Story Notes:
Old story of mine, wasn't quite pleased with it and tinkered a bit. No new content, just some rearrangements.
Dream took him again, as it did every time he dared to close his eyes. Blades digging in to his tissues, cold liquid flowing in to his veins, hot molten metal burning his bones. Stench of charred flesh and blood filling his nostrils. Every muscle and tendon paralyzed. Unable to move. Unable to scream. Bubbling champagne and celebrating crowd around his coffin. A coffin it was even though they liked to call it containment tank. Watery grave for him.

He had died thousand times, and tonight he would die again. In the name of science. For the good of the mankind.



As abruptly as it started, it ended. His eyes opened to darkness, and finally he was able to scream and lash out with claws they had given to him. And again they sliced through thin air without purchase. Only blood they had ever drawn was his own, in long sleepless hours when he had courted death. But to him she was an elusive lover. He would run himself through with sharp blades just to wake up few moments later, not a single scar marring the skin on his torso.

Full moon was guarding him through the window. He laid his head back on the pillow, lifting one hand so that light reflected from the metal protruding from between his knuckles. Nine inches of death. But not for him. For others. But for whom? They had implanted claws in to him fifteen years ago and yet he hadn’t come across a good enough reason to use them. He had fought, taken few beatings, but he had kept himself always in check. After dreams claws made often an unwanted and painful appearance, but he had never unsheathed them when in full consciousness. What would it be like? Feel them cut through something else than just air or his own flesh? He flicked his wrist and claws slid back in with a silent hiss. Somebody was behind the door of his room.

She stood there, hand hovering hesitantly in the air. Should she knock? She had heard him scream. Another nightmare. He seemed to suffer of them every night. Before she could decide the door opened.

“Hi.” She greeted him and took in his disheveled appearance, sweatpants, bare chest and rumpled hair.
“What do you want?” He growled.
“I heard you. You had a nightmare?”

Kids today. They had no common sense. At least not this one. Tiny slip of a girl, swathed under layers upon layers of cloth from head to toe. Long, brown hair and big, curious eyes. Not a hint of fear in her. And yet she had to know that he wasn’t the safest person to hang around with. That was why they had given him a room from the third floor, away from kids and themselves. A nightmare?

“No. I like to scream,” he told her. And what did she do?

He looked utterly tired, hurt and scared. She had listened his dreams night after night nearly two weeks now. She couldn’t help herself. She leaned closer to him, wrapped her hands around him and gave him a hug, hoping it would ease some tension. He just stood there, stock still, not even breathing, so she released him and retreated for few steps.

That was a hug. And she was leaving.

“Wait,” he gasped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Startle him? She had nearly given him a heart attack, but it had felt rather nice. And before he got his brain back in working order she was gone. Only few traces of her scent lingered in the air. Vanilla and peppermint.
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