Demons

It had been a loud night. Vincent had been restless, lying awake for hours, and when he did sleep, thrashing about, sometimes mumbling, sometimes shouting. Now, as if in recompense, he was unusually quiet, staring blankly at the wall of his cell and making no attempt at conversation. Occasionally, his lips moved, but Demian couldn't read what they was saying. He was a little frighte He He had never seen his friend in a condition such as this before.

Suddenly, Vincent got to his feet. He was still staring at the wall. Then the silence broke, and with a vengeance.

"Bastard! Bastard! Fucking bastard!"

Each expletive was punctuated by a blow to the cold, hard stone.

"Slimy fucking bastard greasy git of a cunt!"

He screamed and pounded the wall until long after his voice should have been hoarse and his fists raw and bleeding. He noted that they weren't, were not even very sore, with a kind of dull resentment. He felt he was nearly on the edge of tears. And only when he began to consider breaking down into a shuddering heap did he think to look across to the cell opposite.

Demian was staring at him, eyes wide and white. He couldn't even see the pupils. And something looked to be wrong with his hands, which seemed not to be clutching the bars so much as melting into them. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of himself. When he opened them again, Demian's appearance seemed to have returned to normal; he was regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, and he had loosened his grip on the bars of the door. He wanted to regain some semblance of normality, although it wasn't proving easy.

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Do not apologise. But... might you perhtelltell me what has caused this behaviour? I have been worried about you since last night. You are not acting as you normally do."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't think how this might affect you. I just.... I have a lot on my mind."

"Can you not share it with me?"

"I'm not sure that you'll understand."

"I might do. At any rate, I shall try."

"Well.... Then I'll try, too."

Nonetheless, it was a long moment before he began to speak.

"Do you know what it means to be in love?"

The phrase seemed to stir some vague awareness in Demian's mind, but it was like all the parts of his 'other' knowledge; the more he tried to pinpoint what it was, the more elusive it became.

"I have a vague familiarity with those words. I do not believe I can explain what I understand by them."

"That's alright, I'm not sure that I can, either. I suppose I'd better try."

A pause.

"It's like.... being lost inside another person. Like drowning in them, and at the same time, clinging onto them to keep from being pulled under. It's needing them more than anything else, wanting them more than anything else, and at the same time, knowing that you'd gladly never see them again if only it would make them happy."

He wasn't expecting that this would make any sense, but Demian was watching him with a look on his face as if he was experiencing a revelation.

"It's... I don't know what it is. Nobody does, nobody can describe it properly. Ask twelve different people and you'll get twelve different answers. But it's powerful..... sometimes I think it's the most powerful thing in the world."

He fell silent again.

"It is love, then, that has done this to you? That has made you act in this way?"

Vincent gave a mirthless little laugh.

"Yes. Well.... yes and no. It's not just love I feel for her, it's like.... It's obsession. Love and hate and jealousy and longing and just so much of it all that sometimes I think it's going to burst me wide open -"

But Demian was no longer listening.

"Her? Who is this her?"

Silence.

"Her name is Lucrecia," Vincent said at length. "The woman I'm love with. The woman who - who used to be in love with me. Now she's with Hojo."

Another silence.

"With Hojo! Of all the people alive or dead to have left me for, that evil, twisted bastard of a freak!"

Demian had recoiled slightly. He was not sure that he liked his friend in this state, at the same time frighteningly powerful and terribly vulnerable, as though he might tear himself to pieces at any minute.

"Why couldn't she have chosen somebody normal? If it couldn't be me, couldn't it have been someone good, someone who wouldn't hurt her, someone who'd treat her like she deserves to be treated? Why him? He's cruel to her, I just know he is, he doesn't know how to be anything other than cruel and curious. He'll rip her apart, her body and her mind, just to see how she works, to see what it will do to her!"

Vincent was gasping for breath.

"And now, he's turning me into what he is, a freak! A monster! I see it - at night, I dream about it.... and she's hurt and she'd dying and I'm the one who's done it, I know I am! That's what I am now! A thing, a beast that dreams about killing the woman he loves, and there's demons growing inside me and he put them there - "

Demian wanted to break in, to do anything to stop this desperate tirade, but Vincent wouldn't have heard him even if he'd been able to think of something to say -

"and that's what he's done to her! She's pregnant, she's got something he put in her growing inside her, something made out of him, something twisted and horrible and cruel, and how could she let him do that to her?"

