He was close.
She could barely feel it past the pain. Past the stress and agony through her body. She could barely move. It was taking everything she had just to hold on.
It hadn't been like this the first time around.
Or the second, for that matter.
But then again, she was likely heavily sedated, very groggy and barely coherent. It had been close calls then as well. Small. Underfed. Lack of muscle strength. Side effects from being in that tank for over eight years…
Her mind was splitting. Not head. Mind. Her powers reacting in ways she never really thought possible. After the tests when she was young she did her best to restrain them. At least…until they took her babies. Then she didn't care.
To an extent, she still didn't. She just wanted her babies. Her baby. Love. To finally have. To finally hold. To finally be at peace.
He was close an-…
Wait.
What is that?
Oh. Oh no. No no no. nononononononononononononononononononononononnonononononononononono!
That's not…
That's not…
That's not her son.
Her first son is there but that…that glowing thing next to him wasn't-
…it was coming.
She couldn't do anything. The baby was demanding its emergence. It was too late.
She could do nothing…but watch. Watch as the apparition that resembled her dead son, and her living one, grapple. They struggled, hands locked around biceps, the first pushing with all his weight against the slightly floating fake-second. Her first's visage shaped in a grizzled, angry, worried glare. The fake-second's face dripping with malcontent…and blood from the wound on his forehead.
The place her first shot him.
She was paralyzed. Her powers completely out of her control. She could barely focus to see the fight, let alone try to intervene. This was not at all what she wanted! She wanted a family! She wanted her children to have the love she never did!
She was in too much pain. Too disoriented. Too disconnected from anything but the hellscape that had become her inner mental world. Unknown to her, ATC researchers had labeled the destroyed landscape that was her barely functioning mind, the 'Almaverse'. A nightmare realm where all of the negative feelings she had ingested over forty years coalesced into horrific creatures and images.
They called it 'hers'. But it was in no way under her control. A byproduct of her constantly growing, uncontained power.
And yet even then, though her mind-self walked near her son often, she had no true control. For the thing was always nearby. Lurking. Watching. Waiting. Attacking.
Thus now, she lay. Unable to move. Barely able to think. Only slightly capable of comprehending the view of the living son knocking the fake one back, only for the fake one to float forward rapidly, vanishing upon contact, throwing the living across the…nest that had become where she was housed.
Panting. Afraid. Immobile. She watched with wide, terrified eyes as suddenly the first's eyes snapped open.
…and a blood-hued haze emerged around him, as a circular mound of inverted flesh manifested right upon his forehead.
He was speaking…not that she could understand past the pain, past the fear, past the pulsating sac that had taken its place where her stomach should have been. It approached. Mournful malice in its gaze. Words spoken to her, barely heard. It leaned down, pulling a knife, cutting something she could not see. Moving. And suddenly it stood.
And just like before.
Just like always before.
Someone else was holding her baby.
She wanted to rage. She wanted to be infuriated. And indeed, she was. But…
The exhaustion.
The fear.
She was drained.
He was speaking again. But all she could hear was her own thoughts.
No…
…please…
…not…not…this…
Not…again…
He stood to approach her…but she had closed her eyes. He believed, in fear.
…please…
…someone…
…anyone…
…Please…
…help me…
…help me…
...HELP ME!
A.L.M.A: Recurrence
Interval 00: Alteration
Alma Wade was an extremely powerful psychic. From an incredibly young age, for unknown reasons, she suddenly awoke to the power to detect and in some vague sense, absorb, people's emotions, mostly focusing on the negative scale. She would hear their thoughts without prompting. She would feel their fears, their anger, their hate, their depression and disappointment as her own. She had little control over it.
And eventually, those powers evolved. From simply being able to detect, she became now, able to act. Movement of objects with her mind and will, distortions and conversions of other's senses, even the ability to hyper-accelerate molecules in objects around her to cause them to burst into flame.
Over time, her powers became far more than she could safely handle, her father, Harlan Wade, bringing her to his workplace's less-advertised areas, to run a series of tests on the girl. Ultimately, those psychic powers became so strong that even when she tried suppressing them, to intentionally fail said tests, they would still be active enough to cause physical discomfort for anyone near her. And if she didn't hold back, she could scar, sear, and even melt flesh.
It became such, that she was not allowed to be handled by anyone that wasn't securely in protective gear that resisted the effects of her passive powers.
