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She just couldn't believe this - she really couldn't believe this. Here they were, hiding out in their rural upstate manor and not doing something about the giant killer robots patrolling the city. They were centered around that immediate area for the time being. A sort of test run in an area that seemed to have a large concentration of mutants, and to prove to the world that the sentinels did exactly what they were supposed to do. If things went off without a hitch here for those stupid sapiens, they would be shipping those things out to cities across the globe. Sentinels to the left, to the right, kicking the leaning tower of Pisa. It was too much! Okay, maybe she had just had several bottles of soda. That stuff was good. And maybe she had been absorbing more memories around town and fragmenting herself a bit more by not purging them like she really ought to. She had deleted other things to make room for some of the new stuff.<P>
A wild, poorly timed kick at the furniture left her hopping around, yowling and clutching at her foot. Stupid furniture! If only she had a cool power. Something offensive that would really take out those stupid robot things. As it stood, she was pretty much useless against them, because they didn't exactly have any memories to purge. They had stuff like...data. And programming. If only she was an idea person. Or better yet, if she had a secondary mutation that took down robots with one steely glare of death. Now that would be impressive. She frowned at a window that had been boarded up after taking a blast of fire. Or had it been some sort of molten rock stuff? She couldn't remember. She could never remember anything. So stupid! Niamh rubbed absently at her eye with the back of her hand. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you."<P>
A passing Brotherhood member that rarely spoke to her paused. "And why not?"<P>
"I made cookies." Seeing his puzzled expression, she pointed down at the bowl of cookie dough, and wiped at the spot of flour on her tank top. "An' I pretty much trashed the toaster in there. Plus all the stuff on the counter. Well, the first three tries failed and I dunno how to even work the stupid oven, okay? So stop givin' me that look."<P>
"You broke the...toaster. Trying to make cookies. And you never stopped to clean up after yourself?"<P>
She glared. This was not a good day for her. She'd actually been there when they unveiled those stupid shiny triangle robots, and she had actually noticed that they were pretty effective at noticing mutant powers in action. It was a good think she'd confused them by running through a Subway tunnel. Less fun when she nearly got killed by a train. And now she was back in her usual pair of boots (which she obviously had owned for years and years, ask anyone) and in a really bad mood. Niamh shrugged and turned away, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. "I waz busy. And the second I'm suddenly the maid 'round here I'll shout for ya." He threw up his arms in exasperation and walked back up the stairs, evidently deciding that dealing with the crazy woman was worse than hunger. Everyone knew her now. They knew her face, anyway. The mutant Recall, one of the reasons they were starting up their trial run in the city. Stupid sapiens. Go tell 'em that the mutants were sick and tired of people being kidnapped off the streets, that they weren't going to take that abuse, and they just escalated. It had seemed like such a brilliant plan when she'd heard it from...whose plan had it been? Damn. Something else she'd deleted. Must be.<P>
Why couldn't she ever remember a single solitary thing when it was important? She took another swipe at the coffee table with her foot, but missed. No chance of going back to the city, oh no. If no one spotted her for killing the TV man, the robots would fly from the sky and she would be powerless to stop them. Where was Alex? She needed...she wanted...she felt even a little together when he was here. Not so everywhere, not so aware that she was no one because she had everyone else at once waiting in her head because they couldn't have their heads anymore. No, no no no. Think. She plunked down on the table and scooped up some of the slightly lumpy cookie dough with her finger, nibbling at the sugar. Little too much chocolate, maybe, it had gone all lumpy. See? Cabin fever was setting in already. She was completely losing it. Or she had been losing it for a while and now everyone got to notice. Either way was right. Why wasn't someone saying something? She shouldn't say something about anything, everyone knew she couldn't plan her way out of a paper bag. But someone had to do something before the robots found them here. They would find them. Still too close to the city, powers everywhere around here, they would come. And they would all be sitting ducks.<P>
If only she could be a flying duck and someone could smash their lights out. She sighed and dug out more cookie dough. It felt a little bit hopeless.