He did break down then, into empty, gasping cries. He was too hurt to speak, too angry to be able to shed tears, feeling too much of everything to do anything but try to keep breathing. Demian watched, caught helplessly between fascination and an overwhelming need to do something, anything, to make that pain go away.

At last, the storm passed, and Vincent collected himself as best he could.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, I know that might have scared you, I didn't mean to make you upset, I didn't mean to lose it like that, I just -"

"Vincent."

Vincent broke off. Demian very rarely interrupted him, and never in a deep, even tone like that.

"Vincent, please do not apologise. I am concerned for you, but I am well. I think that these were things that you needed to say."

"You may be right. I'm still sorry to put you through it, though. It must be confusing for you, what this has done to me. I suppose you can't really understand what it means, to feel like this about someone...." He trailed off wistfully.

"I think that I can."

It was said very softly. Vincent didn't hear.

*~*~*~*~*

They never spoke about Lucrecia again, after that day. Vincent evaded all of Demian's best efforts to draw him into conversation on the topic. He learned to leave him be, on the days when he stared at the wall, deathly still and silent.

But he watched him in the nights, more closely than ever. And he wondered, straining to catch the dream-whispers, watching every tiny gesture, every flicker of his eyelids, with rapt attention - was it her that he was talking to?

*~*~*~*~*

The taste of blood was in his mouth, and he exalted in it. Never had he felt more alive than at this moment, with the stench of death wrapped around him like a blanket. There had been screaming, and running, flailing limbs and contorted faces and red, raw meat. Chaos everywhere. Now there was only silence, the silence he had made, and he glanced around, lord of all he surveyed.

Something was lying close to his feet, and he bent over it, curious. The face was blank and bloody, the neck twisted right round. Familiar..... this was Lucrecia. No, that wasn't right, something in the back of his mind was saying that this was very wrong indeed. Oh, but of course. Lucrecia was beautiful naked, her arms around him, warmth and sweetness and the scent of her hair and the taste of her on his lips, and this woman was ugly, her face torn, her body bent into odd angles. Movement. That wasn't right, there shouldn't be movement anymore. A rip was opening in her stomach claws raking down ripping open, blood and satisfying tearing sound and something was crawling out of it. A baby, tiny fingers first, bald head and wide eyes, but as it crawled it was growing, its limbs becoming longer and longer, unnaturally long, as they emerged, its skin paling beyond human limits gazing at his arms thinking that can't be the lights, and something, something about those wide eyes was strangely familiar. Demian was standing in front of him, naked on his back pressing me to him, alien taste alien lips wet thick hot need, dripping with blood, her blood, Lucrecia, oh gods Lucrecia, Demian, her blood on him that's spreading, that spreads and spreads until we drown in it -

Vincent woke, and realised it was the sound of his own screams that have woken him. He felt warmth at his back, arms around his waist.

"Be quiet. Please be quiet, please be calm. It was nothing, only a dream-vision, you are well....."

"Demian?"

He twisted around to see. Demian let go of him immediately, withdrawing a little way.

"I am sorry. I thought that... you were in need of comfort. I only wished to help."

"But... how? How did you get here?"

Demian looked uncomfortable.

"I suppose..... you must see, when I return. Very well. But you must promise that you will not scream."

"But, I -"

"Promise."

"OK, I promise."

Demian stood. He closed is eyes, a look of concentration on his face. When he opened them again, they were blank and pupil-less. The change started with his fingers. First, it was as if there was a kind of webbing between them, and then they began to run into one another, as the same melting began to join his arms to his sides, and fasten his legs together, so that it looked as if he couldn't possibly balance, he had to fall, but Vincent couldn't concentrate on that because his face was flattening itself, its features sinking back into one blank, shifting mass, and when he fell he didn't fall forward, he fell into himself, his pale skin darkening to a swirling green. The liquid almost touched Vincent's feet.

He didn't scream. He stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit it, nearly hard enough to draw blood, but he didn't scream.