Of course, nothing could stop her if she wanted to hurt anyone. But…being a little girl, even if one who was severely damaged by ingesting so much negativity in her life, she just wanted to be held, and normal.
At around eight years old, her father was convinced by multiple co-workers that she had become too much to control. Too dangerous. He was reluctant, at first, but they pushed and pushed and eventually he caved, allowing Armacham Technological Corporation's specialists to cart his daughter away, and seal her in a specially created underground containment facility, called the 'Vault'. There, she was forced unconscious and locked away in a vat of amniotic fluid, for seven years.
During those seven years, either of his own choice, or of coercion by other ATC members, Harlan Wade became part of a project to develop a series of super soldiers. The idea was to create a soldier with psychic capabilities, and a series of man-made clones to be directed, thus allowing the psychic commander experience on the battlefield without putting any actual human lives at risk. By way of this, they decided to use his daughter's DNA as a template, adding the 'genetic material' of multiple people (including Harlan himself) together with her, to inseminate her, and have her carry child.
Well, they did. And at sixteen, she had become a mother. During labor, she fully woke from her induced coma, learning what had happened. Still with the mindset of an eight year old, she was in pain, confused, but not entirely actively against the procedure, what little she knew, as it was mostly her body doing the work on its own.
The problem came, when the baby was born, and her father had simply taken her firstborn son, not even allowing her to hold him for but a moment, before demanding she be knocked back out, and re-sealed within the Vault.
The program failed.
At first.
This was because the first child did not show any outward psychic capabilities. This being contrary to what they desired, they had the son be taken away and tried again.
A year later, Alma had given birth a second time.
This child, had shown signs of psychic power. Both were raised close by to one another, but it was the one they would later name 'Paxton Fettel' that was their success.
…until Alma's power grew enough that she could leak her will past the telesthetic suppressor field, and connect to her second son's mind.
At that point, mentally ten, if that, but with the physical growth of an adult in her twenties; Alma connected directly to Paxton's young mind, overriding his will and emotions with her sense of betrayal, hatred, and rage. The termed 'Synchronicity Event' had the young boy 'flipping his shit' and murdering multiple people, until he was sedated and the link broken.
After that, the project was canned, they scrubbed as much information as they could, they terminated life support functions to the Vault, and left it all behind.
Except Alma lived…for six more years.
Her power being strong enough to keep her body alive for a good while, likely assisted by the slowly decaying fluids she was suspended in, her emotional corrosion would leak out to the area outside the vault, giving terrible nightmares and a general sense of unease to everyone who lived in the Auburn district nearby.
And yet, even when her body perished, her psychic presence remained. Locked away in that tube, curled up, thinking she was still that betrayed little girl.
Her powers would continue to grow. To the point where when Genevive Arestide - a complete idiot of a woman concerned only with getting results and making herself look good in the eyes of the company – reopened the Vault, Alma's presence immediately leapt outward, and re-connected with a still living Paxton Fettel.
Overriding his consciousness with her own yet again, she would guide him to a multitude of grisly murders – including that of her own younger sister – some by her own hand directly, all with the intention of wiping out everyone related to ATC.
Alma Wade, was a girl-woman on a mission. With powers that continued to grow even beyond death. To the level where after she was released, after she somehow resurrected her body, after she impregnated herself in the hopes of having a child she could be loved by in the way nobody in her family ever did; the world around her began to distort.
Normal space was slowly infected and infused with her powers, turning it into a nightmarish landscape reflecting her twisted feelings and upbringing.
In the words of modern media, she had created, without her even knowing, what could be called an 'innate bounded field', or short-handed, a 'reality marble'. A space of one's own inner world, a distorted perception of reality that could be turned 'inside-out' to supplant normal space, with a dimension that encompassed one's inner being.
To put it simply, before? When she was just coming out of the Vault, just beginning to wander the destroyed Auburn district? Only psychics could detect her, stronger ones able to hear her presence as a series of wandering sobs, bursts of knowledge of her pain and sorrow being implanted in their minds. Everyone else would just feel a vague but strong sense of unease, and occasionally a faded image of a little girl.
It was only when she actively attacked, did non-psychics have the ability to see the results of her actions. And even then, it looked like an invisible force ripping the flesh off of people's bodies, melting muscles down into liquid blood, leaving behind charred, glistening skeletons.
