In Every World, Silver Hair Is Mesmerizing

After the annoying ordeal with the beeping contraption, he solemnly made his way back towards the center of the room. This time's run was executed with more caution, the order of the disorder on the floor messed up by the way he'd rushed earlier to eliminate the noise.

He stepped on something that made a crushing noise under the heel of his Oxfords, and he cringed, the unpleasant expression completely visible had it not been for the good old dark blanketing it with its mighty hands. He knew the right move was to turn on the lights, but besides the fact he wasn't even sure if they worked anymore, he thought it an absolute hassle to cross the sea of papers that sat peacefully to the other side of the room.

He reached the capsule once again, and in doing so, he picked up where he left off. He was no longer as excited as he had been, the charm of getting up in the morning (it was noon) and walking up to your current experiment, opening it first thing in the morning the way a kid would with his gifts on Christmas morning, gone.

He never experienced sitting on a furry rug next to a fireplace, opening presents with his mommy and daddy while the birds outside chirped, the windowsil blanketed with a thin layer of snow and ice, yet he wasn't very drawn towards that image of bygone peace and quiet. The more he thought of it, the stupider it became until it finally melted into froth with the waves that washed it away.

It was a fleeting image, and although he probably would have dreamt of drinking natural hot cocoa as a child, as of now, he was absolutely satisfied with whatever gave his brain enough energy to work. Lab-grown, synthesized-for-some-specific-purpose food was doing the trick well.

Too well, in fact, that he almost felt sorry for the upper cult who had to til their own land and reap the seeds they'd sown.

He bent down to press the blue button, and the machine made soft noises as the shutters folded themselves one by one. He'd been working on this project for about seven years, having pried it off his brother's cold dead hands when he was fifteen.

Though, rather than prying it off, it was actually handed to him by the man who was too much of a chicken to look at his rival's final work.

He accepted the task, and he had not regretted a single second of it.

He wasn't a genius the way his brother had been, but he showed an interest in keeping himself occupied despite his lazy nature. He wanted his hands to be constantly moving, the gears in his brain constantly turning while he was awake. He could rest when he was dead, he'd joke, but it was true. His brain stayed absolutely blank when he was asleep, giving him a temporary experience of the stasis of death.

That was why his rude awakening made him quizzical, puzzled over the fact that he'd just seen some semblance of a dream behind his eyelids, and even felt as if he'd dreamed in the dream, the cycle going on and on for hundreds of repetitions.

This made his head hurt, and although there was not yet much scientific explanation for the system of dreaming, he considered the possibility he was not yet used to the feeling of dreaming, or being able to recall a subconscious image upon waking up. It was a trip, for sure, and perhaps the lack of logic in whatever it was had shaken him to his core, so much so he'd get such a fierce headache and he'd be left in much disorientation.

He snapped out of it, having noticed he'd spaced out.

The final pair of shutters folded into a small dot as had the others, and he'd seen, for the first time, the homunculus he'd been working on for most of his life.

It wasn't as if he didn't know what this fake human was supposed to look like. He programmed the DNA structure, tailoring its genetics to be ideal, perfect as he'd have described it years ago until now. He took care of it, maintained it better than a crazy lady could ever take care of her plants. He was usually an unmotivated person, but the reason why he never got rid of the alarm clock was because he found it extremely useful in reminding him of the tasks he had to do, at the exact time he had to perform them in order to keep the homunculus in peak form.

The work actually could have been easier if the glass had been transparent throughout the years he'd decided to work on it, but he wanted to surprise himself. One of the things he hated the most was to find himself in a state of boredom, and the extra difficulty was a plus. It was the cupcake, and the big reveal was the cherry on top.

His breath hitched as he gazed upon his work, the purity a sight to behold.

Behind the capsule was a man with skin as smooth as a newborn baby's, his well-proportioned body and sculpted muscles a blessing to the eyes. His features were soft and sharp, as if he had no intention of revealing exactly if he were a man or a woman. Slender fingers matched a slender figure, and the highlight of the scene was the long, flowing silver hair that swam gently in the liquid. The lights from the capsule gave it an ethereal aura, as if every strand shone like pieces of the moon.

The occasional bubbles made the image look like he was a fairy of the sea whose song entered your head directly without passing through your ears. He was still, and the numerous tubes attached to him did not even mar his beauty in the slightest, or serve as a hindrance to appreciating it.

The scientist felt a sense of pride well up in his chest, and somehow, a deep sense of melancholy he couldn't place, somewhere in his heart. It stung the way the spring on the couch had tortured his side, and he thought he'd have to get it replaced sooner or later if he planned to continue sleeping here.

He felt a warm string of liquid fall from a corner of his eye.

"..."

He paused. It was the first time he couldn't process any of the information that was being sent to his brain. He looked at his hands under the faint light. They were shaking.

Was this joy? Relief at the sight of his project completed? Was he actually such a sentimental person when it came to things that he was interested in? He didn't remember being too happy when he managed to put together his first drone, but he definitely was happy enough to jump around and celebrate in silence.

The sound of the doors opening thawed the ice that hung over this confusing moment, and the clacking of heels accompanied by the bright lights of the elevator invaded the solace of the messy room.

"My sweet little Penny, I've come to see if you're still alive."

The dark-haired man groaned. "When will you be mature enough to call me by my actual name?"

"Okay, Pen--"

"En. It's written all over my legal documents."

The blonde woman blew a raspberry, her petulant demeanor ill-fitting for her mature looks. She walked over to his side, expertly maneuvering through the mess on the floor with her stilettos. En was almost scared for her ankles had it not been for the fact she'd be running around in similar shoes every time he'd see her.

She gasped as she looked at the capsule.

"He's so pretty. I never knew you had a thing for angelic types."