The return process didn't take as long, or didn't seem to. Before he had quite recovered from the first shock, Demian had returned to normal.

"What - what was that?"

"I do not know. I think that it might be - an echo of what I was before. I concentrate on the before-time, the other-time, and it begins."

Vincent nodded, and it was a while before he spoke again. When he did, he asked the question he thought he probably should have asked to begin with.

"If you can get out of your cell, why on earth don't you just escape?"

Demian fingered the collar on his throat, the multi-coloured bead at its centre.

"Has Hojo not explained to you what it is this does? He made very sure that I knew of its properties."

Vincent shook his head.

"In addition to somehow being able to render me immobile, the device reacts to a forcefield around the edges of the laboratories. As long as the bead remains inside it, the field is harmless. As soon as the bead passes through it, it activates, unleashes a wave of energy. I cannot go a step outside of it, unless I wish to die."

"You can't remove it." It wasn't a question. Vincent had tried to take off his own band, had tried much harder since his last encounter with Hojo, but it was useless.

Demian bowed his head.

"I have attempted it, in every way I can think of."

"But, in your other form - ?"

"Anything that I am wearing when I begin the transformation becomes an integral part of the other form. That includes my clothes, and it includes the band. I cannot escape. Besides - " His voice trailed off to an indistinct murmur.

"What was that?"

Demian looked up at him, determination in his eyes.

"Besides, I could not escape without you. I would have no wish to."

"What?"

A pause.

"I am trying to tell you.... that I believe I am in love with you."

A thousand responses sprang to Vincent's mouth, but Demian silenced them all by laying his hand over his lips. Then, unable to help himself, he leaned forward and gently kissed his own knuckle.

"Do not speak. I do not need to hear your answer. It is enough that you should know."

Vincent's mind was racing. He thought of Lucrecia, thought of her in his arms, thought of her in Hojo's bed. Hojo... his sneering face, his contempt for his 'failed experiment'. What might he do to him, if he decided he was useless? He closed his eyes, thinking how it would feel, to be alone again. Taking Demian's hand in both of his, he studied the palm. Fragments of his dream came back to him. Demian - Demian standing naked, Demian's lips on his.....

"What," he said, his voice shaking a little, "if my answer is this?" And he bent to place a warm kiss in the hollow of his hand.

"But - I do not understand. Lucrecia -"

"Yes, I love Lucrecia. I can't lie to you. The way I feel about her, I'll probably never feel about anyone else my whole life. But... that doesn't mean I don't miss having somebody to touch. Somebody to hold. It doesn't stop me from seeing how much you are offering, how beautiful you are, the way you look at the world, the way you look at me-"

"You think... you find me beautiful?"

Vincent trailed his hands up Demian's arms, linked them behind his neck.

"Let me show you."

It was tentative, and awkward, and sweet, as all first kisses are. Vincent drew Demian's mouth to his and the first press of their closed lips was at the same time more and less than a real kiss, a simple communication. But in what was communicated, there was need. Vincent moved first, caressing Demian's lips with his own, holding on to him as he swayed, grasping him a little tighter as his mouth opened in a tiny gasp of pure want. He flicked his tongue into that opening, teasing the lips further apart, until Demian capitulated and drew him inside, uncertainly using his own tongue to greet him. His mouth was slick, tasting of something bitter that Vincent recognised but couldn't quite place. And oh, he was hot. Hotter than it should have been possible for a living creature to be, and for the first time since he was brought to this place, Vincent felt warm enough. He began a thorough exploration of Demian's mouth, licking across the palate and relishing the vibration from the throaty little moans he was eliciting.

Drowning. That was what it was, that was what it was supposed to be, was it not? Demian understood now, understood even better than he had before, what Vincent had told him - it was like drowning, like clinging on for survival, and all he could do was to keep tight hold and hope that he was not swept away. His hands were clamped rigidly on Vincent's shoulders, tightening spasmodically as he fought his natural fear of the invasion of his mouth; but it was good. Those thousands of tiny vessels that made it so painful to be damaged there were apparently equally effective in conveying pleasure, andprespressed himself to Vincent, seeking more and more, trying to wring every drop of sensation that he could from this.

