Warning One-Twelve [Peter Ballard, 001]

011 : Yes Angel, I Lied.

Excerpt: W112                                                 ... 

 October 21st, 1979.                                                                                                                            File #No. 111

  Objection, hearsay. Nothing can bring a stop to what has seemingly become normal. Evidently, I should have seen it coming. Hurried plans, thoughtless words were brought down to ignorance. Using technology left nothing but rendered my only absolute power useless, but only to me. Not him however, not 001. Despite everything I've ever done, she obeys him, follows him, does his bidding. 

  Racing for trust was never something I intended to happen with my very first subject. Every second, every hour I wonder if there is a way to break the bond, ruin the power of the combination. Deadly, it was. Amazingly, I never thought I would find myself afraid of a number, even the sight bringing an alarming sense of dread. 

 Now I wonder. Did I really put an end to it? Eager for control, I did what appeared right, nothing that would promise a long term change. Leave it to Henry to find a way, a way to remember, to bring back everything One-Hundred and Eleven and him could have been. Excruciating power, a weapon beyond control. Vast attempts I've put forth, yet I expect nothing less than endless attempts from number 001. Even with preparation- No one, is ready.                

  Beyond my plans, past and future, I've already accomplished the goal. Ridiculous amounts of power, to feed off of, basking in triumph. Early stages of greed. Nothing would even create a sum to what I now believe to be behind. Now, the only option is to hope, endlessly hope I didn't create a bond to bring everything I have ever known to the ground. Even two children could harness such a connection, its fears their creator. Really, quite a terror.                                                        

-M.B.

Martin Brenner, -- Warning One-Twelve

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 Your mind was elsewhere. It was dwelling on the moment, yet so inhumanly far away you wondered whether or not your soul was still captive in your body. All that you found nestled between your chest were emotions you didn't think to be possible, combinations of feelings that were so overbearing you were sure they would swallow you whole. Funny, how dread could intertwine its grasp with a such a feeling of hope and realization.

 The chills that ran down your arms and shoulders were not connected in any form or fashion to the air conditioning of the halls. The echo of your footsteps were intruding in your ears, almost rhythmic with the pounding of your heartbeat, the almost audible blood flow coursing through your body. The eyes you were looking out from felt foreign, like a sort of imposter now controlled your mind, your thoughts, your feelings.

Maybe someone did.

One.

 Going to avert your eyes to look at Peter, you weren't necessarily surprised to find your gaze already transfixed on his profile, the uncomfortably bright lights providing an illumination of such a halo, he looked like an angel. His hair fell in waves of gold, less saturated with the lack of natural light. From the side, his irises were almost clear, like looking through water. 

 He himself was like that, it appeared. Like looking through water. The liquid itself was clear, but it always distorted your vision, even just in the slightest. A warped image of blue, a haze of blurring effects. It made things not quite always what they seemed to be.