Included - NoneThe biological deterioration of lifeforms proceed to spread the molecular evolution off..,
Short nails clicked against the table as large, black eyes absentmindedly trailed across the sentences of a book. With music blasting into his ears, it was safe to say that Willow wasn't entirely focused on what displayed itself before him. How did one come to view his current predicament? The boy was on a ship ran and maintained by criminals, lunatics and murderers. Now, which of those three categories did Willow himself fall into? It would not be a stretch to consider them all. He was, of course a criminal. There was little need to sugarcoat that. After resent events, nothing else could brand him. The boy did after all lay waste to not only his dear father, but also the scientists tasked to make his life a hellish experience. A lunatic? Most certainly. The voices constantly echoing within his cranium were bickering even now, fighting amongst themselves in an attempt to convince Willow of following their path, their instruction. It would have been an easier endeavor, were they a unified front. Alas, they were but a raging battle echoing within. "Shut up..," Willow sighed, shifting to another song on his music player. At least they let him keep that.
From a laboratory to this ship, it was quite a change. Now, it would be a stretch to say that it was for the worse but the boy was no fool. He was well aware that he was part of a suicide squad. He was a freak, a lab rat, an experiment gone wrong. If he could help the Alliance somewhat before being erased with a bullet to the head, they were more than willing to invest. Needless to say, Willow was in the possession of some peculiar abilities.
Now, he had traded out the scent of medicine, sterile walls and rubber gloves for oil, metal and the occasional sweaty crew mate. Given enough time and he would likely grow closer to the others, and see how they all got along. Since arriving at the ship, Willow had kept to himself, listening to either the music used to drown out his thoughts, or the voices bicker and argue. If the boy was to be truthful, they could, on the oh so rare occasion, be somewhat entertaining. During most scenes however, they were a drama Willow would do better without, but even so, it had already been displayed that their absence brought discomfort. Quite the interesting situation. They were as if an addiction, a bad habit. Were they present, Willow found some sort of twisted comfort in the pain of their presence. Were they absent, he'd feel a loneliness without compare, as if a very part of him had been cut off.
"Willow!" A voice ehcoed," don't be rude!" There was a ghastly repeat of the word, fading into the back of his head.
"Such a fucking pansy," came another voice, "Willow, stop being a bitch! Get up, hurt something, kill someone!"
"Pick up the book, paper is sharp, cut, cut, cut something, cut someone, hurt, hurt someone, hurt you, your finger, start with the finger," a third, more sporadic voice proceeded.
"Everyone, shut the fuck up!" Came a fourth voice, "Willow, it has to be quiet, right? Gotta' be professional." This one was quite soft, quiet and by every measure, more disturbing.
"And turn off that fucking J-Pop, Willow! See that radio? Turn it on, turn it on, turn it on!"
Wrapping his fingers around the cold surface of a soda, Willow downed it's contents with a heavy breath. This was insane, and raising the music only caused the voices to scream louder. "Why haven't you killed them yet!? What about that little plant thing? Or that hot, blue alien!? You should fuck hi-..."
"Think he has an alien dick?" Yet another, more sultuary voice trickled down Willow's spine.
"Of course he has an alien di-.." The previous voice tried before Willow shot up from his chair and slapped his hand against the table.
"Would the lot of you..," he sighed, clenching his teeth as a black mist proceeded to manifest itself in his immediate presence, "stop talking..?" In reaction to these turns of the tide, plants growing in a nearby pot promptly withered, and faded into antiquity. Leaves were overtaken by a sickly brown color, their shapes reaching the now shriveling dirt. It did not take long for the plant, and the fruit closely present, to wither into shells of their former selves.
"Hah, you've done it now, Willow! Plant chick's gonna' be pissed!" A voice echoed throughout his head, furthering the boy's annoyance, "and that fruit! You're savage!"
"Ugh," the boy sighed, rubbing his forehead before dropping back to the chair. At this rate, his crew mates would have a hard time getting used to him. At times, it felt like these voices controlled his actions more so than he did. In truth, Willow always feared that day, the day when they take complete control. Could that happen? Could they move his limbs to their own tune? They lived within his skull like flat mates who refused to pay rent. As far as he knew, they preferred to be backseat drivers, commenting on everything he did without fear of the repressions. "You guys are gonna' get me killed," Willow huffed, resting his head on his arms sa they laid upon the table.
"It's a wild ride!" A voice returned. Perhaps the boy needed to up the dosage of his medicine, but too much of the medication would have dire circumstances, indeed. They tired him out more so than he already was, an ironic cure. Preventing these voices from manifesting as physical entities, with the ability to physically interact with Willow, he was forced to trade the little strength he had for the ability to fight these creatures lurking within the dark depths of his fragmented mind.
"Just hearing you guys speak is enough to feel dirty," Willow rolled his eyes before leaning back in the chair.
"Find the blue alien thing and take a bath with him!" A voice was quick to shoot back.
"The day I find anyone willing to go that far with me, I'd have worse things to worry about, than you." Anything willing to take that step with someone like Willow undoubtedly had a darker abyss than even him.