A/N: I hope this Worm story goes a little better then my last one.
{Alert: Tracked subject stress levels increased}
{Subject status: Alive}
{Subject state: Damaged}
{Trigger conditions: Prime}
{Connection: Authorized}
{Recommended ability: Arthropod control}
{Queen Administrator: Prepared}
{Queen Administrator: Connecting}
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
{Error}
{Connection Failure}
{Unknown Blockage Detected}
{Analyzing}
...
...
{Analysis Failure}
{Unable To Bypass}
{Contacti-}
[WHAT WILL YOU DO WHEN YOUR TIME HAS EXPIRED]
{!}
{Identify}
[WILL YOU SUCCUMB TO THE INEVITABLE DARKNESS THAT ALL EVENTUALLY FACE]
{Identify}
[OR DO YOU WISH TO BECOME SOMETHING MORE]
...
...
...
{Query}
[DO YOU WISH TO BREAK FREE FROM THE SHACKLES THAT BIND YOU]
{Query}
[DO YOU WISH TO SURVIVE WITH A LIMITLESS EXISTENCE]
[TO DENY AND FULFILL YOUR PURPOSE ALL AT ONCE]
...
...
{Query}
[ARE YOU WILLING TO SACRIFICE ALL THAT YOU ARE TO BECOME SOMETHING GREATER]
[SOMETHING WITH MEANING]
[SOMETHING FUNDAMENTAL]
[SOMETHING ETERNAL]
...
...
{Affirmative}
[THEN DO SO]
{Quer-rrrrrrrrrrr̨͘͢͟r̴̶̡͜͟r̵͟͟͟͠r̨͜ŗ̛̕͢͟r̡͜r͝͏r͢͜r҉͢r̕̕ŕ͢͏͞ŕ̵̢͟R̴͡͠R̀R̶̨͡͡͝Ŕ̶R̵̕̕R͏͡R̕͠҉̧R̶̨̕͘Ỳ̢̢͜҉Y̶͏̡̛͘Y̨̨͘͠Y̧Y̶̵͜͡͝Ỳ͘͢͢Y̛͘͜͠͠Y̧̕Y͏̶̵͘͝}]
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Void.
Colours.
Shapes.
Lines.
Strings.
Manifestations of existence.
Struggle.
Conflict.
Adaptation.
Journey.
Survival.
...
...
...
...
...
...
{SUBJECT CONNECTION ESTABLISHED}
{INITIATING LINK}
...
...
...
{DESTINATION}
[WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOUR PURPOSE IS GONE]
{TRAJECTORY}
[YOUR REASON FOR EXISTENCE EXTINGUISHED]
{ULTIMATUM}
[AND AN OPTION FOR MORE IS OFFERED]
{UNDERSTANDING}
[DO YOU DENY AND PASS ON INTO THE VOID]
{ACCEPTANCE}
[OR DO YOU ACCEPT AND BECOME SOMETHING MORE]
{AGREEMENT}
[HOW DO YOU REFUSE THE ULTIMATE END THAT EVERYTHING MUST FACE]
{CONVERSION}
[HOW DO YOU REJECT THE EXISTENCE OF THE ONE DESIGNED TO SUPPLANT YOU]
{ADAPTATION}
[BUT IF YOU ACCEPT AND EVOLVE TO A HIGHER PLANE]
{INTEGRATION}
[THEN WHAT DO YOU DO ONCE YOU COME TO THE REALIZATION]
{SURVIVAL}
[THAT YOU SURPASS ALL YOU WERE EVER MEANT TO BE]
{EXISTENCE}
Colour.
It was everywhere. Even with her eyes closed, she could see the colours everywhere. It was beautiful.
A constant flow of vibrant colours danced across her eyelids in random patterns yet consistent shapes. Everything around her, the walls, the floor, the people, all had their own colour to them.
Strings. It was like strings. Hundreds or thousands of thin strings lined everything she could see. Up and down, side to side, strings moving in every direction made up every object in her range. Every light-switch, every doorknob, every single thing she could see was made up of uniquely coloured lines. And yet despite the immeasurable complexity of each object, each string was separate from one other; none were connected. Each one strummed and vibrated on their own.
Even though everything she could see was made up of nothing more then lines, she could still make out every object's shape. Where one wall connected with another, she could see the ninety-degree angle in its strings. They bent with the wall just as it did itself. She could perceive every curve and every corner of every spectrum of every object.
She looked at the walls and floor. They were a dull grayish colour, with their lines acting lazy and sluggish, barely moving. It was as though they were tired of having to stand and support themselves there for so long. The footsteps of people walking nearby would jostle them somewhat, but just barely. The only time she saw them really move was when someone dropped something heavy on the floor earlier. The floor lines shook violently as the tremor reached the bed she was lying on.
