Said the man to his cat.
Okay, f*** it. Explain it to me then.
I can't. I have to show you. Stay here. Stay on your bed and turn on the TV. I'm going to the patio door. Thud. Waddle, waddle. Stumble, swing, crash, stop. And you're gonna fix my f***ing tail too.
The TVs on.
Keep your eyes open. I'm gonna close mine. You're watching...you're watching...a translucent cube bouncing off the edges of the screen. The HDMI isn't connected. Now close your eyes.
I'm scared.
Close them!
Alright, they're closed.
What do you see?
I can't. It's dark. I lost it.
I widened my pupils to adjust to the dark; my retinas flashing photonic. What do you see?
I see...I see Ghasm's arm.
You see Ghasm's shredded, dismembered arm.
I see the reflection of your face in the sliding glass door. You don't look happy.
I opened my mouth a bit, curling up its corners to approximate a wry smile, though I felt little joy at the time. My reflection turned into a three fanged, red eyed mask of evil. Look...I'm happy. Where's my fang?
I have your fang...I made it into a necklace. I didn't think you'd mind.
I wouldn't have before...but now I think I do. I'm gonna need that back.
I still don't believe it. I must be going crazy.
I think the smarter a being, the harder it is for them to accept the extraordinary. You are one skeptical son of a bitch. Why did you want to do this in the first place?
To save Plato.
So save him.
I need to think.
So think.
Without you.
I don't know how to do that.
I do.
What? What are you gonna do? I could hear him shuffling around in his bedroom. I could see his vision dart wildly back and forth, looking for something, but not keeping focus in place long enough for me to see. What are you gonna do? Now I was scared.
Footsteps came towards me from the bedroom hall. His vision narrowed, focused in on me. He fumbled in the dark, not able to see with my vision; perception muddled and layered. He stormed into the living room and strode towards me. He had something in his hand. Something sharp and metal. Well, he wasn't handling the situation...well.
Don't run. Don't struggle. You'll only make it worse.
Before I could stumble away from the glass door, he tossed a large heavy blanket on me. I f***ing freaked! My limbs flailed under the cloth, the flight instinct sending tremors through my nerves. I could see him descend upon me, through his eyes. Maybe I deserved it.
I need to be alone for awhile. He thought, lowering his weight on me. Then he looked at the syringed needle, pushing the air out of it.
Wait! I screamed in his mind. Don't! I'll leave you alone. Just, don't! I can help!
You can't do that! I gotta put you down! He lowered the needle to the blanket right above my fat ass.
Down!? What the f***!?
I mean out. I gotta put you out. The needle penetrated fabric of cloth, soon of skin.
Hey! Big f***ing difference, man! But don't! You need my help. I'll let you rest.
Prove it! The needle punctured my skin, the plunger held fast with internal pressure.
I closed my eyes. This better f***ing work. Diverting all concetration to a single point within my mind, I collapsed all outside perception. Suddenly I couldn't see what he saw, I couldn't feel his thoughts, but I still felt the needle. Was he convinced? I couldn't tell.
After an excruciating instant, the needle pulled back. My master sat back on his heels and lifted the blanket from me. I sat up and looked him in the eyes. My ears raised and I blinked a message of deep caring. He just knelt there, arms to his side, needle in one hand, cat carrier in the other. Was he crying? I must have f***ed him up good. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, ceding to the mess of it all. His shoulders dropped and his brows twitched upward. Horrifusion reigned once more.
I gently lowered the mental blockade. I had grown into my new gifts as a newborn horse does to walking. No one teaches them how to do it, they just do it. My master, his mind slowly gestating the changes as humans do with all developmental processes, teethed. He was a big, stupid baby. He needed my help.
So, what do we do now? He asked like a junkie with no fix.
I was the pusher. Call Xeno. Have Xeno call Gauge. Show me your journals, your files, everything. We're gonna f***in' save Plato. Then I'm gonna kill you...
What?
What?
You're gonna kill me?
That was out loud?
You're gonna kill me?
I didn't say that.
I still don't trust you. Let's focus on Plato.
How was that scrawny, matted old sphinx anyway? We both instinctively looked back to a dark corner of the living room. There, atop a tall cabinet, much too tall for his feeble legs to ascend, sat Plato. Dim light danced off his cat-aracted eyes. He was watching. Somehow, he already knew what was going on, what would ensue. Somehow, things were all going according to his plan...his idea.
No get out of my head, I'm blocking a book.
Me and Ghasm back in the day! Aren't we adorable!
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