Vincent smiled slightly as he felt hardness against his own; he had been half afraid that Demian would turn out to have some entirely alien... equipment, as it were, something he knew nothing about. This he knew how to deal with. He moved one hand up to ruffle the fine, dark hair at Demian's nape, while the other slipped downwards, trailing along his spine and over his butt, squeezing gently, and then up again, between their bodies, under Demian's top, gently massaging the firm stomach and then moving further up to toy with a nipple. Demian broke their kiss with a gasp, spine arching, neck thrown back, and Vincent took the opportunity to kiss and lick the pale expanse of exposed throat, and elicit more tiny moans and shivers of need. Intrigued by the intensity of the reaction he had got, he pulled back a little, and tugged the dingy grey cloth away to lie pooled on the floor.

Demian's markings were all over his body, a pattern of small, thick brown lines. Just over his nipples were the ends of something that looked like a thick black tube. Vincent ran his hands along it curiously, finding that it was two halves, both starting at Demian's spine.

"I do not know exactly what they are," came the response to the question he hadn't even asked. "I have no sensation in them."

"Ah, but I know where you do have sensation."

Vincent brought both hands into play this time, rubbing and pinching the dark brown nipples. Same colour as those markings, he noted absently, far more interested in seeing if he could get Demian to scream just by doing this. When he sucked on the right one, grazing it carefully with his teeth, he almost succeeded; Demian gasped wordlessly, and stumbled backwards an awkward sitting position on the bed - he very nearly fell. Vincent stood over him, rather pleased with his handiwork.

Demian ran a nervous hand down his side and the top of his leg.

"Would you take these off?"

Vincent hesitated a second, then complied, stripping out of first the top, then the trousers. Watching Demian struggle to get the bottom half of his own clothes off, he wondered for a minute what on earth he had got himself into, and whether he ought to call a halt to it now, before they hurt each other. Then he thought of wide, trusting eyes fixed on him, thought of how helpless they both were in this place. He did want this. His friend - lover? probably safest to think friend - wanted it too. That was enough. His underwear joined the small pile of clothing on the floor, and he clambered awkwardly onto the bed to kneel behind Demian.

Demian closed his eyes as he felt warm hands on his shoulders, massaging gently, working down his back and up again, over his shoulders and down his chest. This was pure sensation, more than he had ever experienced before, to touch and to be touched, just for the sake of feeling. It was intoxicating.

Those firm hands pushed him down, and obediently he leaned back, manoeuvring himself until he could lie full-length on the bed.

Vincent straddled him, and for a long moment he just sat there, hands resting on his shoulders. At last Demian stirred.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, no; there's nothing." Vincent smiled sheepishly. "I was just looking at you. You really are beautiful, you know."

He leaned in, kissing the hollow of Demian's throat, and began to make a slow trail downwards. He ran his tongue over each marking, following it as it pointed to the next one, until his mouth was dry from salt sweat. He came to the bottom of his stomach, absently noting the lack of a naval, before he reached his goal.

Demian arched off the bed, thrusting upwards blindly, as Vincent took the head of his cock in his mouth. Vincent had been prepared for this, and firmly pinned his hips down to the mattress as he set about his ravishment. He massaged the perineum with both thumbs, noting as he did so a single ballsack, black and rubbery like the tubes on his chest. By the time he licked his way up the underside of the shaft, Demian was panting. He sucked at the head of his cock, teasing the slit with his tongue. Oh, he had missed this; the needy little moans, the feeling of such complete power, such total intimacy. He bobbed his head up and down, holding Demian's hips firmly as they surged against him, and then forced his throat to relax as he took his cock in almost to its root. He swallowed convulsively to keep from gagging. Demian gasped and strained, and Vincent, knowing he wouldn't last long, had just enough time to prepare himself before his whole body went rigid and he came, moaning low and incoherent. Hot oil. Vincent had heard the term used before, but it had never seemed appropriate until now. The liquid that flooded his mouth was thick and sour, almost scalding his tongue. He spat it out before he could help himself, although he doubted Demian would actually be offended; the taste lingered at the back of his throat.

Demian was staring at him in something like wonder.

"Does that happen every time?" he asked, his voice coming from somewhere far away.

Vincent was smirking.

"If you're lucky."

"I would like to.... give you a similar experience."

