These things always seemed to happen in the winter. It had been a long [literally], hard road to travel down, but he'd finally made it to the city. If it could even be called that anymore. Given his freedom, as a clone, he had even forgotten his own name. Now? It didn't matter. Now that his blood ran black, it was almost too late. Too late to make that difference, and too late to change his own fate. But there might still be a chance to change someone else. To show a soul akin to him, what it was like to step into his shoes. Something he'd wanted to do for a long time.
Of course, the way he'd envisioned it wasn't exactly staggering down the long walls, dragging his fingers for some semblance of balance or order. Nor was it falling face-first into the snow, and rolling to take the stars into his eyes, as he stared death in the face. Since when had death been so... pretty?

"You're in the way." the voice said. It was neither gruff, nor harsh, nor overly concerned. But there was no warmth there, either.

"I don't recall asking you if I was." the clone said, a wry smirk on his face. "For Sir Death, you are very talented at appearing like a rather sexy young clone."

The owner of the voice from before blushed, and made as if to turn away. The memory of someone else.. someone closer, turning away from him like that, triggered the reflex to grab. So the other clone's coat became his target - gripped with the hand of premature rigor mortis.

"Are you going to leave me?" he asked, the edge of a tear in his voice. "If I must die, at least listen to what I have to say."

The other silver-haired-one paused in his movement. Mostly because he was forced to. Resigned to this, he sighed, and sat on an overturned box in the snow. This seemed to please the dying clone, who pulled himself closer to the box, and managed to shove himself into a seated position, even though it was agony to do so. He burst out into coughing, black blood trickling from his lips as he had to wheeze to catch his breath. Once that was over, he sighed, settled, and let one hand rest in the snow.

"I have a feeling..." he began. "That I was very much like you, once. Young.. impressive.. attractive..."
He paused here, and gave the other a wink. The blush that flushed the young one's face was all the confirmation he needed on that.

"I had a family. I worked for them.. they fed me, clothed me... took care of me. They were kind. They didn't ask questions about where I came from, or even where I was bound. Truth be told, I didn't even know that myself."

He winced, and rubbed his sore hands, trying to ignore the creeping numbness in his lungs. "I wish I had left there sooner. They WERE kind. Too kind. And too careless." Here, he closed his eyes, imagining the scene as he had seen it years ago. "Blood everywhere. Their kind hearts torn from their chests. Even the family pet met the same fate. And I raged. I raged with the power of a thousand stars, all burning brightly in my eyes. I raged. And I killed."

Another pause to rub his hands, and his feet as well, and to cough past the numbness crawling slowly through his shallow breaths. There was a different kind of fire in those eyes right now. A different kind of burning. Haunted.

"My first kills were a family of four. Then a honeymooning couple. Then.. well, I don't remember all of them. Blood ran in rivers, because I couldn't control what I had become. I was dangerous. To others, primarily... but also to myself. I had no one to understand my plight... When I was in sound mind, I tended to shy away from people. To hide myself in crevasses and nooks, crannies and corners. But when the fire of hatred stirred my blood, I knew no mercy." He winced, and coughed again, more black ichor oozing from between his gritted teeth. "I saw nothing but the kill! And in that, I saw only that I was avenging those who I had loved. I did not see the chaos.. or the pain.. or hear the cries for mercy. I was only what we all seem to be. Tools. Being used by my own anger."

He closed his eyes for but a moment, although it seemed like eternity to open them again. What failing vision he had was focused on the other clone.

"I came to realize, when my blood ran black, that there was little left for me. And, in my few moments of sanity, searched for someone to tell. By then, even when the killing rage struck, I was unable to act. The pain and sorrow from my past deeds started to catch up with me - and I feel that this disease is a sort of retribution. A punishment befitting the crime."

Quirking his lips into a weak smile, he found that closing his eyes was much less painful than keeping them open. "I can sense those who also carry the blackness inside. And you are one of them. Even though you might not know it yet. There are things you have done that are akin to my own deeds. You have killed. Hell.. all of us have killed. That is why this happens to us."

Coughing broke his trail of words, as more black blood left his body - this time, through tears down his cheeks, as well as between his lips.

"Recieve what you are given, young one. Take nothing for granted. Hold your sanity to you as though it were sacred cloth. For what we are, you and I, is made for their pleasure, and their suffering. If we try to grant that suffering in return, we will all end in shadows, the darkness running our veins."

"What about... them. What they've done to us. Retribution." the younger clone asked, now genuinely interested.

"Giving back what was done to harm us will do no good." said the dying clone. "It must be upon us to rise above our instincts, and not give into the anger, or let it rule us - like I have. Anger is yet another tool by which to control someone... even if the one it controls is yourself. Remember that. And if you DO fight..."

He started to slowly go limp, his words matching his current strength.

"Fight... for what... is universally right... not.. your own sense.. of justice. For it can... never be... you that is right.... It will always... be your... anger you have to repay...."

The clone's head lolled, and his fingers fell limp to the snow. "Don't let... your anger rule you... Hold tight.. to the bonds of hope... and you will.... conquer.... the darkness...."

Thinking about this for a moment, the younger clone made as if to ask the other a question... but realized as soon as he glanced to the one against the wall, that he was dead. Black blood oozed from his eyes, and trickled from his mouth, with no force behind it. The older clone's heart had stopped beating, forever silent like the fall of the snow.

Quietly, the clone named Gauge rose, and knelt before the nameless one for a brief moment, drawing a pair of wings in the snow with his finger.

"Rest and fly in peace, friend..." He whispered. "I have listened, and I understand. And here is a lesson for you, without a name."

He stood, and started to walk away, turning back only once.
"The darkness will never conquer me."