After impregnating herself, her power grew again. And in doing so, now, went even more wildly out of control. As it did, her 'innate bounded field' the world inside the depths of her mind, began leaking outward. Slowly at first, but as she got closer and closer to the time of birth, it would expand rapidly. Non-psychics were now seeing apparitions of her and the twisted creatures manifested from her powers. Psychics with weaker wills were being overridden, drawing archaic symbols and spirals and carvings using their own blood. Images were being made physical, made real, as deformed creatures and horrors from her nightmares were now gaining physical shape and action in the real world.
Effectively, she became what would be called a 'reality warper'. All without input from her end.
So what ended up happening next…as she silently called out for help…
That was just another evolution of her power.
After all…what is reality save what we make of it…?
"…hello…?"
Her eyes snapped open.
…what…?
She was confused. Where was the sac-that-was-her-belly? Where were the flesh covered wall-tendrils keeping her in place? Why…was she wearing a red dress?
She looked around, seeing a…lab? No. An office? No not quite that either. There were computers around…but it wasn't a server room of any sort. It looked like a workstation. One part office, one part printing lab?
Simple folding chairs of warped brown metal and grey plastic cushioning dotted the open spaces of three sets of long tables. Gridded windows barred with fence-like cages on the outside – likely to keep birds from flying in – illuminated the room with the soft glow of the midday sun through light cloud coverage.
The walls were a dark blue and held many hanging papers pinned to notice boards. A rolling whiteboard was off in a corner, colored scribbles she couldn't make out through her blurry sight, upon it. Next to her, as her hand shifted to push herself up more, was a bundle of maroon cloth.
Is…is this…?
Sitting up, she then noticed him.
"…miss? You ok?"
A little boy. Couldn't be any older than ten. Light brown skin, curly black hair, wearing a pair of blue-jean overalls atop a sky blue shirt with what looked like some red, fuzzy creature on the front. He looked…worried. Not scared but definitely concerned.
I…who are you?
"…I was gonna catch up with my class after going to the bathroom when I heard someone calling for help. There was nobody around that I could find so I just followed the voice. Was that you?"
She blinked. I…yes…
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Wasn't that the short of it?
But…this place. It was so weird. So different from where she just was. And that bundle next to her…
…and then it hit her.
'heard someone calling for help.'
…was this her answer? A glance outside had already told her that the sky was normal. The air felt different. Less heavy. Less constricting. Her head was clear, for once. The pain gone.
Maybe…it didn't matter how…
Yes. No…I…I don't know. But yes…I was calling for help. And you came. Thank you.
That was a new feeling. Gratefulness. A feeling of being…assisted.
Good gods he was pure. The only thing she could feel off of him was a small bit of uncertainty – she was a stranger after all – and a feeling of worry. Not for himself…but for her.
She wanted to snatch him up and hold him close and never let go.
But…even if he wasn't melting right now…didn't mean if she got to close he wouldn't.
"are you hurt?"
Yes she was. But…
Her eyes noted the bundle next to her. The same bundle that not-Fettel had held. Maybe it was her child. Maybe not. But…
She wanted to start over.
Yes, she still wanted a family of her own. Yes, she still wanted a baby she could hold. Yes, she still wanted – and was happy to do so – her father and everyone at Armacham erased but…
But she didn't want it to be like this.
Not like this. Not if it meant her son would die, she would die, her child would become a pawn of something that was of her but not.
Yes…in this…strange place that wasn't the world she knew…she could think clearly now. The thing that was shaped like her second son was just like the thing that was her father but not.
She wanted a second chance…
And it looked exactly like she was about to get it.
I need you to do something for me.
"What is it?"
Out there…somewhere…is a little girl. A girl in a red dress, with shiny black hair and pretty blue eyes. The same age as you. She's scared. She's lonely. She's angry and hurt. You're going to meet her. There's no doubt about that. But…when you do…I need you to be her friend…okay?
He nodded gently. "Okay."
And when you do…give her this.
She grasped the bundle next to her. It felt solid, but not. It felt warm…but not. It had a vague shape other than the cloth it was wrapped in. But that shape could only truly be defined by one who knew what it was supposed to be.
Slowly, she beckoned the child closer, holding the bundle out to him.
It's…a gift. For her. A gift I can't give her on my own. Because I'm not going to be here when she is, you see. So I need you to be her friend, and to give her that, once you are.
"But how's that gonna help you?"
