Chapter Text
Clop, clop, clop.
The echo of footsteps reverberated around silver metal walls and bounced around, making each footstep seem much louder than it actually was.
The space was pristine, just clean metal and nothing else. The emptiness of it all was chilling. A misty, hollow depth seemed to seep through the place, leaving a permanent imprint on the hearts of the ones who walked through these halls.
The one walking?
A clone. Nothing different.
This place was the home of them, thousands of them, all connected via a single mind.
It was dressed in a white robe, trailing along behind it. A black sigil was embroidered into the front of the armour protecting its chest; two wings, with pointed edges like a bat.
Its hair was slicked back, and green eyes haunted its ghostly white face, devoid of emotion, thoughts, and feelings.
Just like the others. Nothing different.
Perfect, cured of any imperfections.
Except perhaps for one.
It nodded to the clones positioned on one side of a large door; emblazoned with delicate marks, each one scratched on during a different lifetime, only those deemed worthy allowed to leave their mark, one scratch of individuality.
They scoured it, scanning for marks, imprints, specks of something remotely imperfect, but nodded, and let it through the great doors nonetheless.
After all, they could not read minds.
Silence.
That was all it was greeted with as it stepped into the room; seemingly infinite in the way no walls were visible, but enclosed as well, almost suffocatingly so.
It wasn’t as if it wasn’t used to it.
The silence, that is.
The ship never held noise, it was quiet, only ever boots on metal, or the closing of doors, but even that was barely noticeable when you were so set on the tasks of the day, never ending, but an honour to accomplish – no, do, never accomplish – for the Lord of the Velvet Glove.
It walked to an empty space at the foot of a raised platform, and knelt down, head bent, as if examining the spotless floor, carved with lines that spiralled and twisted and curled, but not one seemed out of place, despite how many there were.
If you were to look up, you would see a great throne positioned on a night-black dais, situated behind three great steps. The throne had its back to the new arrival, not moving, nor showing any indication it knew of the presence of another body in the room. But it knew it was there.
Oh, it knew.
An age passed, but still the clone bent, unmoving, head bowed, just like it had been taught. No emotion crossed its face, no movement shook its hands, nothing.
Good.
At last the throne turned, and a figure was revealed.
Huge, sitting on that chair with one leg crossed over the other. One hand resting on the armrests, the other on its lap. His face held eyes, four of them; two sitting above and below the usual positions you would expect eyes to be. A smile curled the flesh of its mouth, its eyes showing welcoming grace, but hinting of something more malicious in their depths.
He spoke.
“Hello, brother.”
The voice was smooth, but with a slight edge to it, like a piece of paper that you somehow managed to cut your hand on.
The clone lifted its head to look at its master. Not in his eyes.
Never in his eyes.
“I suppose you are wondering why I asked you here, hmm?”
‘Ask’, was a strong word.
It wasn’t like it had a choice.
But that was okay. It chided itself immediately for the disrespectful thought.
If it made its Lord happy then…
It was okay.
The being sitting on his chair passed his eyes over the clone, scouring for imperfections.
Nothing changed in his face. But maybe… a flicker in his eyes.
It was the eyes.
Always the eyes.
“Well?”
“Yes, my Lord. It is an honour to be called before you.”
He smiled again. It was hard to know what they meant, those smiles. When you were surrounded by faceless bodies and hollow voices, you did not get the chance to observe emotions.
“I have called you here for a specific reason. You have served me quite faithfully for a time now, and as such, I have someone I would like you to meet.”
The clone’s face remained impassive, and so did its thoughts. Afterall, that was the way of the Velvet Glove. That was the way of the clones.
That was the way of Prime.
A sharp click echoed through the endless space, as tendons sprung out of place and snapped against each other, before returning to their carefully made cells of tissue.
Prime lowered his hand.
Silence followed.
There was only the smile of the Lord, trained on the eyes of the clone.
Nothing crossed its mind; thoughts, feelings, impressions, all was empty.
Clop, clop, clop.
Nothing.
A figure emerging from behind the throne.
Nothing.
Green eyes marking themselves onto shadows slowly moving towards it.
Nothing.
“Hello, brother.”
His head snapped up.
Out of the shadows of Prime’s throne and his jade eyes stepped a figure.
A white outfit, like his, etched with black wings. From the waist down, a silk robe fell. Purple hair cascaded down shoulders, free from any restraints, long enough that it trailed behind this being.
The most striking thing, however, were the eyes, embedded into the soft flesh of the creature’s face. Eyes, familiar, yet… not. Devoid of thought. Green, like his, like Prime’s.
A smile crossed his Lord’s face. This one however he could read.
Hatred.
The being opened its mouth once again, etched into a replica of Prime’s facial emotions.
“It’s so nice to see you again,”
“Hordak.”