Mun just finished the third game and got bitten by the F.E.A.R. bug again...

[boot2thehead]

[Ooh, now his mun remembers him. That only took months until a Steam sale. Not that he could really complain about being remembered. Even if it means said mun trying to reconcile both game worlds by making one a hallucination.

That definitely wouldn't make him confused about the whole train-subway thing. Or what was going on while he was enjoying Armacham's 'hospitality'.

Or about his entire team not being dead.]

Well, now what?

[Please tell him he's not just going to be stuck sitting here again, twiddling his thumbs. He's not good at that.]

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[boot2thehead]

[He's no stranger to violence; it had been his trade for a long time and he's gotten very good at it. His hyper-quick reflexes didn't hurt in that regard. Armacham had honed him into a perfect weapon and then failed to bring him to heel after they hunted him down again and they would pay if they came at him because that's what he was trained to do. Though he fought them because they were in his way, more than out of duty or vengeance. Too practical for rage on the same level as the rest of his family, even if he could understand their feelings about the company that had broken all of them.

Even so, he'd heard the fear in the voices of the scientists before they died. Some of them must have family too, by now. People not so resigned to their fates as Harlan Wade had been. And a lot of people that didn't deserve it; he can't deny that he wants to stick it to a number of the employees himself, especially the CEO and the ones that slowed him down, but most of those left had little involvement in events past now. As far as he knew, anyway; there were probably files purged that could have said different. He opens his mouth, then closes it, considering his words. Speech is ever his problem.]

Hasn't there been enough pain?

[originmother]

[ Her hands fall to her sides a moment after his words are spoken. Her head tilts to the right and she studies his face with a masked indifference. Her child seems to differ in opinion as to the fate that befalls those involved. She will have their blood––

Alice.. Not all family is her own, Alma reasons. Her father, she would kill again, again, again, and again. But Alice, innocent as she was to all of this, she bid her second child to harm her, kill her, absorb those delicate memories of normalcy, happiness, love. It was Alice's fate to die, because of her long life of normalcy, of grace, of Harlan's mercy.

When she had none. When her sons had none.]

No, not enough.

[boot2thehead]

[He lets her go when her hands slip off of his arms, own hands falling to his sides and he waits, watching for movements, for clues. Betters had had faith in the justice system to bring Armacham down, and while he believed in bullets above all else, he had faith that justice doesn't always come from the barrel of a gun.

That company had hurt so many with what they did. Even outside of his small family, but he hadn't exactly fixed that with what he'd done on the behalf of others. Maybe it was time to stop just taking orders... even if it meant having this conversation.]

When will it be enough?

[originmother]

[ Alma's head straightens, then tilts to the left, as if there were more to see from this angle. But she is searching, searching––

"Don't you know? When we are free it will be over. We are normal.. this way, you and I, your brother.. But we are yet free.. He left a trail for others to follow.. and they do, they come, they follow.. Once I was buried.. and that woman disturbed my tomb, sent more mindless bodies."

––searching.

His brother would hear her, and it was his strength to know her words apart from his own thoughts. Paxton is strong this way. Her first baby, this baby, he is strong to see the visuals she shows him, to understand them as he interprets them. Now, Alma has a dream to share with her first baby:

The meadow is dark but warm, an unnatural darkness from ash-clouded skies. There's a blaze in the distance, far away from where they now stand. Beyond the tree the city burns, and ash falls gentler than snow on their bodies. Alma, in this dream is a child, and her hand is in his. She shows him the peace of their Eden. Alone. Alma looks to him with a soft glow to her eyes, but the wear of the journey weighs heavy in gray beneath her eyelids. They are free now. And it is–– ]

Enough.

[boot2thehead]

[He remembers catching up to his brother... or the psychic trace of him... in one of Armacham's science wings. Listening to him talk about Alma's vision of cities reduced to fire and death. He can't say he wasn't anticipating this response, though the quiet of it startles him a little.

It certainly hadn't been so quiet after the helicopter crashed. Pulling himself out of the wreckage and running as far as he could before his legs gave out. Hadn't felt so still when the Vault had exploded. He had, in his way, accidentally given a start to burning Fairport like this. Still he's surprised to see it, sliding one foot back a half-step before looking down at Alma.]

I can only do so much.

[The Replicas were under Armacham control, and much as they might label him as a weapon or a monster... he's still just a man.]

[originmother]

[ Alma's body shivers suddenly, but the childish laughter heard around them gives reason to not be alarmed. She is not upset, she is feeling good. The shiver to her body was an immense joy, a pleasure. Her first baby, finally she is with him. They no longer are at opposing ends, he no longer is being led by the masters of the darkness that enveloped her in that cold ebony abyss.

Alma is quick and she moves her arms around him, her face pressed against his chest and she holds him tightly. Well, as tight as she would imagine any mother would dare hold their fragile, sweet, precious baby. Her shoulders then start to dip left and right, her face gently rubbing to his shirt before she moves her head to press her cheek to his chest. Her ear to his heartbeat and soon she hums. That familiar tune that he and Paxton are quite acquainted with. Humming to him as if she were rocking him, like a good mother.

"You can do enough.." She is absolutely convinced of that. "We can do enough together." ]

[boot2thehead]

[He's never certain what's coming; unlike Paxton he hadn't had previous experience beyond things running... hot and cold with Alma. He is still a little gunshy, even with the laughter. It doesn't show on his face, at least. The surprise at her wrapping her arms around him is clearly visible though. That was... not a reaction he had expected at all, and freezes up a little again.

He calms eventually as she rocks him and hums. Which he finds odd, really; that's not the sort of the thing that happens to him. Especially lately. Being punched in the face is more the norm, not... this. But there's something oddly pleasant about it, something familiar and soothing about the tune. He puts his arms around her in return, cautious, and his heartbeat slows to normal. Dips his chin to rest lightly on the top of his mother's head and nods a little.

If she is that confident in him, he'll do his best.]

[originmother]

[ The need she has to do this is obvious as she cares little for his height, width, strength, and age. Alma has been deprived for so long of not just him but both of her sons. This affirmation of love may seem strange, pathetic even, but those thoughts –– that concept is far from Alma's mind. It is the need for her arms to feel her son, the need to hold him, to rock him, to soothe him. She wishes to do this, to give him the confidence of safety and security. Though, Alma knows, her baby did not have the traditional life and in this she shares his burden of abuse. It does not disgust her or conjure ill-feelings toward her baby, but draws her even closer to him. Their bond, their connection, even in horror, in misery, they share this.

But now, in this moment, they share the gentle embrace between mother and child.

Not even death, again, will still her mind, will chain her down. If she is not with her sons she is ever searching, ever fighting. But the time of fighting alone has passed and they face this world together as it should have been at his birth. As this embrace should have come at his birth. ]

[boot2thehead]

[Point Man has gotten the feeling for a long while that his physique and age mattered little to Alma; to her, he's still a child. And really, he probably wouldn't tolerate that kind of thing from many people besides her. With her, it's okay. She's allowed because she missed out on so much, with him especially, given their very tenuous connection. She needs this, after all the terrible things that happened to her... and maybe he needs it a little too, not that he'd ever say it. Not that he really remembers why - the hate for all the testing and procedures in his childhood had been erased and he what he was left with was war, and it became status quo to him. The main problem he had was that Armacham was disrupting that, and that a lot of the ones he knew on some level were terrible people.

For now, though, he can let it go for this moment of peace. The quiet and the company and being with the mother he hardly knew, who had ripped herself out of a coma to try to get him... and defied death out of some combination of love and hatred.]