Vincent grinned, sitting back on his haunches.

"Go for it."

Demian flushed slightly.

"I am afraid I cannot, not that way. The lining of my mouth is very delicate. If it were to rip...."

Vincent was disappointed, but he nodded understandingly.

"You can still use your hand," he said. "Here, let me show you..."

Demian was flushing still darker.

"Is there not... another way you can penetrate me?"

"Well...." Vincent rubbed the back of his neck. "For that, wallyally need lube. Spit just won't cut it, especially since it's your first time, and there's really nothing here we can use....."

Demian blinked, suddenly. Then, a wide grin split his face. Taking Vincent's hand in his own, he stroked it firmly up and down his side. Vincent complied, slightly bemused. Then he saw a thick, viscous liquid oozing from the tubing on Demian's chest. Demian scooped up some with a finger, and swirled it in a leisurely pattern across Vincent's torso.

"Will this suffice?" he asked, voice husky.

Vincent stared at him for a moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he burst out laughing.

"Of all the....." he gasped. Demian did not understand.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, in a very small voice.

Vincent pulled him into a bearhug, and rocked him there, still chuckling.

"Nothing, Demian, nothing's wrong. It's just.... I never fucked a guy who was self-lubricating before." Seeing Demian still looked worried, he added, "Don't worry. It's good to be able to laugh at times like this. It means - it means I trust you, I guess. I'm comfortable with you." He smeared some of the substance over Demian's nipple, relishing his shudder. "Gods, the more I know about you, the more I - want to know more about you." And he pressed a kiss to the side of Demian's mouth before laying him flat on the bed again.

His fingers slick with Demian's secretion, he worked a finger into him, carefully. He wanted to make absolutely sure that this was good, that it wouldn't hurt. Demian adjusted to the pressure well, but when Vincent tried to withdraw the finger, his muscles clenched again, pushing him out.

"Try to relax."

Demian nodded, concentration showing on his face. Vincent soon had two fingers inside him, scissoring to slowly loosen the muscle. When he pulled them out, and started to slick a third, Demian grabbed his wrist.

"Vincent. Now."

With his other hand, he rubbed lube inexpertly over Vincent's cock. His fingers were trembling. Vincent positioned himself, drawing Demian's legs up and around his waist.

"When you're ready, tighten your legs and pull me in." He had often found this useful - it was easier for a bottom to relax if they felt they were in control.

Demian didn't hesitate. He guided Vincent into himself, watching him unblinking as he closed his eyes, biting his lower lip and taking long, deep breaths. After a moment, he seemed to settle himself and his eyes opened to meet Demian's. Only then did he begin to move.

It didn't last long. It couldn't have, given the circumstances. But while it did, it was beautiful. Vincent tried to set a slow pace, but couldn't stick to it; he sped up, and Demian came with him, adapting naturally to the rhythm, rocking his hips in time to it. And the cry he gave when Vincent hit his prostate for the first time was the closet thing to the sound of pure sex that he had ever heard. He drove them both onwards, to the edge and over it, and plummeted with sheer abandon into bottomless pleasure. Demian came again a few moments later, thrusting into Vincent's spit-slicked hand.

That night, for the first time since he had arrived there, Vincent slept on the cell's bed.

And Demian wrapped himself around him, listening to his breathing, feeling his heartbeats pulse through his body, watching as his own breaths stirred the dark hairs at the back of his neck; and it wasn't until the lights went up again at morning that he returned to his own cell.

*~*~*~*~*

"Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"When we're... together, do you feel something?"

"I feel plenty of things, Demian. Would you like me to list them?"

"No. I do not mean like that. It is not a physical sensation. It is.... other. A sensation from the other time. I feel it when we touch. Something - I do not know how to describe it. A sympathetic vibration. A ghost of what you feel. Is this not something that you experience?"

"I don't think it's something humans can experience, Demian. We only have five senses. It's probably just another of your body's reactions to sex."

His voice was calm, measured, reassuring. But he was thinking of the demons growing inside him, reaching out through his flesh to touch the demon in his bed.

