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Ew.
Evan had never had a more unsavory lunch. Staring at the gruel served hot for him, you could see why. In a white tray-style dish was the popular mac-n-cheese with a side of baby carrots and cabbage relish with a tall glass of chilled water.
Now, he knows you're thinking and no, he's not some ungrateful brat. Usually, he did enjoy his lunch, especially this. It was the reward of being obedient (or be sneaky/smart enough not to get caught). Real food with all the right nutrients.
It was just that the chorus of screams still made his ears ring and the melancholic atmosphere in the mess hall was enough to choke him.
The food itself? Horrible! The stretching cheese was too salty like the tears of a redhead girl from his first year having her arm blown from her socket. The mac was too mushy much like the bits of scorched skin that had managed to land at his feet one time. The carrots were too crunchy like the sound of a neck snapping from the boot of a Metron when a brave idiot tried to rush past the wall of metal to get to the stage.
Yeah! Dramatic, much?
To be fair, he thought he was doing well holding it together. Much better than the buff brunette beside him at least. Silent tears were trailing down her brutish face, some nose dribble mixed in with a spoonful of mac. If Evan was telepath like Lou, he'd warn her to stop crying because far down the long table of feasting compatriots was Neuromancer Vireo Hel, mind-puppeteer and empath extraordinaire, staring at each of their grim faces as if their bleak depression was more delicious than the food before him.
Instead, he reached into the back of his mind where his power laid and pulled it carefully to the surface. His left eye began to twitch violently as all the emotions harassed his senses. Amid the mess was the one he wanted, a thick grey cloud pouring over the head of the brunette, its rain saltier than the cheese on his tongue. He pushed his will to the cloud, imagining a powerful gust of wind blowing it away. Immediately her tears dried up, she quickly wiped her nose and ate with more determination.
As a kindness to her, he reached inside her mind, pulling her happiest memory. A girl of no more than five giggling and squealing from the tinkle attack of a tall, buff female with the same hair. Her mother. "No, noooo! I'm gonna pee! Stop Mom!"
Her broad shoulders slumped slowly, a small smile teased her lips and she glanced at him. Quizzical. Realisation. A small thank-you in her deep set eyes.
He nodded subtly and turned back to his food. When he felt a small trickle of hot blood from his nose, he wiped it quickly, making sure that the sleeve was folded in so it hid the stain. Slowly, he pushed back his power, snug and vaulted tight in the back of his mind.
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After lunch, they were instructed to bathe, for tomorrow would be the start of the Trials. They walked in single file, boys on the right and girls on the left with an entourage of Metrons in the back. With the way surveillance doubled, you would think they were afraid someone would crack and commit suicide before the fun happens...a likely scenario but very melodramatic.
No, no. Everyone was just imagining what came next. Strategising. Making plans. In fact, everyone was forming alliances right under their noses.
With their hands behind their backs, they signed to each other. Quick, near uninterpretable hand gestures that only the students understood.
'You got the knife?'
'It's in my boot.'
'I managed to smuggle some carrots'
'Want to team up, Fin?'
'Sure, but I get the knife.'
Evan glanced sideways to Lou right as they reached the intersection where the corridor to the right led to the boys' dorms and the left the girls'.
He watched her hands, the sequence of odd finger shapes spelling out the words: GET THE TOOLS. He lifted his pinky and his thumb and gave it a little shake. ON IT.
They turned each to their own way. On either of the long corridor were doors to their rooms, silver sliding doors that needed your fingerprint to enter. Evan's door was on the near far end of the corridor since the first door was for the boys with the last names that started with the letter Z.
As he walked, it occurred to him that most of these rooms would never have any life. Probably only until the next generation of unfortunates. Meaning that most probably the bed he slept on was owned by about five generations of corpses. Funny how sentimental the founders of the Institute were, holding on to mementos of suffering like that. What sweethearts!
When he reached his door, he pressed his thumb on the pad screen beside it and it slid open soundlessly. He moved quickly to his made bed at the left corner of the room, ignoring the small camera at the top right corner and knelt down to pull out the drawer underneath with his clothes. As he pulled out another set of clothes the same as the one he wore, with a practised sleight of hand (years of sneaking around was good like that) he slipped a butterfly knife up his sleeve.
He turned and left, following the throng back up the corridor for the showers. This time they turned left and just down the hall were the great doors.
