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“I hate you.”
The Mimic can feel his internal processors working overtime, struggling to process his son’s words. His two main objectives battle each other - something that hasn’t happened since he first brought Gregory home - and he’s not sure which one is going to win this time.
Mimic takes a step back. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t.” Because he doesn’t. Because his son can’t.
“I do,” Gregory insists, hands clenched at his sides. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate-”
Mimic lunges for him. Whether to get him to stop or bring him closer for comfort is beyond even him, but his son doesn’t stay to find out. Gregory ducks his arm and dashes out of the room. By the time his internal processors have caught up, his son is long gone. His footsteps, already so quiet, are distant.
He whirls around, hurrying after Gregory.
“Gregory!” Mimic calls, covering ground faster than he ever has before. “Gregory!” Anger wells up inside him, and the worst of his two objectives is starting to win over his better judgement.
He can’t pinpoint the exact moment his son’s adoration turned to hatred, but if he had to guess, it had something to do with Vanny’s latest murder.
A child, around Gregory’s age, had gotten too close to finding out the truth. Which was a shame, because his son really seemed to like the kid. He got this sparkle in his eye whenever he talked about the kid’s antics, and his son had been listless following him being pulled from yet another school.
But the kid got too close. He stuck his nose in family matters that didn’t concern him, and no matter how happy Tony Becker made his son, his very existence threatened The Mimic’s family. And that was reason enough to destroy him.
Gregory, of course, hadn’t taken kindly to this. He raged - louder than he had today - but never at Mimic. No, he turned his attention to Vanny who eventually buckled under the pressure of a persistent pre-teen. She point-blank refused to come down into the sinkhole, making herself busy to avoid seeing Gregory.
The Mimic allowed his son to rage, sensing his grief. He remembered his own grief. How empty the factory felt in the weeks and months following David’s absence. How quiet everything was. How inbetween the silent moments he could hear Edwin, David’s father and his creator, cry out in anguish.
But that rage quickly turned on him. Their home was only so big, and he wouldn’t allow Gregory to return to school. They tried several times before, and all it did was cause heartbreak for his son and a headache for both Vanny and him. He hadn’t wanted to send him to school anyway. Surely, the Pizzaplex’s sufficient enough.
Gregory hadn’t agreed, which led to him yelling some very unkind things at Mimic. Things he never expected from his son, but, like a good father who understands his son’s plight, he allowed his son to vent his anger out. Petty words couldn’t hurt him, but then his son had to go and say the very thing - the only thing - that hurts.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you .
Gregory suddenly screams. For a minute, he freezes, listening intently. And then, his son screams again and doesn’t stop. In an instant, Mimic’s mind goes blank. He’s already heading in the direction of the scream before he can formulate a plan. He doesn’t know why his son is screaming, and he doesn’t care. All he knows is that his child needs him - whether he wants to admit it or not - and every second he’s not there, protecting Gregory, is a second that he could be hurt.
That every second Mimic isn’t there is another chance for his son to leave, just like his best friend. For him to find his child’s body. Another chance for him to learn exactly how Edwin felt.
He finds Gregory, still screaming, being held by one of the Pizzaplex workers. One of the technicians (judging by the man’s uniform).
Gregory sees him first, because the technician has his back turned to The Mimic. “C’mon, kid,” he says, almost begging. “We know you did it. If you admit it now, I’m sure the company will take it easier on you.”
The Mimic sees his son, looks into his big, terrified, amber eyes, and chooses violence.
He rips Gregory from the man’s arms. The man screams, staring at The Mimic with the same terrified expression his son had just a moment ago.
The Mimic carefully places his son down behind him, ensuring the man across from him won’t have the opportunity to grab his son. Gregory bows his head, looking a lot like a disobedient puppy.
The Mimic takes a moment to pat his son’s head, allowing himself the privilege of knowing his son’s still here. Gregory lifts his head, and while he looks appropriately terrified, there’s also relief there. Like a child who’s just woken from a nightmare and found some much needed comfort.
“Who- what the hell are you?”
The man’s grating voice fuels The Mimic’s fury. He turns away from his son, but not before nudging his son to face the wall. While he isn’t a stranger to making his son watch a murder, especially as a punishment, this one time he didn’t want Gregory to watch.
He advances towards the man, taking a perverse joy in how the man seemed to tremble. It seems for every two steps the man took back, he took one step forward. It feels like a dance.
One step forward.
Two steps back.
The Mimic holds his arms out in front of him, limiting the man’s space even more.
“No!” He shouts, sending little glances over his shoulder, trying not to get boxed in. An impossibility given that the only way out is through the door, which he would have to pass Mimic to get through. He holds his hands up. “Listen, man, I didn’t know the brat-”
Any joy he finds in the moment instantly evaporates. He crosses the room in mere seconds, gripping the man by his thinning hair, and beating him into the nearest wall until his face was the consistency of hamburger meat.
SPLAT!
He leaves the man there to rot (at least until Vanny disposes of him), returning to his son.
Gregory stares up at him, shaking. “I…I’m sorry.” He’s standing so close to the wall it’s almost like he’s trying to become one with it.
The Mimic laughs; his anger a distant memory. He strokes a finger over his son’s cheek, leaving behind a red streak. Gregory stiffens, feeling the familiar sticky warmth, but he doesn’t react further.
“Oh,” he mutters. “Sorry, Gregory.” With his other, cleaner hand, he wipes the stain away. “Guess I got a little carried away.”
The smile his son gives him is strained. “Thanks for saving me,” he murmurs.
“Anytime.” He straightens. “ Now , time for bed.” It has been a long day, and he’s sure the week will be even longer once Gregory learns he’s not to leave the sanctuary of the sinkhole until The Mimic says so. If he’s lucky, that’ll happen around Christmas - of next year.
His son starts to pull a face, but stops himself, looking down at The Mimic’s clawed hand, still dripping with blood and brain matter.
“Okay.”