*~*~*~*~*

Vincent was basking in the afterglow. He had finally persuaded Demian to fuck him, and both had been pleasantly surprised at the results. Demian, as always, revelled in new sensations, however shy and awkward he was about taking control like that; Vincent had almost forgotten just how damn good it felt, to give in to the sensations flooding from his prostate, to let go and just be..... Demian, however, didn't seem to have quite the same concept of 'quiet time' that he did.

"Vincent?"

Vincent shifted so that they were face to face.

"Yes, Demian?"

"Do you still think about Lucrecia?"

Vincent trailed a hand lightly across the markings on his torso, finding them endlessly hypnotic.

"I'm not thinking about her now."

"That was not the question that I asked."

Vincent shook himself. He had been doing what he would do to any one night stand who asked awkward questions, distracting them with sex and flattery, but Demian was more than a one night stand. He was his friend. He deserved better, even if 'better' was only a straight answer.

"Yes, I do still think about her. I don't think I could stop thinking about her if I tried."

"That is what I expected. It is only... we spend so much time together, you talk so much to me, I cannot help but wonder, sometimes, if...."

He didn't like where this was going.

"Demian, I can't lead you on, I've said. Whatever I feel for you, it's never going to be what I feel for her."

"I am aware of that. But I wonder if, eventually, when sufficient time has passed...... could you learn to love me a little?"

Vincent recoiled as if he had been slapped.

"But Demian, you idiot, I do love you! Of course I do. It's not the same as with her, but you're my friend and I love you. You're more than my friend, in here. You're my sanity. I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't been here -"

Demian laid a finger over his lips.

"Enough. It is enough, more than enough."

His eyes were wide and shining, and he was smiling blissfully. And as they lay in silence together, he seemed to be experiencing some kind of afterglow of his own.

*~*~*~*~*

"For goodness' sake, you morons, what do I pay you for?"

Somebody muttered sardonically that he wasn't paying anybody, ShinRa was. Hojo ignored them.

"Now there's six of you, and all I'm asking of you is that you go in there and restrain one wit without doing him physical damage."

"I still don't see why we can't just use the drug."

Hojo made a mental note to find out who that man was and have him put on sewer detail for a month. In one of the slum sectors.

"As I have already explained, using the drug would render the results of my tests invalid. Now go down there and get him."

"But, it's not just the man.... There's that thing there as well."

"He's locked up securely, and I have the means to deal with him if a have to." Hojo patted the pocket of his lab coat. "I'd rather not. Over-exposure to the radiation might do the subject irreparable damage, and I prefer to avoid that if possible. Now, ,unless anybody else has some pressing question for me, would you be so kind as to go and do your jobs."

Hojo's tone had become decidedly menacing. The men decided they would rather deal with a half-starved prisoner than him in a temper, and, still somewhat reluctantly, set off down the corridor.

Demian heard the tramp of several sets of footsteps, knew what it foreboded. He shrank back, trying to motion to Vincent to do the same without making a sound. Then, he began to shift. The last thing he saw was the look of comprehension on Vincent's face as he began to roll his sleeves up.

The men never knew what hit them. As three approached Vincent, apparently sleeping in the corner of his cell, his foot darted out and swept their legs from under them. The next minute, he was on his feet, raining blows down on them as they struggled to pull themselves together. There was a satisfying crack as his fist connected with one man's jaw; he passed out.

The three guarding the door were even less lucky. The first to turn just had time to shout "What the -" before thr three were sucked down into the shifting green mass that Demian had become.

Vincent left his attackers groaning on the floor of his cell as he dashed for the door and out of it, Demian at his heels. The three men whom Demian had enveloped were left on the floor too, their dead eyes staring in stark, unnameable terror.

Hojo was at the foot of the stairs, some fifty yards away from them. His eyes widened as he looked at what lay in Vincent's wake, then narrowed in comprehension, and his hand dived into his pocket.

Yellow lightening flickered across Demian's surface. Then, something rose from it. At first, Vincent thought that he was changing back into his normal self, recognising the emerging pattern of brown lines, but what Demian was becoming now was not even vaguely human-shaped; what it resembled most closely was a kind of giant armoured beetle, outsized and menacing. Spines flicked out from under his hard shell, pinning Hojo to the wall. Vincent applauded sardonically, loving the look of helpless rage on the scientist's face. Then he crossed the space to him, and knocked him senseless with one solid blow to the jaw. He fumbled the remote control out of Hojo's hand, and flicked the switch. Demian's new shape sunk back down into itself, and within a couple of minutes he had regained his human form. Vincent took his hand.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here."