Oh god he was just too precious. This was what she wanted her whole life. Eyes on her, for her, about her.
…and when she thought about it…this was exactly what she was going to get.
It just made her resolve all the stronger.
Because in a very weird way, she and I are a lot alike. Almost the same. And if you give that to her, then she'll be happy. And when she's happy, I'll be happy.
"…are you her mother?"
Oh she wanted to laugh at that.
No, sweetie. I'm just someone who knows what its like to grow up without friends.
"that sucks. I'll be your friend."
…damn her inability to hug him until they both passed out.
Yes…yes you will…thank you.
Something pulled at her. Her time was up, it seemed. This dream or vision or whatever it was, was coming to an end.
I'm sorry, my new friend. But I have to go now.
"Awww…okay. But…are you sure you're alright? You don't look too good…"
I'm fine. Now, I am. Now that I know she'll be alright, I'm just fine.
The pulling got stronger. The room began to fade.
Just please…take care of her.
"I'll do my best!"
The only thing she could see was him. Her shining light. Her little hope.
One…one last thing…your name…please…tell me your name…?
"Me? Selh'teus Rodin! But you can just call me Seth."
Seth. Yes…a wonderful name…
Images shot through her mind. Flashes of information, of history and knowledge. The Etymology of his name. A name meaning "anointed one" "chosen one". The name of a God. An Egyptian God of Storms, Chaos, Destruction. A God seen as Evil, yet also with ties to heroism in his tales. The name of the third son of Adam and Eve.
Altogether, the name of one who is storied to be powerful, dangerous, and a bringer of great change, good or ill.
The perfect name for the one who would be her savior.
My…
The pulling was strong now. Almost to strong to resist. There was nothing left in her view but him. The little boy holding the cloth bundle that was very much likely the culmination of her entire history.
...her…
One last thing! Just one more statement and she'd go back!
…our...name…is…Alma.
A loud scream.
He barely noticed it. All he could see was the bundle in his hands.
A bundle…that was vanishing. Just like she did.
But he wasn't worried.
He'd promised.
She vanished. So the bundle doing the same was fine.
He didn't see the frantic hands of his teacher grabbing his shoulders.
He didn't see the red liquid on his arms, on his front, around his feet.
He didn't see the blood dribbling down his nose.
He didn't feel it leaking from the corners of his eyes.
He didn't hear the questions, the screams or gasps.
He was focused on one thing. One spot in his view.
He saw the patches of dead grass.
He saw the beaker-like building off in the distance.
He saw the rolling clouds and bright blue sky.
He heard the creaking of old wood.
He felt the gentle breeze of a spring day.
But most importantly…
He saw the sight of a little girl, in a red dress, with shiny black hair.
And the last thing he saw, was that little girl hopping off the rope swing on an old tree branch.
Turning to face him.
Her eyes snapped open again.
He was leaning towards her.
But suddenly, the world flickered. The thing possessing the body of her son, recoiled. It looked around wildly. The air was growing heavy. The flesh-mutated room was beginning to fizzle and pop. Loud discharges of white noise echoed as the world became hazy and distorted.
"What…what is this…?"
A hoarse gurgle of released air.
His head snapped to look at her.
She had a bloody smile. Her eyes twinkling – twinkling! – with fading mirth.
"What…what did you do…?"
Another raspy gurgle in the shape of a chuckle.
"Mother! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
You…are not my son.
He stepped back, shocked. Enraged.
Everything began fading. Crumbling. Her body began to sizzle and shimmer. His body began manifesting chips in the flesh, blood red hazy light emerging from rapidly spreading fissures.
You killed, my son.
His face became twisted. Rage, hatred, fear. His eyes widened, the cracks spreading further, his body shuddering as if something were not merely trying to emerge from within, but also crush him from without.
And now…my baby. My baby…
The bundle began to rise of its own accord. The being that called itself Paxton Fettel stared in shock as the child's shrill cries became painfully loud. The air around it began to vibrate. Ripples of almost solid distortion wafting off of the bundle like waves generated from a tossed stone in a pond.
Is safe.
And with the combined force of an earsplittingly loud wail, and the sound of an entire city block's worth of air being removed in an instant.
The distortion waves inverted. And the bundle vanished.
The last thing she thought, as her vision went white, and her ears were filled with the sound of fading static, was of her triumph.
…go to daddy, sweetie…mommy will see you soon…