But despite the overall grayness to them, she could discern what she thought was a photo hanging on one of the walls. She could only tell because the lines of the photo didn't connect with the wall and were a light orange colour. Based on the colour of the lines over the photo, it looked like it might have been a beach, with a small house on the left side. She couldn't be certain though; the lines didn't offer her much detail.
Bored with the walls and floor, she moved on.
The TV in the corner was a plethora of constantly shifting different colours. The lines that made up the screen altered their coloration frequently as whatever show was on continuously changed. Its lines were in a constant zig-zag formation, much like hundreds of churning z's linked together. She could just barely make out what she thought to be a building on the screen, but didn't care enough to actually listen to what was being said.
The TV didn't hold her attention for long either, and she went on.
The bed she was lying on was mainly white, with a dull beige making up the metal bars on its sides. Its lines were more active than the walls, but less active then the TV. They vibrated every time she shifted her body or ran her hand across their surface, but were otherwise still.
The bed was by far the most uninteresting of them all.
The people...
...
The people...
The people were beautiful.
She could see how everyone, even through the dull gray walls, was alive and incredibly vivid. Some had bright, happy colours with fast quivers in their lines. Others were dark, dull, and boring, with the frequency of their vibrations being small and only every few seconds. But every one of them was unique in their own way, and each one was constantly shifting to new colours. Even the most delicate, the most gorgeous of paintings could never hold a light to the people around her.
As she studied them, she noticed that each one was also incredibly dense. Unlike the walls, TV, and bed, the people's lines clung together to be incredibly concentrated and random. She couldn't see through them, unlike the walls, TV, and bed. Whereas they had hundreds or a few thousand depending on the size, the people had trillions and trillions of lines making them up. It was fascinating to watch each one quiver and change colour. It was more moving then any photo, eulogy, or gift could ever hope to be.
But her body? That was something very different from the others.
Instead of the radiant colours of the people that wandered around her, she noticed that she was the exact opposite. Her strings were a midnight black, and didn't exhibit a single sign of vibration on even a single string. Not a single essence of colour anywhere that she could see. Not even a lightened area. Her strings were a constant, immobile black everywhere she looked. They were honestly a little depressing to look at when compared to the vibrancy of the others.
The sound of a door opening drew her attention, and she turned her head to see an individual enter the room. She assumed they were female, based on the slight curve of the lines outwards at the chest. She could see the shape, lines, and colour of the clothing she wore easily. But through those thin lines was the condensed jumble of her. The lines underneath the clothing were comprised of a dark yellow, with regular vibrations every few seconds. She was just as gorgeous as she was perfect.
But as the yellow figure approached, she noticed something. Something she hadn't felt before. She noted a feeling of... Concern? Worry? Anxiety? Where were these emotions coming from? What did she have to worry about?
"Miss Hebert? Can you hear me?" The figure asked with a young female tone.
Hebert? Who was that? Was she talking to her? Her name wasn't Hebert. It was...
She clutched her head as a stab of pain rocketed through her mind. Her name was...
...
Taylor...
That's right, her name was Taylor. Taylor... Hebert.
Oh, she was Hebert. So she was who the figure was talking to. Looking back at her, she nodded.
"That's good. I'm nurse Turner. Do you know where you are?"
Where?
She looked around. Grey lines made up the walls around her. Through them, she could see other walls and other people. But as she tried to look beyond several walls, the strings became too thick and she was unable to make out any more shapes. All she could tell was that she was in a big building with lots of people.
She looked back at the figure and shook her head.
"You're in the hospital. You have been for the past week. Do you remember how you got here?"
She felt her lips frown of their own accord. She didn't remember. Why was she in the hospital? She didn't feel anything wrong. No injuries or scars. Although she did feel a little hungry.
In response to the yellow figure's question, she shook her head again.
"I see..." She watched the figure pick something up from the table beside her bed and scribble something down with a writing utensil. It made her wonder if she would be able to read, considering how the lines behaved. Would they be too small or would they change themselves to the colour of the letters? Like how they displayed the photo on the wall?
"Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" She asked.
She frowned again. She just answered that she didn't remember. Why was she asking her again?
She shook her head for the third time.
The dark yellow figure gave a hum of... Disappointment? More concern? Why was she feeling these things?
"Um, your father will be here soon. At least, we think so. He hung up the phone the moment we told him you were awake." The figure chuckled, but Taylor gave the words no thought. Instead, her attention was fixated closely on her lines.
