“Bitch!” he screamed out loud as he threw the images back toward the Assassin. “No,” ripped from her lips. Seven could hear the agony in her voice as her screams poured through the windows. Fresh images formed in Seven’s thoughts, gripping his heart: The Creator holding a young boy, no more than three years old. The boy looked pale and sickly. His hair was blond, his eyes a piercing blue. A younger version of Seven. His master wiped tears away from the boy’s eyes, comforting him. “You’re safe,” his master repeated over and over. “Mother is near. You will be with her soon.” More pictures tossed around Seven’s mind, pulling him deeper into a past he didn’t remember. A woman cries as a baby yells. Two older children take the baby into another room and crawl under a bed to hide. “Shh,” the older boy says to the others. He rubs the baby’s back, coaxing him to stop crying. “He’s just mad. He’ll yell at Mom and then he’ll leave. Just like always.” Seven stared at the baby in the vision.