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<div style="text-transform: uppercase; color: #445158; font-size: 8.5px; font-family: browallia; line-height: 100%; text-align: justify;">I do not understand what it is I've done wrong. Full of holes, check the pulse. Blink your eyes one for yes, two for no. I've no idea what I am talking about, I'm trapped in this body and can't get out. Make a sound, move back home, Get an invitation with the edges sawn off. I have no idea what you are talking about. Has the light gone out for you? Because the light's gone for me. It is the 21st century, it is the 21st century, You can fight it like a dog. It brought me to my knees, They got scared and they put me in. all
<div style="text-transform: lowercase; font-size: 28px; color: #6a747a; font-family: georgia; line-height: 30%; text-align: right; ;"><i>the lies run around my face</i></div></div></div></div></div><p>
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His mind was messed up, that was for sure, but at least he had a better explanation for why he blacked out sometimes, and why his memory was spotty. Now the things he missed came in notes in his pockets or messages left on his phone, emailed to himself by the very man who shared his head. How this Rex knew all about him now wasn't easily explainable, and the same with him knowing about Rex. However, Alex's former memories had been merged with the man, and despite still having a divided consciousness and memory after their little moment of clarity, it seemed like keeping in contact might leave them with a brighter picture. It wasn't like they could schedule these things, but the notes had started with Alex, something about Niamh having suggested them. The woman, while naïve and a little bit wired in both of their opinions had some wisdom to her, and she really did try. He found the effort kind of enthusing, and of course he found himself wanting to help her as best he could. It was rather impossible though, as Alex wasn't exactly fond of the Brotherhood. Rex seemed quite fond of it though, and Rex had the advantage being a telepath of sorts. He was sure that Rex had tried many times to keep Alex at bay, but had failed when he'd left notes like You're still there? on napkins and in notebooks they kept. He would get digital stickies on his laptop telling him that Rex had used the rest of the milk, or he had told off their editor. Of course, he now suspected that Rex had been in fact the man writing the end of their stories.<p>

So he sort of owed some of his success to his extra-persona, though it was hard to think of him as the same person. Did they have two spirits? Or was their personality simply like switching a profile? Same underlying person but with different pictures and status updates, different view. Still, a development had occurred and he had to go see Niamh, since she was the only one he trusted with the knowledge that he was suffering from something called dissociative identity disorder. Well, it was probably because she had been the one to point it out. Now, knowing that people expected Alex, Rex could pretend to be him fully. He had the man's past memories, and he also managed to be able to go from notes of events, or a blog they sort of shared in word. Alex was the one currently in control though, and he felt compelled to find the woman who had given him this problem of knowing there was someone else in his head, so maybe she could do something to help with the problems that were going on. One was the car he was currently driving. There was nothing specifically wrong with the car, but that someone had bought it and registered it in his name, with his information, his contacts. They seemed to think it was funny, but given it had happened in the last ten days – the temporary plates were still on it – he figured that it must have been Rex. He couldn't recall buying a new car at least.<p>

Especially not a brand new Dodge Charger, as it wasn't his taste in car. He was more of a Jeep kind of person, or maybe Range Rover. But now? This? It was like he was riding in a machine that wanted to eat him alive, or at least drive him off the nearest cliff. Plus he swore they had used one of these things in one of those god-awful Michael Bay films that he had referenced in an article a while ago about the degradation of women in films, as well as the loss of story-telling in action flicks. The exterior and the interior were black, making him feel a bit like he was riding in KITT, but there was an auxiliary hook-up so that he could listen to music from his MP3 or his phone. Phone, though...since he wasn't a huge fan of Apple. Stupid corporate nut-machine. But...he was still pissed that his savings was emptied on a car that he didn't want. It did seem to belong in front of the building though. Getting out of the car, he locked the doors from the button on the inside, no matter the ideas going through his head telling him it didn't matter if he did. The Brotherhood were not likely to steal his car, not when they had plenty to use. Just as well, it wasn't a standard, so it probably wouldn't draw the attention of any of the more car-enthusiastic of the Brotherhood. He grabbed the laptop off from the passenger seat and shut the door, heading inside before he could change his mind and get back in and drive away.<p>

