[ elias reaches forward, extending his hand like he really will give that shove and send this idiot over the side
but there's no physical force behind it. he just reaches into Eiffel's mind and implants a memory. it's not simply a knowledge of events. he wants eiffel to feel all there is of being stabbed to death. the pain of it. the agony. the--
"It's over," says the Archive, a man quite similar to the Jonathan Sims on the barge.
"Yes, I suppose it must be," he responds.
-- a fraction of a second is enough for elias to realise he's given eiffel more of the memory than he wanted. but it's already playing out, and eiffel won't know what elias was thinking, he'll only feel the physical sensations of it all, like --
the quiet emptiness in the back of his mind where Knowledge has flowed though for months. the faint wrong echoes of a world where phyics and sound exist only in senice of fear. the sudden lance of pain and heat as the knife disregards his skin.
his own voice. quieter than the rush of blood in his ears but unmistakably his. unmistakably afraid
-- the effort of sharing the memory drains elias. his cigarette drops from lax fingers, his hands grab uselessly at the railing before he slumps to his knees, spots swimming before his eyes ]
no subject
but there's no physical force behind it. he just reaches into Eiffel's mind and implants a memory. it's not simply a knowledge of events. he wants eiffel to feel all there is of being stabbed to death. the pain of it. the agony. the--
"It's over," says the Archive, a man quite similar to the Jonathan Sims on the barge.
"Yes, I suppose it must be," he responds.
-- a fraction of a second is enough for elias to realise he's given eiffel more of the memory than he wanted. but it's already playing out, and eiffel won't know what elias was thinking, he'll only feel the physical sensations of it all, like --
the quiet emptiness in the back of his mind where Knowledge has flowed though for months. the faint wrong echoes of a world where phyics and sound exist only in senice of fear. the sudden lance of pain and heat as the knife disregards his skin.
his own voice. quieter than the rush of blood in his ears but unmistakably his. unmistakably afraid
-- the effort of sharing the memory drains elias. his cigarette drops from lax fingers, his hands grab uselessly at the railing before he slumps to his knees, spots swimming before his eyes ]