Etzko Descarr [d6m](wip)

etzko deskarr

He wasn't supposed to try it.
He never planned that he would.
But it fell into his hands.

"you weren't supposed to do that"

A lash on the back with the rug beater for every time he stuck his hand in the cookie jar. That was the ultimatum.

Ninety lashes, this time. Spread your feet apart, lean forward, grip the edge of the stove, hold still. This time, he did it all without instruction, and waited, staring at his curled knuckles.

Ms. Athene went on until her arm grew tired. Etzko used to count the blows, and soon realized he was being conned.

Her arm fell away. Her scrawny fist clenched the beater tightly. "Go."

The child did not get out of position. His turned his head slightly, peered at her over a shoulder patched with different shades of bruising. Cold, steel eyes, slanted at her, not glaring -- watching. The patterning of the gray-blue irises that seemed to twist and writhe around each other, like an oncoming storm.

"he has his father's eyes"

"Alicia Corp." Named after Ari Deskarr's dead sister. He spent first grade listening to her moan as the tumors ate away at her body, and once they were through with her he stopped being a child after that.

Neither of his sons, Danila or Etzko, shared a mother. Ari barely had time for sex, nonetheless raising two boys of disparate ages. That was what Ms. Athene was for.

His mind was calculations, equations, models. His eyes did not roam rooms, instead they sought out and gauged. He never simply existed. He moved quietly, mechanically, precisely. Even the expulsion of energy must be measured, concentrated, regulated.

When Etzko was fourteen, Ari theorized that the child was ready. For about a week, the boy was his shadow. Did office work, measured grams of powder, looked at formulae. The child was skillful. Athene had done well. He was precise, cautious, never letting a single number or grain of powder slip; better yet, he was quiet. Rarely if ever spoke. Only stared. Didn't watch, didn't look -- stare. A good omen.

The only time the boy spoke without prompting was at the testing labs, looking over the human subjects. Ari pointed out their blithe smiles, contented eyes as they rolled about in their heads. How they could still walk, though the walk was rather strange, and in some situations not recommended. At the tumors that grew along their skulls, their chests, their stomachs. The sallow skin. The bandages wrapped tight around their bodies. Some of the disease and pain simulated by the corp, with the Capitol's blessing; some of it real, terminal.

A shadow stirred in the boy's eyes. He raised his chin. "They're totally disconnected from reality."

A corner of Ari's mouth flicked. "That's the point."

"eden. edenheads. denheads. all the same."