This chapter was written in collaboration with Scylla.
Amon had woken up sooner than she had thought. It was a hard struggle dragging his body, as the suspensor module was burnt out from the exchange they had had earlier in the day.
“So you’re awake?” Scylla entered a few final commands into the console before limping her way over to his frail form.
She wondered if he had finally noticed that he was being observed. Scylla had sat there for a while, watching him desperately trying to get that hunk-of-garbage node working. Of course, she had scoured the laboratory just to make sure there was nothing of consequence that Amon could use to try to escape.
He’s completely clueless, isn’t he?
Scylla tapped her staff on the ground, trying to right herself to hide the fact that her leg was nearly useless. Though she was training in the arts of magic, she had wasted almost all of her energy in her last exchange with Amon.
“Amon, really? Why waste your time?”
Scylla gave him a sickening smile as she leaned down, carefully wiping down his forearm with santi-solution.
“Can’t be having you catch an infection before your procedure, can we?”
Before he had a chance to answer, she reached in her pocket, pulling out a tiny syringe, filled with luminous green liquid. She mocked him as she brought the needle to pierce his skin, pressed the plunger down.
“Poor poor, Amon… why so nervous? You should know this is completely normal! Just the usual preparatory steps to make sure the process takes correctly!”
She gently put her hand to his face, echoing his own words from more than an eon before.
“Everyone who gets the treatment goes through this! Dare I wish harm to such a pretty face?”
Amon recognized the words as having once been his own, back when roles were reversed, and he was the one giving her the injection. He still didn’t know exactly what Scylla had planned for him, but she was clearly communicating that he was going to pay for his transgressions against her.
Scylla was having far too much fun dragging her revenge out, and he refused to give her the pleasure of a response. Whatever was to happen, would happen, after all.
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t already on borrowed time as it was. It was dreadfully hard to be afraid of much when you’d already faced death once… and he found himself strangely calm at the prospects of paying his dues.
The Elezen said nothing. Resigned, he just turned his head away from the arm she was preparing – as he was taught to do when he took his first injections as a child – and showed no sign of emotion.