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His eyes fluttered open, the vignette of sleep waning to reveal flame. Fire. Blood. Bodies of people he did not recognize. The warm brush of embers around him.
Emre swallows deeply, rising to one knee weakly. His puppet strings trembled.
The last thing he remembered was passing out behind a shop with a rickety sign. Nothing else.
Now he was surrounded by carnage. Violence. Likely of his own doing.
Though.. it.. wasn’t his own.
He heard static in his ears, the white noise that was the parasite in his head.
He still didn’t know what it wanted. Why it made him do all these horrible things against his will.
The screen within his chest coated in a splatter of blood.
He wiped it off subconsciously, smearing it across the glass with his glove, his flesh hand. His real hand.
Really, the only flesh he had left beside his face.
Right. The wires embedded into his skin. The pulses sent through his spine up to his temples when he ‘disobeyed’ this.. vile creature.
Was it a creature? A computer?
Whatever it was, it was certainly vile.
He looked around again, faced with the challenge of finding a clear exit that wasn’t blocked by corpses he caused or fire engulfing the now collapsing structure.
An eye shaped crater. An eye in his chest. The dots connected easily.. not.. that he wanted to connect him.
He’d rather stay oblivious of what was eating him alive. Starting with his brain. Inside then out.
He rose to his feet, blinking a couple of times and groaning at the pain in his thighs.
They weakly quivered, he huffed and leaned on the wall.
He must’ve gotten injured.
Maybe he did.
Maybe that’s why he crashed in that backstreet.
Connecting dots!
Emre sighed shakily.
“Lanet olsun..” He shifted his position, his stomach twisted violently as he looked up again.
A young man, tears pricked at his eyes before his head could even fully register his mental agony.
He stood up straight, cybernetics steadying themselves after god knows how much misuse and strain.
Emre learned that his puppeteer didn’t care for his wellbeing. As long as he got his job done, his suffering was an.. unfortunate side effect. Just get back up and keep fighting, Sarioglu.
He swallowed, a nasty taste in his mouth, something adjacent to vomit.
Would he vomit?
He’s done it before. Actually a lot before. Whether drinking or seeing dead bodies.
Quite the contrast.
His cybernetic hand flew to his chest, he braced his arm on the nearest wobbly, scorching hot surface and regurgitated.
Emre coughed out puke from his throat, tears brimming his eyes again with a vengeance, falling this time.
He choked out the rest, wiping his lips on his metal arm, clearing his throat to relieve the sour taste.
He stared at the body again, but as he felt more vomit rising in his throat, he forced his body to move, skipping over corpses to get to the nearest door out.
It was a bit of a labyrinth but eventually he was hit with the divine, blissful feeling of fresh air.
He ran his flesh hand through his messy brunet hair, coughing again.
He still heard that static. Louder now that raging flame wasn’t burning his ears.
He braced himself against a warm wall, sliding until he sat back down.
“..What are you?” Emre croaked out, cringing at the meekness of his own voice.
No response. As per usual.
He’s heard it once before. Right before he passed out from dehydration. Something something host failure.
He rubbed his metal hand over his eyes, scratching his lids lightly.
Well. That was awkward.
“..Why do you make me do the things you make me do..?” He asked, voice a little more steady.
No response.
For a minute.
Then a synthetic, deep, mortifying sound of his own voice. Warped.
It made him physically flinch.
YOU WILL SEE IN TIME, SARIOGLU.
Cryptic. Vaguely threatening. 3/10. At least it responded.
Emre shut his eyes, curling his knees into his chest.
YOU WILL SEE WHAT WE’VE BECOME.
“There’s.. multiple of you?” His hand came to clutch the side of his head, protecting it from something not physical. Something already burrowed deep into his psyche, unmoving and slowly leeching off of his every thought and every function.
Something’s, mayhaps.
He didn’t get a response that time. Sure. Perhaps it had limited speech to maintain its cryptic, creepy effect.
Emre didn’t push for a response this time, he was getting a migraine and it was horrifying enough to hear that.. thing speak twice.
He knew it wasn’t him. Not even close. Emre Sarioglu didn’t destroy facilities. He didn’t destroy for some.. higher goal. He didn’t slaughter mercilessly.
He wasn’t a monster.