A wall of hot mist rose up, the cascade of running water enveloped him. Occasionally the mist parted, revealing the sleek, naked bodies of men. Evan was not one for explicit description (that's just nasty) but he could say the Institute fed them well. Each one of them, himself included, had grown into their maleness, their complimentary muscle definition. They were bred this way. Warriors.
Once he found an empty stall, just a thin sheet of metal on either side, he undressed and threw it to hang on the walls. He turned the tap and bathed. He listened too, no words, just sounds. A light bang on the metal dividers. A random clutter of dropped things. The sequential turning off and on of the showers. Every sound forming wordless words.
LISTEN UP EVERYONE STOP THEY ARE CHANGING THE RULES STOP THEY WANT MORE PEOPLE IN THE ARMY STOP WANT TO FIND SOMEONE WITH ALL THE FIVE PILLARS STOP THE AETHERMIND
The Aethermind. That's a myth, he thought.
So you know, the Aethermind was the scientific impossibility of a person with all five pillars of mind control: empathy, telepathy, telekinesis, mind puppetry and dream manipulation. The Neuromancers, twenty-four in all, each had two pillars which made them the most powerful in all of Elysium with the exception of the president and he only had one. Dream manipulation, which was the most powerful pillar and according to his daughter, he was the one of the most formidable in his generation.
The Aethermind would not be a mere threat to the government but will possess the power to either build up or destroy Elysium. Ever.
Destroy Elysium.
Those words brought forth a dangerous stirring of emotions. Thoughts that if anyone heard would damn him to more than hell but there was one feeling that stood out. One so deadly and ugly that left unattended would fester into the kind of wound that would surely kill him. It was feral and familiar, a beast he thought he killed a long time ago.
Hope.
Ugh. Disgusting
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He lay on his bed some time later, the audible buzz for lights out already called about five minutes ago. Evan stared up in the dark, his blanket over his knees, thinking. A memory floated above the premise of his subconscious, one he debated whether to indulge in. The memory attached to a part he didn't like to admit was there. Vulnerability.
'Warmth, that's the first feeling. Safety, that was the second. His sister's face, her features coming into a crystal clarity. Slender nose, arched brows, long and wispy brown hair and eyes. Blue, so very blue like his own. A smile. A happy simple as she looked down at him. Her arms were around him, cocooning, protecting him from something he was too young to understand.
"Can you sing to me again?" he asked, innocence prominent in his voice.
Elara frowned, "You promised you'd go back to bed, Ev."
"I will, just one song, please?"
She sighed then smiled, "Fine. Only this one time, alright?" He nodded and dug into her arms, waiting.
She looked away, her smile fell away, her eyes clouded.
"Man of mourning
Look there to the vast green
To the pasture, to water so clean
I give it to you
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Man of mourning
Lift those cold fingers
To the blue sky, to the air so wild
I give it to you
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Hold her tight, hold her now
Close her eyes
I take her for you, oh mourning man
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Man of mourning
Walk with me
Look to home so far away
I give it to you
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Man of mourning
Hold my hand
See where i will take you
I give it to you
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Let her go, let her fall
Open your eyes
I take her for you, oh mourning man"
The sonorous lure of his sister's voice filled his mind, smelling of childhood. He recalled asking her who "I" was and she said that was the Aethermind. Apparently, a very long time ago, back when Elysium was young, a man of faith, a Christian she called him, had written the song. She said that the song was about the future, a prophecy so to speak, that said someone would free them and take them to a new place, a new home with real grass and real sky.
Of course, that was bogus, he knew that. But he didn't before, he believed it once. That someone would come and make sure Elara always smiled, make sure everyone could smile again. That hope died later and left him with an unhealthy thirst for freedom. Now the Aethermind was real, not simply the reverse boogeyman of his sister's. A real person.
Someone who could turn the song into reality...
He took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts back. It didn't matter because if the Dominion wanted to find this person that meant they wanted to kill them.
Do you want that? A voice suspiciously like Elara asked.
I don't know.
He turned to his side, emptying his mind for sleep. It wasn't working. Then he noticed it. He sat up, heart pounding as he stared at what slithered its way under his door.
Smoke.
No, wait. The smoke smelled weird. A heady, spicy, sweetness that brought tears to his eyes. It took a moment to place it. When he did, he swore loudly.
Sleeping gas.
It was too late to cover his mouth. He already inhaled too much. His mind already grew foggy, his muscles slacked, his eyes drooped.
Darkness.
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