True children would have perished very quickly in such a place- the pungent chemicals that misted the air would have dissolved the tissue of their lungs - but these were not true children. They had been so long ago, before extensive surgeries had converted them in ageless amalgams of flesh and metal like the tech-priests they served, only far less sophisticated. Their brains had been cruelly cut, rendering them incapable of independent thought and their voices had been silenced forever. Their only function was to obey and, as such, they were beyond sin, mischief or evil. Perhaps in recognization of this, their creator had crafted bronze masks for them, faces frozen in beatific smiles, like half living sculptures of holy cherebium.
The child is carried away. It is not fed; it no longer eats. It is not kept warm; no clothing can warm the fragile bones of this child. Yet it grows up to join its peers. Its eyes rot away, but it is blessed with an unnatural and accurate sight that defies reason. Not quite alive, not quite dead, the baby becomes one of the Eyeless Urchins.
Their clothes, what little they have, are soiled. No onlookers can tell where filth ends and skin begins. They are thin and boney and desperate, but their empty sockets are aglow with an eerie light...
Their clothes, what little they have, are soiled. No onlookers can tell where filth ends and skin begins. They are thin and boney and desperate, but their empty sockets are aglow with an eerie light...
Castiel: It's... a child!
Dean: Yeah, creepy ghost kid. You get used to 'em.
Dean: Yeah, creepy ghost kid. You get used to 'em.
Gage Creed came in, dressed in his burial suit. Moss was growing on the suit's shoulders and lapels. Moss had fouled his white shirt. His fine blond hair was caked with dirt. One eye had gone to the wall; it stared off into space with terrible concentration. The other was fixed on Jud.
Gage was grinning at him.
"Hello, Jud," Gage piped in a babyish but perfectly understandable voice. "I've come to send your rotten, stinking old soul straight to hell. You fucked with me once. Did you think I wouldn't come back sooner or later and fuck with you?"
Gage was grinning at him.
"Hello, Jud," Gage piped in a babyish but perfectly understandable voice. "I've come to send your rotten, stinking old soul straight to hell. You fucked with me once. Did you think I wouldn't come back sooner or later and fuck with you?"
Wormwood: Lucy, still as pretty today as the day I dug you up after that little plague went through your village all those years ago.
Phoebe: A little girl? You're serious?
Wormwood: It's just a body. Bloody hell, it's not like I haven't been a woman before.
Phoebe: A little girl? You're serious?
Wormwood: It's just a body. Bloody hell, it's not like I haven't been a woman before.
— On Wormwood's emergency backup body, Wormwood: Gentleman Corpse: It Only Hurts When I Pee
I hope you're happy. I never wanted to come here, but you had to drag us to this shithole! And now look what's happened. My baby girl turned into... something... I had to... [breaks down crying] How could you... How could you leave us alone? Do you hear me!? I HAD TO KILL MY BABY GIRL!
— "Happy Hope" Audio Log, Dead Space 2
Spirit of a dead child! Spirit of a dead child! That's the worst! That's always the worst!
— Riley Jenson, Painkiller Jane, "Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself"
"I'm twelve. But I've been twelve for a long time."
— Eli, Let the Right One In