*~*~*~*~*

It wasn't long before somebody raised the alarm; just long enough, in fact, for them to get hopelessly lost in the corridors of the complex.

"Gods, this place is like a maze," Vincent panted, listening to the footsteps of their pursuers race past the room they were hiding in. "What else does he keep in here?"

Demian didn't answer; his ear was against the door. Finally, he gave Vincent the 'all-clear' signal, and they raced out of the room and down a long passageway.

"Right or left?"

"They went to the right."

They sprinted down the left-hand corridor, and turned a corner into a long, wide hall that Vincent almost thought he recognised. Before they had got ten paces down it, they heard the now-familiar sound of the intruder sirens. Seeing no-where else to go, they ran the length of the hallway, knowing the alarms would call the guards there within minutes. Near the end of it, there was a patch of something that shimmered like the air in a summer heat wave. Vincent realised what it was just as he stepped into it - and Demian stepped out of it. He froze.

Demian got a few steps before he realised that his friend was not with him. He whirled round.

"Demian," Vincent hissed, "it's the forcefield! It will activate as soon as the bead comes out of it, remember? I can't move. Run for it!" He could already feel the band on his arm beginning to react to the concentrated energy around it - it was growing hotter.

Demian hadn't moved.

"Demian, don't you understand? This is the forcefield. That means we're by the exit. You can get out of here!"

Demian only took a step closer to him.

"I will not." It was quiet, but utterly determined. "I will not leave without you."

"You don't have a choice! I can't move; if I move, we'll both die. You have to go."

Silence.

"Demian, for every gods' sake! I've had a life already, you haven't, you've barely begun to know what life is. There's nothing for me, he can take me, I don't care, but he doesn't have to get you too!"

Vincent was getting desperate. Demian's face was filled with pain, but he refused to budge. The band on his arm was growing tighter; his fingers were tingling painfully at the blood loss. Could he hear the footsteps of guards, closing on them, or was he just imagining it?

"Demian, please! We can't both go, but that's no reason why we should both stay!"

It definitely wasn't his imagination this time; there were voices, men's voices, and they were coming nearer. The pain in his arm was becoming unbearable. And only then did he think of the one thing that Demian might accept.

"Demian, do you remember what I told you about being in love?"

Demian nodded slowly, wearily.

"I said that you would gladly let the other person go, if it meant that they would be happy, do you remember that?"

Another tiny gesture of assent. Vincent gritted his teeth against the wave of nausea that was threatening to make him pass out.

"Well, what I want now - " don't hurry it - "what I want more than anything else in the world, is for you to run away, to leave me here, and to be happy. Do you understand?"

Demian's eyes were very wide as they fixed on him for the last time, drinking in his face. Then he turned, and ran.

The guards arrived just in time to catch Vincent as he fell to the floor. Hojo came up behind them, nursing his bruised jawarcharching around in agitation. Then, with an angry gesture, he turned off the forcefield, and let them drag the wounded prisoner away.

*~*~*~*~*

Vincent was lying on the operating table again. His left arm was withered, shrunken and useless, the skin wrinkled into tiny folds, the muscle wasted away. Hojo watched impassively for a moment as a laser beam began to cut through the dead flesh, the instrument precisely programmed to do the delicate work of removing the limb and searing the wound it left behind, before turning back to his own work. A few more minor adjustments, and it would be ready. He reasoned, with quiet satisfaction, that something good had come even out of this fiasco; he had wanted an opportunity tot tht this invention for quite some time.

At last, it was ready. Hojo checked the machine; there were still a few minutes remaining before it would be done. He placed his finished project in the correct position, wentwent to inspect his latest batch of test-tube growths.

The metal arm lay on the operating table. Its claws gleamed under the bright laboratory lights.

*~*~*~*~*

And somewhere, far away from the Mako-glow of human dwellings, the tumultuous bustle of chaos and fright and confusion, high on a secluded peak where nobody could hear it, the creature screamed and screamed into the night.

~ Owari ~