Legatus505

 Tears in the Rain   Second entry. What a day for it. Mouth gagged. Hands bound. Seeing and hearing all with no action to take. Zugzwang. The strongest cyborg... what a fucking joke.   I had to cut me and the professor's chat short. Too many things were almost said that couldn't be taken back. It's not that he would hold it against me. How could he? Rather, I've begun to see that often the mistakes we make weigh on us more than anyone else. How long has it been since I thought like this? The bunker? The slaughter? perhaps even before conscription. Weakness that was carved out of me. Never out of him though. How did he keep going for so long, so soft and vulnerable?   The house has fallen silent, leaving a deafening echo in it's wake. Each of us deal with things in our own way I guess. They've found comfort in one-another and for that I'm glad. The thief is being extra mischievous, giving the cop plenty of ways to distract himself and the psychic is acting as

 Interim 1   "Why did you kill the I'mprint?" A deep, hearty voice asks as I continue scribbling down on the notebook.   "Kill it? I just broke a hard drive..." I respond nonchalantly, eyes focused on the task. The low hum of a computer's fans and the scratching of a fountain pen on paper were the only sound for several moments in the tiny room.    "But it hadn't done anything wrong. Couldn't you have just talked to it and calmed it down? Powered it down gently?"   I chuckle, set the pen down within the book and close it over.   "It's an I'mprint, Canis. What's the difference between shutting it down and breaking the hard drive? Either way it's gone and not suffering in a twisted form anymore."   Professor Canis is staring into my eyes, impassively. His short, brown hairline blends with his sideburns and beard seamlessly. Those golden eyes, framed by a tangled mess of wavy brown locks, burn gently like a distant s

Chapter 2: Min Headroom Content Warnings: Mentions of suicide, emotional abuse, child neglect.   "We can get through this together." The voice of a man echoes through my mind. Its a calming voice. A little hoarse like my own, but deeper and more rich. A plow pushing through a blizzard. My neck and chest move as I try to drag myself up in bed, but I can't quite get the rest of my anatomy to respond. They told me that I'd lose movement as well as feeling. They were wrong. I lost the movement, bit by bit, but the feeling only changed. First there were thick socks on my feet, oven mitts on my hands, eventually layers of puffy winter clothes covered every part of my body up until my chest. All of which were now surging with electricity and fire. An intense pain I had experienced as far back as I can remember. Cramps, they thought at first, then spasms. Now it was constant and unceasing.   I don't manage to sit up, but do end up groaning in pain from the tiny semblance