Chapter Text
“oh come and get me. drag me out, destroy me. ive been expecting you, im ready.”
it has been a week,
7 days,
168 hours,
and before fyodor sits the fruit of research.
their file. one unlucky nobody unfortunate enough to drag their pinky in a line across the back of his hand. to think this would not have happened had he not crossed the 53rd street.
their ability, to steal abilities from the ability users for a short amount of time, for their own useage.
how… miraculous that this sequence of events, like flashbacks in a movie have fallen into place. its as if a divine being had simply pushed them forward, outstretched in flawless hand.
the sun creeps upwards, raising her warm hands through his tinted glass windows as he clicks through their files.
it had been easy, to implant a spy camera in their house, unlocking the window of the 3rd floor while you were away. the little white box sits primly behind a plastic plant in a room of peeling wallpaper, a squeaky bed, a miniscule kitchen with burn marks on the walls, and one lopsided desk and computer. the floor is cold as he as learned, from the other cursing when its time to get out of the confines of a coffinlike bed. one tab on one of many monitors, is dedicated to them, to tracking fragmentations of their life in his hands, even as the glass shatters and shards slip into skin.
this ability, he has reasons to clarify, creates dolls in the form of those they steal abilites from. the small, yarn version of him rests against a red lamp on their night table, slowly unraveling. an old grey tabby, with only one and a half ears though, seems to recognize his presence in the room. its large bulbous eyes, like stars through the peaks of heaven, watch his moves through the camera.
they work seemingly, a regular 40 week job, as some sort of desk worker. the hairbrush on the floor seems to shine as he unlatches the window again to primly stand in this tiny apartment. the large, glossy fern standing at attention to the door, waves like a welcoming doorman with the wind coming in from the window unlatched behind him. he picks through the house, pocketing small, unnoticeable items, like a pebble, or someone’s phone number, written on a sticky note.
finally it seems, when he cracks open the drawers to the lopsided desk with an irritated screech, he finds a loaded gun.