Chapter Text
Little Eleven is safe in the supply closet. Nothing can hurt her now, Henry thinks. I'll make sure of that. He strolls almost leisurely through the labyrinthine lab halls, revelling in the power pulsing through his veins for the first time in years. Guards surround him as he makes his way to the rainbow room, raising their revolvers at him in futility. He flicks them out of their hands with a twitch of a finger, then snaps their necks one by one. The last alive lets out a desperate cry for backup into his radio. Henry snatches the guard's keycard as he walks past his body.
As Henry moves forward, everyone in his path falls. Orderlies, Guards, even stray subjects; young children waiting patiently in their cells for playtime. He spares no mercy on them, though something brief and painful flashes in his mind when he kills a young boy— about eight years old.
The lab is in shambles by the time he reaches the rainbow room; fluorescent lights flickering, emergency alarm blaring, blood splattered all over the once-pristine tile walls. This is only the beginning, Henry thinks triumphantly as he opens the doors to the rainbow room. All the children are huddled up in corners or under tables, as is emergency protocol. He makes for the orderly on duty first— a tall, pale man with sandy brown hair and a square jaw— and throws him to the wall. His death is intentionally slow and painful, bones twisting slowly in the wrong directions, throat constricted by an invisible force until his eyes pop out. The children scream.
Henry kills the younger children one by one, methodically and with great efficiency. He, in truth, bears no ill will towards these children; They could not choose what they were born to be, they could not choose to be so average, so worthless despite their exceptional gifts. Henry's features glow in the fluorescent lights, an angel guiding these wretched children to salvation. An angel absolving them of the sin of being human.
The older ones suffer a much crueler fate. Each individually pinned to the wall, limbs twisting slowly and eyes gushing blood as they're asphyxiated. Two's death is the slowest. Henry looks up at him with hatred reflected in his eyes, so clear that Two can see it as his vision blurs. Two tries to choke out a word as his airways close, but all that comes out is a strangled gag. Henry drops him to the floor. A selfish urge inside him is satiated.
Henry kicks Two's body as he exits the rainbow room one last time, running straight for the storage closet. His appearance is compromised, but he could chock the blood up to simple self defense. Eleven will believe him, as she believed the other half-truths he told her. She doesn't know any better, as she knows nothing at all.
Eleven, on the other end of the closet door, is a step away from sneaking out. As she reaches to turn the doorknob, the door slams suddenly back in her face. She tumbles to the ground, and Henry immediately kneels down to help her up.
"Hello, Eleven. Are you alright?" He says in a saccharine tone. "Standing close to the door like that was a bad idea. You knew I would be coming back any time now. Or were you trying to escape?"
She shakes her head bashfully.
"That would have been a bad idea. Papa's men would have found you. But they're gone now. We're safe."
Henry picks Eleven up, cradling her gently in his arms. He mustn't let her wander.
Henry carries Eleven to the front entrance, finally able to leave through the staff doors with the keycard he stole earlier. The outside world is in his grasp. He can finally set his plan in motion. Him and Eleven both, shaping a new world in their image. Moonlight filters in through the lobby windows. Eleven stares, transfixed. The moon shines so differently than the fluorescents she's been surrounded by all her life. It shines with a dim brilliance, subtle but blinding in its beauty. Henry feels a single tear slip down his face, unaware he could even feel that kind of human emotion anymore. He mentally chastises himself for it, but another tear runs down his cheek. Then another, and another, and another. A sudden, extreme mental pressure to stop only makes him cry harder. Eleven gently pats his head.
"What is that?" Eleven asks quietly.
"It's the moon, Eleven. Around it is the sky. Those little pinpricks of light in the sky are the stars." Henry says, attempting to reel in his uncharacteristic bout of emotion.
Eleven nods. She taps Henry's arm with a small finger, signaling to let her down. He obliges, and, tentatively, she approaches the door to the outside. Her hands shake as she reaches for the doorknob, unable to find the courage to open it. Henry places his hand atop hers, pushing down with her. The door opens with a creak, crisp autumn air flowing inside. Eleven shivers. Henry holds her hand as they step outside— Henry, for the first time in twenty years; Eleven, for the first time in her life.