(no subject)
Some searches. Every room in the Nexus that might hold a Jon is first, and then he expands, flickering from reality to reality like a ghost, trying to focus on the sensation of wrong that pervades him.
The first thing he learns is that he's looking for somewhere cold, somewhere warm.
That narrows it down.
Somewhere small, locked, closed in.
A little more.
Somewhere human.
More.
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, he checks every somewhere he can find.
Somewhere they speak English. Somewhere sunny.
And it takes all day for him to find himself somewhere in Miami, Florida, the USA. An Earth without a number, without mutants in their headlines or magic in their streets. He finds himself in a bright street and flickers home, returning wearing his ridiculous wide-brimmed hat and the visor Eiko made him. There's no Jon to be seen here, no, of course not, but the feeling of something wrong is so strong that Some's head is splitting, feeling like it's about to come off. Or like it already has.
He's in an industrial park, a place he'd love to hunt at night. But in the day, it's too bright, too exposed, and his fear only adds to the acrid taste in his mouth, drives his heartbeat still higher. He feels like he's been gassed, and the world is somehow spiraling in on him to burn and crush him.
And there's a door in front of him, featureless except for a number, like all the rest. S-13 and the S is painted on crooked, and the door is metal and heavy, a rubber seal around the edges like a... like a freezer. Some puts his hand on the metal, and it's cold, even under the Miami sun. There's a gleaming chrome handle, polished despite the dusty yard, and when he puts his hand on it, it's locked.
Locked doors are never his problem.
Some shuts his eyes, and suddenly his somewhere is somewhere beyond that door.
If he were anyone else, the darkness inside would be merciful. But Some sees through darkness clearer than daylight, and the table is just so precisely in the center, and on it... Jon is staring at him.
Some takes two stumbling steps forward and falls to his knees before the silent, pristine tableau of steel table and severed head, like a pilgrim at his altar. The room is cold, his breath rising in thin fog, hanging in the still air. No breath rises from Jon's lips. Some makes no sound at all until he sees the ice formed in Jon's eyes.
The first thing he learns is that he's looking for somewhere cold, somewhere warm.
That narrows it down.
Somewhere small, locked, closed in.
A little more.
Somewhere human.
More.
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, he checks every somewhere he can find.
Somewhere they speak English. Somewhere sunny.
And it takes all day for him to find himself somewhere in Miami, Florida, the USA. An Earth without a number, without mutants in their headlines or magic in their streets. He finds himself in a bright street and flickers home, returning wearing his ridiculous wide-brimmed hat and the visor Eiko made him. There's no Jon to be seen here, no, of course not, but the feeling of something wrong is so strong that Some's head is splitting, feeling like it's about to come off. Or like it already has.
He's in an industrial park, a place he'd love to hunt at night. But in the day, it's too bright, too exposed, and his fear only adds to the acrid taste in his mouth, drives his heartbeat still higher. He feels like he's been gassed, and the world is somehow spiraling in on him to burn and crush him.
And there's a door in front of him, featureless except for a number, like all the rest. S-13 and the S is painted on crooked, and the door is metal and heavy, a rubber seal around the edges like a... like a freezer. Some puts his hand on the metal, and it's cold, even under the Miami sun. There's a gleaming chrome handle, polished despite the dusty yard, and when he puts his hand on it, it's locked.
Locked doors are never his problem.
Some shuts his eyes, and suddenly his somewhere is somewhere beyond that door.
If he were anyone else, the darkness inside would be merciful. But Some sees through darkness clearer than daylight, and the table is just so precisely in the center, and on it... Jon is staring at him.
Some takes two stumbling steps forward and falls to his knees before the silent, pristine tableau of steel table and severed head, like a pilgrim at his altar. The room is cold, his breath rising in thin fog, hanging in the still air. No breath rises from Jon's lips. Some makes no sound at all until he sees the ice formed in Jon's eyes.