[ANNI-24] MEMORIES

The chatter of clicks and creaks from the ceiling fan overhead makes Matty's new ear twitch.

He ought to have expected something like this, in hindsight. Were his new host living in the lap of luxury now denied him yet again, their paths never would have crossed to begin with. No one, he's certain, would be waiting for an overcrowded bus with only a streetlamp to be their witness unless they absolutely had to. To hope his new "home" would contradict all first impressions was wishful thinking at best. Naïve, at worst.

Of all the places he'd expected to find himself upon infecting this unsuspecting... being of unspecified or perhaps unidentified species, though, it wasn't here. There was nothing remarkable about the room he was in. Calling it a room at all was, quite frankly, being generous. This cubical chamber of claustrophobia was hardly worthy of the title. Adorned in dull beige and eggshell, choked by clutter and empty canisters no longer fit to serve their purpose. The rest of the space isn't much bigger, one crevice out of a hundred packed into this complex that looked much bigger on the outside. Were he not being subject to its puny insides, he'd be almost impressed by just how much they could cram into its frame without it caving in on itself. If you politely ignored the cracks in the foundation, that is.

That was of little importance, compared to his current objective. One must take inventory when claiming someone new. He has to lay low this time, and that means he has to study. Though he'd never stuck around in a vessel long enough for it to matter much, he's aware of the social dynamics that are often at play. "Humans", or those like them, are often in packs. "Families", or "friends". There's a hierarchy. Those you submit to, those you challenge, expectations of engagement, disengagement, and a million menial exchanges. No two are alike. The true test of his skill would be to pick apart every little intricacy, and rework this senseless web of nonsense from within. He'd never made it that far, with his previous hosts. He was just never given the time to prepare.

The one time he he is, he finds there's nothing to pick apart. Matty sits on the floor, if only to avoid the unwashed sheets, and finds nothing of the sort in his newly acquired memory. "Matthias" has lived here a long, long time. Faces come to mind, with the knowledge that he won't be seeing them anymore. Others, blurry, indistinct in their lack of importance. People you see once, and then never see again. "Matthias" has no "family". Bafflingly, the only faces in recent memory that matter enough to stay are worn by those who— who— what did they do to him? His new guts shy away from the thought almost in protest. Their words don't match their actions. They must be the enemy. Ideally, he won't be seeing them again either.

He ought to be relieved. So many of his previous hosts were lost to a misstep in those nonsensical networks, so much time spent trying to perfect an image that would never satisfy his desires. He doesn't have to worry about that now. No one will be the wiser, no matter what he does. So why does he feel so— empty? Dissatisfied?

He pilfers through the life he'd taken tonight, over a thousand glimpses of this very room. He sees it from every angle. From the chair at the desk, from the bed— often, from the bed— the view out the window, coupled with a looming longing in his chest now claimed by teeth and sinew. Bitterness. Apathy. Ah, Matty understands now. What a lonely, unfulfilling life Matthias had lived, right up until it ended. He'd be dissatisfied, too, if he were to die like this without turning a head. He'll pretend he doesn't know what it's like to contemplate a fate much the same as he'd dished out tonight.

Well, it was of no consequence. His dear host ought to thank him. "Matthias" will live on yet, more than he ever did before. When he's done here, that gloomy nonsense will be nothing but an afterthought.