Because everything in him was telling him to avoid this moment. “This isn't funny any more, Rex. And if you continue to play games, I am going to have Niamh wipe you out of here permanently.” The message was left in voice on a recorder he usually had used for interviews when he was writing articles or doing research for a new book. However, as it was he was using it more for the purpose of communicating with his alternate persona than he was for actual work. Upon entering the manor, he stared around for a moment, looking for any shadows that might be moving because it was easier to see shadows for him now. “Niamh?” He called for the moment, but hearing thumping and movement coming from one of the rooms, he followed the noise to where he found the irl sitting with a bowl of what looked like cookie dough. “That's probably not healthy...if there are eggs in that.” Not that he had ever worried about it, or that he was the picture of health, but he was dangerously off-kilter when it came to diet, as most of the time he grabbed at things that were quick for a writer to eat. Honestly though, he probably could have done much worse in the food department. Some people only ever ate McDonald's for each of their three courses. He had at least six courses of small things like...a slice of cold pizza, a bit of funnel cake he made himself...sometimes some noodles in a cup, and then whatever ended up showing up at his door via take-away. “I think I may have a problem...but you-” She didn't look too happy either. In fact, she looked a little stressed out. Was it to do with the cookies? Or was it to do with the sentinels. As a known supporter of mutants, his opinion had needed to be omitted from his column.

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<div style="text-transform: lowercase; font-size: 9.5px; color: #636d73; font-family: browallia; line-height: 100%; text-align: center; padding-top: 2px; padding-bottom: 2px;">TAGGED : the brotherhood // OUTFIT: click // LYRICS: BODYSNATCHERS BY RADIOHEAD
<br>WORDS: 1146 // NOTES: here comes the crazy</div></div>
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The space had been invaded again - space invaders all over the room today, she was going to have to get one of those little triangles to fight them off. Now that would be a useful power to have around here: someone with the ability to fend off space invaders with super triangle powers. She might have been conflating reality with old arcade games, and not even the same one all the way through, but it was still a very good point. And even if she was doing any of that, she certainly had no idea. Keeping her thoughts all in there in order was a lot more difficult than people seemed to think. That thoughts just dropped themselves in order like they ought to? Of course not! Everything was constantly scurrying from her brain and she had no idea why. How could she? That it was leaving was the entire problem, and once the wisps of awareness flew from her mind there was no getting it back. She was very good at deleting things. She just had to pull it out of a skull and let it float away on the wind if she didn't want to store it herself. Though she had manipulated her own brain to hold additional memories she needed to keep track of, there was only so much she could contain. <P>
Her conscious brain fractured and shook under the pressure she put on it and left her with a sudden scattering as different memories made way for other ones in all the wrong order and sequence. Things didn't connect like they were supposed to. At least she still knew her name. What was more, she had told the Brotherhood her name in case anything happened and she would need to purge her brain. Maybe she could put herself somewhere else for safekeeping. Then if someone told her where she was after things were done, she could go fetch herself and be okay again. She giggled to herself. No one would want to play sever, but if she got them out of the way first there would be plenty of room for her.<P>
"British Alex?" That definitely sounded like him. Too quiet and measured to be Scottish Rex, who would have barged right into the room to survey it haughtily and finally deign to inform the common masses that he had arrived. He was silly like that. She nearly fell off the table in her eagerness. "It is you! Hi! You're here in the Brotherhood again and it's good to see you." Words were tumbling forth without forethought or full organization. He was here! After she had just been thinking about how much she would really like to see him again once now, and he had fallen in like a space invader in the common room of the manor. Her multi-man superman that had all of the answers unless someone else came out to play. She wished he'd take her dancing in a bowling alley, but she didn't know if he was afraid of the shoes, so she'd never asked.<P>
And now he was here, and she wasn't alone against the robots anymore. That was a big relief, she realized, because she didn't know what she could do about it. "Oh I dunno I haven't died or 'nything yet, so there's no worry." She beamed. In truth, she was far more concerned about all of the flower that had fallen onto her tights and made an awful mess of things. Did flour come out in laundry? The only way to answer that was to find someone that could do laundry. Darn it. She wasn't the only one around here that seemed to have really missed out on that lifeskill - and their only excuse going was general stupidity. Humph. Maybe one of the Finches knew.<P>
Someone else had strolled on in before she could tell him that she was fine and dandy just good thanks, paying no heed to the berth some others chose to give to the Brotherhood's mad memory woman. She frowned again and ate the rest of the cookie dough before answering. Her own little defiance of the uncooperative kitchen. "Notaproblem. I don't gotta problem. That toaster, it's that toaster what's gotta problem, not me," she declared. Maybe she had been having some problems going on, but she wasn't going to go into a whole lot of detail with people if she didn't have to. She didn't know if Regan - Lady Mastermind to the outside world - would make fun of her for her misplacing things she needed, like how to make cookies. It had been such a nice idea in theory. Would Regan do that? She couldn't remember that either. Her head hurt. "Those stupid robot things!" she burst out. "I knew when the speech happened they would be trouble and they're trouble. What can I do? I run and I hide and they chase me and there's just nothing in it to take." <P>
Memories, of course, there were no memories in the robot to wipe away. She couldn't make a blank slate to fight when the coding up in their heads was digital. She needed brainwaves to work with or she was getting nothing out of the arrangement. "British Alex this is Regan and I know her, I remember knowing her because I have done, see? But I don't think she likes bowling." She had jumped up excitedly from the table and moved in to stand next to Alex, bothered by the tone Regan had taken with him without being able to explain exactly why. She was going into panic, that never helped anything. Her brain was reacting to seeing those things and running through the dark. The good news was her favorite boots were okay; there was always good news.