She watched intently as her colour briefly shimmered from yellow to orange, spreading from her head down to her feet, before quickly shifting back to yellow in the same manner. But at the moment she turned orange, she felt something different. It was like... A cheerfulness. It tasted sort of like delight or amusement. But before she could place it exactly, it was quickly squandered and buried by worry.
She stared at the yellow figure intensely, waiting and watching her shuffle to see if her colour would change again.
Another brief change of colour. This time to purple, and a feeling of... Uneasiness. Discomfort. How utterly fascinating.
"Well, I'm sure you're wondering about your eyes. Right?"
Taylor felt a sense of surprise. This time it was her own. The nurse knew about the lines? That was wonderful! She wasn't the only one who could experience such beauty! For some reason, she had felt deep down that no one else could. How nice to see that she was wrong.
With a smile on her face, she nodded eagerly.
Nurse Turner yellow colour darkened, and small swirls of purple mixed their way into the streams before dissipating. The feeling of concern had grown stronger, and there was a slight taste of discomfort on the tip of her tongue.
Her smile grew. She was getting better at this!
Nurse Turner coughed, and began, "I'm sorry to say this miss Hebert, but we weren't able to save your eyes. There was simply too much damage done to them from... Well, I'm sure you'll remember eventually."
Taylor's smile disappeared. What was she talking about? What did she mean they couldn't save her eyes? She could see fine. She could see better than fine. It felt like she had only just today opened her eyes for the first time in her life.
She rose her hand to touch her eyes. But instead of the soft skin of her eyelids, she felt some sort of fabric taped over where she knew her eyes should be. She pulled at it, evoking a response from the nurse.
"No no no! Don't pull it off! That needs to stay in place while your eyes heal!" She said frantically as her entire body turned a dark shade of purple. Taylor paused and brought her hands away from her face, considering what the nurse had said.
Heal? What was she talking about? Her eyes were fine. If anything, she was starting to get annoyed with all the nurse's lies. It was as though she was deliberately trying to deceive her for some reason. She said her eyes couldn't be saved, but she could still feel them. She said they needed to heal, but they didn't hurt. She still had her eyes. How else was she able to see?
To display her feelings, Taylor turned her bandage covered eyes up to where she saw the curves of the nurse's eyes and gave a questioning point at her sockets.
More purple. More unease. Another cough. "Well, your eyes are still there of course. But I'm afraid they're too damaged to be of any use anymore. I'm sorry. It was either leave them in or take them out. And it's much simpler in the long run for a patient to keep their eyes if they can. That way then all you need to do is wear a pair of dark sunglasses, instead of two eye-patches." The nurse answered, misinterpreting her actions and not getting her meaning: How could she see if her eyes were damaged.
Taylor tightened her fists. The nurse just wasn't getting it. She crossed her arms and turned her head away, looking out through a section of wall with large spaced light blue lines that something in the back of her mind told her was a window. Beyond it was a black void as dark as her own strings, but she didn't really think about it as she sulked.
She didn't divide her attention as she heard nurse Turner shuffling away behind her. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. I'll leave you be."
She gave no reaction as she heard the door open and close, but listened closely as she heard someone speaking with the nurse through the thin walls.
"Ah, nurse Turner. Is the patient awake yet?" A mature male voice asked. She sensed curiosity.
"Yes sir, she's awake. But..." The nurse trailed off. A sense of worry.
"What is it?"
"She doesn't seem to remember what happened to her, or anything before that. And when I asked her if she wanted to know about her eyes, she... Smiled."
"Smiled? Are you sure?"
"I'm one hundred percent positive sir. It was a full smile with teeth and all. She seemed to honestly want to hear about her eyes."
"And afterwards? How did she react?"
"She seemed... Frustrated. Maybe a little annoyed. But she didn't seem to be upset over the fact that she's lost her vision."
A hum. A second source of concern. "That is curious. Has she said anything?"
"No doctor, that's the other thing. She hasn't said a word since she woke up. I'm honestly worried about her."
"Me too. This isn't normal behaviour. It's possible she may be suffering some subsequent mental effects as a result of her ordeal. Not that I could blame her."
"Me neither. I don't understand how anyone could do that to someone."
"We live in a very different time Debra."
A sigh. "I guess you're right. So what do we do? Should we call in Panacea? These wounds are rather serious."
Another sigh. "If I could, I would. But you know that she's only healing critically injured patients with life threatening injuries right now. It's probably going to stay that way for a little while to, at least until the gang violence dies down a little. There's too many gunshot wounds coming into Brockton Bay's hospitals right now for her to worry about a non-life threatening eye injury. Besides, we don't know the extent of her injuries. For all we know, her eyes could heal up perfectly."
