn't seem able to take from him. Only events, only the whys, the reasons, not the hows. He knows that he likes jalapeneo peppers and warm sunlight, he knows that he misses the stars and he knows he loves flight above all else.
He knows that he hates the Other. He does not remember the why or the reason, only that it is true.
They used to keep score. He still has that memory -
"Two and two," he hisses, his screeching voice making the other visibly wince as he twists the steel pole he's used for the kill (not his lasers, this time, adding insult to the injury) in deeper. "We're tied, once again. I know what you're trying to do - you think I'll be useless without my memories. But tell me, how many more can you afford to lose in your pursuit of me, _____?"
The name is gone. As is his own. Those were lost... he can't remember how long ago. Sometime. She took those, too.
He can't remember either when he stopped caring. There was a point he does remember screaming that he can't remember his name, or anything about him, and wanting to die. The Other had an easy kill that day, coming upon him sprawled in the dust. The Other wasn't going to do it, but he begged.
"I don't want to remember that I don't remember. I've lost him, I've lost him, I can't - "
Death was blissful, then.
He doesn't walk. He flies. He's on the hunt already, looking for the Other. He knows the signs, now, the city is their playground. The other imPorts just give them sidelong glances and ignore them. They hurt no one else, save for one time when he tried to murder a grey haired man and could not say why, only to be thrown against a wall by a fusion canon blast from the man's palm.
He almost remembered then, and the man spoke his name, but he ran, afraid of what he'd find out.
He muses that in some ways he seeks it. There are fragmented memories still, pieces she's left. A star going nova. Pain. Falling. Darkness. Begging someone in purple for a grant and being told 'no'. Slapping someone in blue who looked just like him across the face. Being crushed under the heel of someone in silver and grey (the grey haired man?).
A pair of perfect blue eyes, beautiful and sad.
He swallows it down, and he looks for the other. They'll dance again, he'll avoid the other's claws, and neither will remember why he's trying to kill the other.
They are both Nameless, now. And nothing will call them back.
That he is not human. That he is not from this world. These are things he should have forgotten but he knows it, by instinct and by the hum in his chest. The City is full of people with strange powers, and that tells him he's from elsewhere - but the fact that he was never human is spoken only by the web of immortal energy at his core. And he knows that, too - that without the crystals, he cannot die.
The Other has the crystals. The Other always has the crystals. The special ones, the ones that don't detonate when he's undone. So it is. So it shall be.
He wakes, sucking in cold air, and he knows it is winter. He remembers, vaguely, the last battle and he knows by the newspapers that it has been three days (again) since he last died.
He has procedural knowledge. He speaks three languages, two of which no human should be able to pronounce. He knows things about science that he cannot put into human words. These are things that She doesn't seem able to take from him. Only events, only the whys, the reasons, not the hows. He knows that he likes jalapeneo peppers and warm sunlight, he knows that he misses the stars and he knows he loves flight above all else.
He knows that he hates the Other. He does not remember the why or the reason, only that it is true.
They used to keep score. He still has that memory -
"Two and two," he hisses, his screeching voice making the other visibly wince as he twists the steel pole he's used for the kill (not his lasers, this time, adding insult to the injury) in deeper. "We're tied, once again. I know what you're trying to do - you think I'll be useless without my memories. But tell me, how many more can you afford to lose in your pursuit of me, _____?"
The name is gone. As is his own. Those were lost... he can't remember how long ago. Sometime. She took those, too.
He can't remember either when he stopped caring. There was a point he does remember screaming that he can't remember his name, or anything about him, and wanting to die. The Other had an easy kill that day, coming upon him sprawled in the dust. The Other wasn't going to do it, but he begged.
"I don't want to remember that I don't remember. I've lost him, I've lost him, I can't - "
Death was blissful, then.
He doesn't walk. He flies. He's on the hunt already, looking for the Other. He knows the signs, now, the city is their playground. The other imPorts just give them sidelong glances and ignore them. They hurt no one else, save for one time when he tried to murder a grey haired man and could not say why, only to be thrown against a wall by a fusion canon blast from the man's palm.
He almost remembered then, and the man spoke his name, but he ran, afraid of what he'd find out.
He muses that in some ways he seeks it. There are fragmented memories still, pieces she's left. A star going nova. Pain. Falling. Darkness. Begging someone in purple for a grant and being told 'no'. Slapping someone in blue who looked just like him across the face. Being crushed under the heel of someone in silver and grey (the grey haired man?).
A pair of perfect blue eyes, beautiful and sad.
He swallows it down, and he looks for the other. They'll dance again, he'll avoid the other's claws, and neither will remember why he's trying to kill the other.
They are both Nameless, now. And nothing will call them back.