The car ride home from Georgette's office was uneventful. No one spoke. No one ever spoke. The first time Grey had gone to the psychiatrist's, he'd come away feeling fullfilled. The first time. Since then, there had been nothing. Perhaps it was the simple idea that someone had been willing to listen. But now that no one was willing to do anything, it no longer held appeal. He had spent the entire two hours simply swaying from side to side with the chair's circular motion, looking at his lightly glowing feet against the cold blue floor. Georgette had invited him to do whatever he wanted if it made him feel comfortable and he had responded by removing both bandages from his wrists, and putting his shoes aside. Shoes restricted Grey's natural instinct to grasp things with his toes. He had only been told to wear them this last year.

Within this last year, he had been taken from his previous home to a hospital. They had planned to either treat him or kill him there, until his creators aranged something more convinient. A family from nearby with a small girl, the mother an elderly looking woman and the man balding and ill tempered. Not exactly the best option at the time, but it was better economically wise for the people who had created him. It was convinient for them as well. Grey, wandering with an injured foot after his blind exploration of his hospital room, had peered into the hallway just as the doctors and the mother were talking. He couldn't understand the language, but he understood their Voices. The mother was looking for a child to foster. It wasn't unusual, in the hospital, to have abandonment cases. Infants born without the proper amount of limbs, or blind, or albino...parents often left them. The mother had a large heart to want to take one in. She hadn't expected him. They didn't tell the family his real age, which was twelve. He looked about fifteen in reality, he had for a few years now. He aged abormally.

He had been sent to the hospital after trying to kill himself. He had tried to kill himself for the simple reason he couldn't take the Voices anymore. He still couldn't stand them. Chattering, screeching, always demanding his attention. He tried to block them out and sometimes succeeded slightly, like ignoring music on headphones, but he couldn't make them go away. Especially the screams. The mental screams of those he had once killed...it had been an accident, but their screams were burned into his mind. They were always screaming. Day, night, awake, asleep...Screaming. He couldn't stand it.

Digging his nails into the palm of his hand, Grey vowed never again to let that happen. He would destroy himself for good before he allowed more people to die at his hand. The horrific red glow that his hands gave off- the death of unknown orgin that could melt metals and put holes through human flesh...He could still see it clearly in his mind, running and slipping on the blood, slamming hard onto the ground. His shoulder connected with the floor wrong and there was a snap, but he was on his feet and running again without stopping. The hallways seemed to swim with red. He could not feel pain- he could never feel pain. A flood of red engulfing his vision and his world and...

"NO MORE NO MORE!" Shouting, screaming, Grey kicked the back of the passenger seat in the car, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What the hell are you doing?" That was the father, snapping at him.

"Oh dear..Pull over, quick-" that was the mother, worried, trying to twist around in her seat to see what was the matter.

Grey clawed at the sides of his head, eyes squeezed shut, his screams high pitched and mixed with the shouting in the car. The screams in his mind grew louder, his memory sharper...no more no more no more...

Throwing himself to the side, Grey slammed his head against the glass car window, sending shards shattering in all directions. He felt nothing. He never felt anything. The glass sliced at his features and left bloody gashes all across his skin but he didn't feel it. Panting, hands clutching the broken edges of the window frame, blood leaking between his fingers, tears were streaming from Grey's eyes again.

"Grey," the whispering sound of the little girl sitting next to him in the back seat was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

"The hell is wrong with that boy?" We should have never taken that one in in the first place. He was too old, we knew right away he wasn't sane..

"He's depressed, Jean, you know that. He needs help, not punishment." My poor little boy...poor little boy. I'm so sorry...

Wh...what? Eyes flickering open, Grey realized he couldn't see anything. A bandage over his eyes prevented sight. He did not move upon waking, simply let his eyes explore the underside of the bandage as he tried to sort out what had happened in his mind.

We were driving and...
I had a dream?
No, not a dream. I remembered something...
A long time ago..I think...
They were lying there...dead?
Oh yes, deffinitly dead.
I'd killed them.
No...No wait. That's not what happened...
I remembered that.
Just the memory.
And then....?

Reaching a hand carefully to his face, he felt across the bandages. They covered his entire head and neck. He could also feel the fabric around his hands and arms. He couldn't remember what had made him do what he had done...why he was bandaged. It disturbed him a little, but not much. What worried him more was the way they were talking about him. What had happened?