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<div style="text-transform: uppercase; color: #445158; font-size: 8.5px; font-family: browallia; line-height: 100%; text-align: justify;">I do not understand what it is I've done wrong. Full of holes, check the pulse. Blink your eyes one for yes, two for no. I've no idea what I am talking about, I'm trapped in this body and can't get out. Make a sound, move back home, Get an invitation with the edges sawn off. I have no idea what you are talking about. Has the light gone out for you? Because the light's gone for me. It is the 21st century, it is the 21st century, You can fight it like a dog. It brought me to my knees, They got scared and they put me in. all
<div style="text-transform: lowercase; font-size: 28px; color: #6a747a; font-family: georgia; line-height: 30%; text-align: right; ;"><i>the lies run around my face</i></div></div></div></div></div><p>
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British Alex? Yes, all right, that is how she referred to him. He had come to accept that this was how she identified him, as Rex seemed to be the Scottish portion of his persona. His English accent was distinct against the Scottish touch that Rex added in. He had noted it in their recordings to each other, and he'd been slightly jealous of such a profound sound, but it was nothing to envy really. Rex was insane, that was clear, and he was shocked by how different the two of them were. What would people classify Rex as? A psychopath? sociopath? He wasn't sure, but the man definitely showed traits of a personality disorder...if not a major anger management problem. His eyes darted between her and the bowl...and then he realised something. Both he and Rex knew that eggs were still chicken embryos, therefore his former warning about eggs was probably foolish, unless she didn't realise that eggs were still baby chickens. Any animal protein probably wouldn't have been in her diet. “Yes, it's me...here, at your humble abode...which really isn't humble at all, though you could probably use a decent cleaning service.” There was a slight snide tone in his voice that probably had arisen from realising the other side of him which was quite malevolent especially in speech. “Rex is taking a break from what I can tell.” He scoffed a bit at this, since neither of them had control of their appearances, and one could not necessarily schedule a take-over. Shifts between their personalities happened without ease. <p>

