Welcome to Gaia! ::

He returned to come to a single door. It's a sickly shade of green and looking at it makes him feel sick also. His heart, his head, everything is pounding. He'd become aware this was a dream, one he had yet to wake from, and seemed to have little power over. Unable to wake. He wasn't sure he'd made his own choices. This is the final door and he had no choice.

A single touch brings forth an unending assault of images, memories. Life before. The Virus. Day Zero. Being lost. Being found. The Mall. The Mall Rats. The bandits, the casino, the fog... the hospital. And then-

Infection. The words repeated over and over. Infection. Infectioninfectioninfection- He had been consumed, he couldn't realize it a the time. Now it was clear, he had no hope from the very start.

He walks in-

A thought stirs. This was were they had all gone. The infected outside what remained, empty. Calab had long ago lost being just himself and this was much easier to grasp. He was the virus. Knowledge. Creation. Legacy. It washed over him, these ideas, through him. He was-

No.

A gift- to infect-

No, that isn't-

Harvest-feed-gather-

No. I was-

The world will become us. Memory the legacy-

No, there is still so much-

-your memories are not complete.

He was torn from the voice. Tossed out, dug out like a festering wound. And he was free... free...

There was nothing but memory, and something... something that could not be seen but could tug at that which was around. He could not shake from the personal fear that was being felt. There was no body, nothing.. and yet- there was... something-

Vines rose up and moved towards the space that held nothing- and something- unaware of the pull, driven by an unknown force. They twirled inward, wrapping about the -something- and each other. Thin vines, covered with thorns and flowers. The mass is laying there, unmoving until understanding fills it. There was a form, not really a body. It was small, smaller than- someone- yourself is the word that seeps through.

Himself- itself? There was not a real way to know. Should it respond to the name... name...

The vines shuddered, the form was that of a child. Thin and willowy. Flowers blossomed across the form. Vines slithered up and around. The form was curled up, unwilling to rise, knowing... knowing...

A vine from far above the figure drifted down, heading the call. It wrapped itself around a thin vine wrist and pulled the figure until it sat, then stood. The vines were coiled tightly, compact and showing feelings. It's nearly impossible to keep the form from squeezing in on itself. Vines constantly moved- out, through, in and around. A balance is found, enough that support is no longer needed. The vine from above frees itself, and joins the rest forming the 'body' around that that remained, and knew.

The form stumbles forward, searching... searching....

A mass of vines, a face. It isn't the one being searched for. It is known. It is... one who saved. It- He had dragged the human body being searched for away from... vines-

There is a pang of feeling as the face is hidden by vines. There must be something- this one isn't torn apart yet. A hand, vines, brushes the area. The other vines respond, pulling away. Away from the other, the rescuer. They pull away from everything, joining the small mass who remembered.

The form grows, knowing this was needed, had to be done. To do something right. Arms, those of a grateful boy remembered, though made of vines- picked up the other. The form was no longer a frightened child, it was grown into man. Vines imitated a body lost, thorns and red bursting flowers replaced hair. It was resolved that picked this form, vines slowly stretching outward from the 'back' as if attempting to become wings. There weren't enough vines for it, they remained little more than outward reaching branches with no substance.

A favour for a favour, a life for- Gently the figure carried the other down the corridor. The vines on the walls and above kept away as they were passed, only to flow behind the pair a short distance before being drawn away and replaced again and again by new vines. Down steps and far, far from where they had started.

Away from the center of Creation the vines fall away, one by one the form is reduced back to nothing more than a human shape moving forward. Until what remains is loose vines hardly clinging to each other. The spark of understanding is even smaller.

Out, out of the building, thin vines wrapped just well enough to hold push through the door to the outside. Into the fog, to those... others- waiting... searching... The form is hardly a form now, the two thin vines trailing out the door have gone as far as they can be pushed. The weight of the other is gone. His allies, the other things of shadow and uncontaminated.

The vines drop from the form as it pulls away from the door, unable to stay any-longer. Back up the steps, pulling vines as it goes. Gathering lost bits of both that and mind. It is all that is left...

Other shambling mounds are moving about... vines brush one hardly taken a shape that can move, another shys away unwilling to be touched, still not understanding... other bits of memory... memory belonging to others...

Perhaps- maybe- it just might work... they were all just bits, left over but eventually they would be drawn in, added to Creation's legacy. An idea... and then.. a memory.

He was still-

Calab.