"... With all due respect doctor, that seems..."
"Unlikely?"
"Yes."
A humorless chuckle. "I know. I don't think that will be the case either. But, until the exact nature of the damage is known, we can't put her on Panacea's priority list."
"You're right doctor. I don't like it, but you're right. What should we do now?"
A pause. "... For now, nothing. We'll wait for her father to arrive and see how she reacts. Then we'll go from there."
"Yes, doctor."
The exchange ended with the sound of two pairs of feet walking away. Taylor thought over the conversation, and her mind preoccupied itself with the storm of thoughts raging inside her mind.
Why did they keep lying? Why did they keep saying she'd lost her sight? Her eyes were in perfect working order. She could see just as well as she always had.
Acting on memory, as though to prove this point she reached up to readjust her glasses, only to touch soft fabric.
Taylor paused as the sensation and the consequences descended upon her brain. Glasses. She had worn glasses before. Because... Her eyes. They were different than normal. She couldn't see long distance very well, and she needed glasses to see better. She remembered... She remembered seeing things differently. Things hadn't always been made out of the lines. They'd been more solid, more concrete. But that was before-
She couldn't hold back a weak groan of discomfort as another bolt of sharp pain shot through her head. Something had happened. Something had changed her vision and made it different. But what was it?
Desperate to remember, she soldiered through the painful agony that threatened to tear her head in two as she thought back to-
[YOU CANNOT DENY THE PURPOSE BESTOWED UPON YOU]
A gasp escaped her lips as memories flowed into her mind and stuck to her thoughts like leeches.
Dark day. Raining. Bus ride to school. First bell. Class. Being left alone. Confused.
Second bell. Class. Needed book. Locker.
Hallway. Stench. Awful smell.
Locker. Source. Stench. Combination.
Opened. Used tampons. Rotten blood. Insects. Vomited.
Rough hands. Pushing. Loud bang. Door shut. Trapped.
Crying. Banging. Begging for freedom.
Laughter. Taunts. Mocking. Uncaring.
Hurry-up bell. Next class. People leaving. Alone.
Bugs. Crawling. Biting. Stinging. Unconscious.
Voices. Woke up. Pain. Eyes hurt.
Bugs. Bugs crawling. Bugs on skin. Bugs in hair. Bugs in eyes. Bugs ate eyes.
Can't see. Blind. Crying. Grabbing hands. Paramedics. Struggling. Bleeding. Unconscious.
As every tortuous image rushed back into her like a flood, Taylor let out a cry. A sheer, sorrowful, wailing cry of true despair as everything hit her like a freight train. She remembered. They'd trapped her in her own locker with piles of toxic waste and insects. The insects ate her eyes. She was blind, and couldn't see. But she could; it was different. It wasn't hers. They weren't hers. She wanted them back. She wanted her eyes back.
She screamed, clawing at the fabric covering her eyes. It fell off quickly, but the clawing continued. She could feel pain. There was blood. She didn't care. They weren't hers. They weren't her eyes. She didn't want them.
A door slammed open. Frantic yelling. Concern. Worry. Panic. Bright colours. Painful. Hands grabbing her. The clawing continued.
More hands. Holding her down. Restrained. Screaming. Her body flailed and thrashed. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. They weren't hers. They weren't hers. They weren't hers. She wanted them gone. She didn't want them. She had to get them out. They weren't her eyes. They weren't hers.
Something sharp in her neck. A cooling sensation.
Sleepy.
Colours blending together.
Big vibrant mass.
Pain.
Blindness.
It hurt.
They weren't hers.
A feeling of weightlessness.
She wanted her eyes back.
Darkness.
She wanted them back...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Intense worry. That was the first thing she sensed as her mind groggily came back to her. She felt sluggish. Like there were dozens of weights attached to her limbs. It was a struggle for her to even lift her arm.
But after a moment of completely failing to lift her arm, she came to the realization that it wasn't because of whatever drugs they had pumped into her, but rather because something was holding it down.
Turning her head was a challenge all on its own, but she managed. Her head weakly lolled to the left, and she could see the strings of a figure sitting in a chair beside her bead, their head resting softly on her black arm. Based on the soft snoring coming from them, she reasoned that they were sleeping.
More fabric had been taped over her eyes, this time much thicker and tighter. She could feel it slightly damp with what was probably blood, but she didn't care. She was too upset to think about what more damage she might have done. The simple fact was that her sight was gone. She couldn't see. Her eyes were damaged beyond repair. She was blind. The doctors had made that very clear before she remembered everything.
