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Location: Silver Ship - Siren.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Naked Hojo is more than anyone ever needed to know.
Well, came the first thought, unbidden and faint. This is interesting.
Professor Hojo, ex-head of the Shinra Science Department and a man who had been technically dead for well over two years, opened his eyes without a sound. It was the middle of the night - or what he could assume was night considering the pitch darkness in the room, the unmoving smattering of stars outside of one tiny window that leaked in the faintest glow of light. There was a slight bite of cold to the air, just enough to feel uncomfortable, and it took him time to realise it was the air conditioning blasting down above his head.
That, and perhaps nudity. Hm.
Dark as it was, he could still faintly make out the blue-tinted shapes of things, objects, but no people; there were faint dots of synthetic light on the machinery just beyond his vision, their illumination reflected on the white ceiling. A consistent hum ran through the walls, just loud enough to be heard in the deathly silence that otherwise surrounded him. It reminded him of his lab, assuming someone had come in after his untimely demise to do some extreme redecorating.
... His demise. Sephiroth. Lucrecia. Jenova. The burning under his skin, bubbling up, watching himself become a god, no, something else, but so powerful it didn't matter, and his son, his precious specimen---
Data, and his body was disintegrating, but his mind was there within the machine, dwelling, biding its time - a perfect copy. Had the time come, then? Had someone been able to extract his mind? What year was it?
Where was he?
He tried to sit up, and straps bit into his skin across his shoulders, offering no wiggle room at all. Annoying. His legs felt cramped. Human, he realised; having been not quite so at least for a time, he'd come to realise that one could very much feel one's own biology, in a sense. There was no refuting his humanity - nor refuting the fact that he was, nevertheless, not without Jenova cells. Perhaps it had worked, this time. Perhaps he was a god, after all.
One that couldn't break restraints? This wasn't the power of Sephiroth he was feeling, his precious specimen who had, in all respects, surpassed his maker; he was weaker now than he had ever felt. The realisation took a moment to set in, a dull numbness creeping across his skull, through his clustered, restless thoughts. It seemed that it was, indeed, all for nothing. If this was what his whole life amounted to, he was quite disappointed.
There was the distinct sound of footsteps, shoes on a clean floor. He tried to speak, but his throat managed only a hoarse, incoherent cough.
He couldn't help but wonder with dry amusement if he was about to meet his maker.
How ironic.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Naked Hojo is more than anyone ever needed to know.
Well, came the first thought, unbidden and faint. This is interesting.
Professor Hojo, ex-head of the Shinra Science Department and a man who had been technically dead for well over two years, opened his eyes without a sound. It was the middle of the night - or what he could assume was night considering the pitch darkness in the room, the unmoving smattering of stars outside of one tiny window that leaked in the faintest glow of light. There was a slight bite of cold to the air, just enough to feel uncomfortable, and it took him time to realise it was the air conditioning blasting down above his head.
That, and perhaps nudity. Hm.
Dark as it was, he could still faintly make out the blue-tinted shapes of things, objects, but no people; there were faint dots of synthetic light on the machinery just beyond his vision, their illumination reflected on the white ceiling. A consistent hum ran through the walls, just loud enough to be heard in the deathly silence that otherwise surrounded him. It reminded him of his lab, assuming someone had come in after his untimely demise to do some extreme redecorating.
... His demise. Sephiroth. Lucrecia. Jenova. The burning under his skin, bubbling up, watching himself become a god, no, something else, but so powerful it didn't matter, and his son, his precious specimen---
Data, and his body was disintegrating, but his mind was there within the machine, dwelling, biding its time - a perfect copy. Had the time come, then? Had someone been able to extract his mind? What year was it?
Where was he?
He tried to sit up, and straps bit into his skin across his shoulders, offering no wiggle room at all. Annoying. His legs felt cramped. Human, he realised; having been not quite so at least for a time, he'd come to realise that one could very much feel one's own biology, in a sense. There was no refuting his humanity - nor refuting the fact that he was, nevertheless, not without Jenova cells. Perhaps it had worked, this time. Perhaps he was a god, after all.
One that couldn't break restraints? This wasn't the power of Sephiroth he was feeling, his precious specimen who had, in all respects, surpassed his maker; he was weaker now than he had ever felt. The realisation took a moment to set in, a dull numbness creeping across his skull, through his clustered, restless thoughts. It seemed that it was, indeed, all for nothing. If this was what his whole life amounted to, he was quite disappointed.
There was the distinct sound of footsteps, shoes on a clean floor. He tried to speak, but his throat managed only a hoarse, incoherent cough.
He couldn't help but wonder with dry amusement if he was about to meet his maker.
How ironic.