Snippet #1665498

Vincent was quiet, having scrambled back against the wall a short while ago. The albino man was nearly completely silence, the only sound escaping him was his breathing. It was audible, but only because he was breathing heavily. His mind was trying to reason with him and tell him to simply stay quiet for the rest of the time to avoid doing anything that might put himself or others in danger. The kind of thing he had just done wasn't necessary. At least, that was what he told himself. In the back of his mind, V lurked, slowly taking apart his logical reasoning and reconstructing it like a skilled mechanic, cold, calculating, cruel, evil. Yes, Vincent knew that he could easily have been labeled 'evil' for what he had done, the naive term it was - 'evil'. There wasn't a good definition of evil that he was aware of. However, he was sure that he and Z now fit whatever it may have been roughly defined as.

Suddenly, he heard scrambling and felt something up against him.

Someone was touching him. Someone was touching him.

He could feel someone squeak and quickly turned his head to look at James. James was stroking his hair like some kind of furry animal, making his heartrate spike. What the hell was he doing!? Why the hell was he touching him!? 'Don't touch me,' he clenched his jaw lightly. 'Stop touching me!' Right now, Vincent just couldn't bring himself to push the man away though, what was left of his reason still convincing him not to. Soon, the man would bleed to death anyway. Vincent let out a low groan of pain, bringing his hand up to his ruined eye. It stung. It hurt. It burned. The view of the world he once treasured and admired through pale, silverblue eyes was destroyed - Left only by a gaze broken by the red stain of blood. He was dyed with a crimson he could not remove now. Vincent did his best not to jump when a blood droplet fell from the ceiling, falling onto his hand.

Slowly, he reached up and looked at the blood with the vision of his only remaining sight-bearing eye. Then, a note. Moving just enough to snatch the note before it touched the ground, he caught it. He looked down at the note, trying to act as normal as possible.

"343," he read out loud, voice shuddering with an intense feeling of discomfort since James was still molesting the soft, silver strands of his hair. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. For the sake of the boy he, or 'V', had muted, he would just let him do so until he died from blood loss. However, if he didn't die for a while, Vincent might really have to finish him off - His flesh was crawling from the unpleasant sensation. He felt threatened, almost violated. V stirred inside of him after just a moment, making the man's frame shake just slightly in the form of a shudder. Oh god, Vincent could feel V. What was happening to him here? He wasn't acting anything like Vincent, nor was he acting like V. This place, these people, this situation was breaking him now - Slowly, but surely, it was breaking him down.