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Default 06-09-2013, 07:42 AM

The secretary nodded and picked up her phone, calling Charles' office to tell him that the agent had arrived. Charles replied, "Send him straight up."

Charles was worried. He had recently heard of a new outbreak of Diclonii babies being born, and in his heart, he knew what the cause of it was. He had not been entirely truthful to Zehira when he had spoken to her about what happened when the enhancement happened, and his wife Amelie was infected. There had been two Diclonii involved; Dawn and Cloud, but it was Dawn who had put her vector thru Amelie's head, resulting in the birth of Alexis, the only known male Diclonius.

Cloud, however, had seemingly died as a result of the treatment. She had stopped breathing and appeared to be dead, so Charles had asked a scientist to dispose of her body. What happened after that, he had heard afterwards from the scientist. Cloud had come to halfway to the incinerator, where the bodies of any Diclonius who died in the lab were to be taken, and had immediately leapt thru a window, breaking it and escaping. She was gone before any alarms could be raised, and Charles had grimly awaited reports of mysterious deaths by dismemberment.

When none arrived, he breathed easier, but Cloud was still out there, and had not been recaptured. This new outbreak worried him, cuz he knew in his heart that Cloud must be responsible. The trio of missing Diclonii; Dawn, Snowflake and Rain; had not been on the loose for long enough to cause the outbreak, so he had come to the conclusion that it must be due to Cloud.

Whether the girl was still in Murder City or not, he didn't know, but one thing was certain; the new Diclonii must be rounded up, and brought to the lab. If Cloud was out there, she too must be found and brought in, as should be the escapees. Otherwise, it was inevitable that the secret kept for so long would become public knowledge, which would have devastating results. Charles thought with pain of his Diclonius son, who was locked in the secret room behind the portrait of his wife. Ten years on, he was still as far from a permanent solution to the problem as he was ten years before.


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