He lowered his hand carefully and returned to listening. Their Voices nearly overlapped their actual phsyical voices, making it confusing to understand. But Grey was used to it. All he could see was three images for now...One of the father, one of the mother, and one of him lying down silently. Mother, Father and the Girl. Were they home? No..the smells told him they were back in the hospital. Damnit. What did I do this time?

"The boy is sick, Annette. We've tried everything with him! Doctors, medications, even leaving him to his own devices. None of it's worked!" And every time he repays our damn hard work with nothing but more suicide attempts. Unappriciative bastard.

"He needs time, we don't know what happened to him before he came to us. The doctors told us he was picked up by an ambulance that found him lying on a park bench bleeding, they don't know any more about him. What can you expect?" The poor boy never had anyone to properly care for him, obviously...

"A little appriciation for what we've done for him would be nice." I would sooner be shot than let that boy live with my daughter longer...

A park bench? Ambulance? Those were lies. Grey knew that for certain. He had been created for research, for study. When he had been left alone, when they had threatened to kill him, he had decided to take it into his own hands to do that. He and his inner demons..his inner Human...fought. The result was still the same. Slit wrists, red blood spreading around him on the tile floor like crimsion wings. Blinking slowly under the bandages, Grey's long lashes brushed the fabric lightly. "Crimsion wings..."

He had spoken so softly, no one had heard him. No one but the daughter, who was leaning over watching him quietly. He knew from her parents images that she was smaller than he was, with brown hair that curled on the edges if she didn't brush it. Her skin was creamy but not pale, and her eyes were dark and brown. She didn't smile much, and didn't speak much either. She was his same age...but of course the parents didn't know that. Her eyes flickered to him once as she blinked quickly. "You're awake." Are you alright?

Grey nodded quietly, the fabric of the pillow his head rested on crinkling. The hospital sheets were always crisp like that- like sheets of paper. His silver black hair stood out against them bizzarely. Now, he knew from her eyes, it looked even stranger, poking between the gauze bandages that were wrapped around him. The adults hadn't heard her. Maybe they were outside the room. It was possiable.

"Mother and Father are talking with the doctor," her voice was small. So he was right, they were outside the room. The little girl was strange. She didn't care about seemingly anything, but she followed him and watched him endlessly. He wasn't sure what he thought of her. Not sure at all. He saw her walking with her friends, playing with them, fitting in. Days when he wasn't in the hospital, he was in school too. But he was behind the rest of the class...He shouldn't have been in the grade he was. He should have been in her grade. The concepts were difficult and confusing. So he failed, while she excelled.

"You can't remember again, can you?" She looked down at her hands, and he lost sight of himself in her vision. What he saw now depended completely on what other people saw. A bit of a mirror, only changed by their own preceptions and augmentations. He shook his head again to her.

In a flash, the events which took place in the car returned to him, from her point of view. Glass shattering, blood spilling. The car had kept going even after he had broken the window, kept going until the father shouted and slammed on the breaks. The sudden stop had dragged Grey's hands along the cut glass and driven the side of the window frame into his cheek. No wonder he hadn't woken up for it...he hadn't felt any of it. In a flash of realization, he almost laughed. It was funny. People ignored him completely the vast majority of the time...but when he tried to rid himself from their world, they leapt all over him. Were they worried about losing him? Probobly not. More likely it was just the idea of a death in general. "Only one more person should die," he muttered.

The young girl blinked her eyes. "Are you talking about yourself again?"

Grey closed his eyes and stopped paying attention to her. He simply went away. He could feel her hand on his arm, trying to get a reaction, but he didn't give one. He'd been leaving reality and people like this for years. It was interesting, how their affection was conditional...

"Georgette is going to come talk to you," her voice dropped to a near whisper as she stood, her chair scraping against the tile floor of the hospital room. He growled low in his throat. Lovely. One little mistake over a memory...and now he would have to deal with her archaic attempts to "touch base" with him.

Her voice was farther away now, probobly by the door. He ignored it. He knew it was only her dislike of the idea of death making her say anything. Making her stay here. "Please don't hurt yourself, Grey."

Love...what a sham.