In such a case, he would have chanced taking some of the cookie dough and eating it himself, but of course he wouldn't have known her reaction to that. Did she care to share with him? If she wasn't, it could easily be credited to these terrorist types not necessarily being the most friendly. However, he had a good notion to say that Niamh liked him more than the average terrorist of course. “Well, that's certainly a relief, you...being alive I mean. I wouldn't want you dead or anything...” Was that the closest to an affectionate statement he could make? Probably, but then he was the kind of person who wrapped his life around his career, so he wasn't really sure how to act like a close friend. His nervous tendencies made him absolutely useless when it came to sentiment. “What kind of cookies?” He asked, daring to consider what she might have been making. He made cookies...sometimes, in a toaster-oven when he bought the pre-made ones that came out for various holidays. He probably still had some reindeer ones waiting to be made in the freezer. When you wrote, you needed quick foods to make, nothing that could take you away from the keyboard for too long. Of course pizza was usually a bad idea because of the added grease on your hands, but he chanced it. He was mostly a New Yorker now anyway, since his family had moved over from the UK. Of course, if they hadn't moved maybe none of this brain stuff would have happened either...who knew.<p>

Toaster, now that was a new one. Who tried to make cookies in a toaster? Niamh apparently, but he couldn't be one to judge when his war-paint happened to exist only in sharpie ink. Though, a pair of brows started to raise at her and he turned to look for a place to sit, still standing with his notebook and recorder in hand. “You tried to make cookies in a toaster? I'm guessing...that didn't go very well.” He said, trying to avoid laughing and doing pretty well until he noticed the flour all over her. A slight stutter of a laugh proceeded out before he turned away a bit and chuckled darkly. Darkly?! Why was he so dark lately?! Oh, he blamed it on this whole situation at hand. He was no longer the kind of person he used to be. His former nervous tendencies were starting to steadily slip for a bit of confidence...who knows, maybe Niamh messing with his head was what he needed, maybe he did need Rex. Was he a terrorist though? Absolutely not...but it didn't mean he didn't see them as people. He saw Niamh as people, but not the kind of people he didn't like. Odd, how that worked... Either way. “You mean the Sentinels?” He asked, still a little miffed about how the editor at the paper he was currently working at warned him not to draw attention to himself on it. It wasn't that the man thought he was a mutant, but apparently the paper had a standard and a reputation. And of course, getting calls from the MRD based on suspicions that one of your opinionated columnists might be a mutant wasn't the best way to come off to the rest of the world that you were a bipartisan paper, or at least on the side that was going to win.<p>

In the humans minds, they were going to come out on top, and as he observed most of these terrorists, he found it hard not to agree. Whatever opinions he seemed to have on their activities though, it did not seem to thwart Niamh and himself from getting along. He didn't necessarily approve of her activities, but he was probably too nervous around her to tell her to stop out-right. What would she have done to him? Messed with his memories? Made him think he was one of them? He swallowed a bit at the sight of the other blonde, and her addressing him. Who was she exactly? Regan from what Niamh explained, but certainly not a woman he'd met before. He did his best to nod at her and smile, but it just came off half-heartedly. When he finally opened his mouth to say something as well, his voice sort of cracked, and there was a chuckle in his tone. So he was still Alex, not entirely Rex after all. “It's-eheh...It's nice to meet you. Regan? Regan...Reh-gahn.” He tried to pronounce it in his English accent without making her sound like a dead president or something. But it was difficult. <p>

“I quite like bowling...if that counts for anything. And if it means anything...I'm not too fond of mutant-hunting robots either.” He stepped just a bit nervously behind Niamh's shoulder. “But...not exactly why I came. I'm having problems with our...friend. Rex. He isn't behaving himself.” He paused a moment to glance at Regan before looking over Niamh's shoulder at her, hoping that she would keep the woman from doing anything harmful to him. He could have shadow-jumped his ass out of there, but he was trying to be a bit more confident than that. “He bought a car. With my money.” Could Niamh help him with this, or rather...would she? She could at least see if it was actually Rex who had done it, couldn't she? That way he could at least have some peace of mind on the matter.

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<div style="text-transform: lowercase; font-size: 9.5px; color: #636d73; font-family: browallia; line-height: 100%; text-align: center; padding-top: 2px; padding-bottom: 2px;">TAGGED : the brotherhood // OUTFIT: click // LYRICS: BODYSNATCHERS BY RADIOHEAD
<br>WORDS: 1190 // NOTES: sorry I was procrastinating</div></div>
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