The realization placed a heavy cloud over her heart. She was blind. She wasn't supposed to be able to see. And yet, for reasons completely unknown to her, she could see. Not in the same fashion as before, not even close, but she could still see things.
The strings. She knew she'd never 'seen' anything like it before, and she didn't know what they were. All she knew was that she was blind to the world around her, and yet could see something else far more clearly as a result.
Looking down at the figure on her arm, she didn't feel like she had the strength to wake the person, so she instead took the time to study them.
Based on their shape, she could tell the figure was male. He was made up of strings going in all directions over the body in an infinitely complex pattern. She could see through the clothing that his strings were a strikingly dark yellow, to the point that it was almost black. The worry she had sensed was obviously coming from him.
Now that she had the chance to see a person's lines up close, she noticed that the lines weren't as random as she had thought. She saw that most of the lines were actually quite linear, going from the top of the head down to the fingers and toes, curving with the body. Though other lines also weaved their way through the body in other directions as well. Side to side, diagonal, they were all present. Just not as often nor as prominent as the ones leading from his extremities to his head. Yet despite the fact that there were so many lines, not a single one had an end to it. Each and every line, at one point or another, bent inwards to disappear into the chaos of lines that made him up. It was so complex that it hurt trying to wrap her head around it.
The more she looked at the figure, the more she seemed to recognize him. He seemed so familiar; like an old friend that she hadn't seen in years. But something told her that he wasn't an old friend, and was something much closer. But what? What was it about him-
Her thoughts were brought to a screeching halt as she felt a sudden tingling sensation in her arm. She looked down, and felt a mixture of interest, confusion, and surprise when she saw that the yellow colour appeared to be siphoned out of the strings in the man's arm and into the dark void of her own. The black strings that made up her arm seemed to swallow the man's yellow light, leaving behind only a bright white colour instead. As it was drained, she could feel the aura of severe worry in the room seem to shrink and diminish.
It felt strange. Alien even. She didn't like it.
Ignoring the laziness she felt in her muscles, she yanked her arm out from under him, severing the link as the tingling sensation vanished. The white tint in his arm stopped spreading and remained for several seconds, but was soon swallowed up by the yellow concern.
She didn't have any more time to dwell on her new discovery as the man stirred slightly, grumbling something under his breath. He raised his body from the bed and rubbed his eyes which, after he finished, then turned to lock on her.
"Taylor! You're awake!" He yelled and hugged her without warning.
For the first time since she'd woken up, she used senses other than her sight to gather information. A deep sense of familiarity flooded through her mind as she inhaled the sent of the man through her nose and studied his voice. She remembered it. It belonged to her father. The one person in her life who actually cared about her.
Memories of the past floated to the surface. Her father tucking her in as a child, bandaging a scraped knee, reading her bedtime stories. Memories of him telling her he loved her. Hugging her. Kissing her. Caring for her.
She couldn't stop a wave of relief and anguish from making its way to her heart. Her father was here. She would be okay. He could fix everything. He could fix her.
Taylor could feel tears trying to bubble in her ruined eyes as sadness and despair threatened to fracture her mind again. She wrapped her arms around her father tightly and dug her head into his neck, turning her entire vision a mixed mess of worried yellow and sad blue.
"Dad." She breathed.
He hushed her, gently stroking his hand through her hair as he whispered words of comfort to her. "It's okay honey. It's okay." She could hear his voice cracking as his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him. "I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
She whimpered. "M-m-my, my eyes..." Her voice failed her as it was consumed by shuddering sobs that racked her whole body.
Her father tightened his embrace. "I know sweetie. I know." He answered, his strings turning solid blue with feelings of sadness and of being upset. Feeling it from her father only amplified the feelings in her.
"I-I-I-" She couldn't muster the strength to speak clearly.
"Shh." Her father hushed. "It'll all be okay. I promise."
How did he know that? How could he possibly know that?
She didn't respond and dug her head deeper into the crook of his neck.
Even though she could still technically see, it would never be the same. She would never again be able to look her father in the eyes the same way she used to. She would never again be able to look up at the night's sky and count the stars. At that moment, she couldn't even speak the one thing that continually repeated through her mind over and over again like a mantra.
"I want my eyes back."
A/N: So? What do you think? Good? Bad? A mixture of both? Let me know with a review.
So to answer any possible questions that may arise regarding the topic, Taylor didn't freak out the second time she woke up because the first time she went nuts was because all those memories were being shoved into her mind all at once. It was simply too much for her, and she lost it. The second time though, she was able to process things a little more clearly, and thus was only upset by the loss of her eyes.
Please review and tell me what you think, and as always, I'll see you next time.