"took me a while to find you." - Mark
@govtdna.
“what, trapped in my own coffin?”
she’s come to one conclusion, against the backdrop of clinically white walls and an ominous air of empty that flows through each room like a gust of wind from the conservatory doors, that this is where they’re all going to die, buried under the foundations of neolution itself. there’s no cure, and soon enough, a cluster of clones will become nothing more than failed experimental material. sterile, organic material that’ll rot and decay just like anything else in history. irrelevant. obsolete.
she refuses to become nothing more than a number, or a genetic tag in a clump of data that’s been shredded and burned thirty years ago. but now, she’s itching, and clawing for her own bitter vengeance before blood starts lining her lungs and wetting her palm with every cough. susan wants to keep her here. susan will have to do just that.
“– or should i say our coffin, castor?”