Wapun Meadow no rest for the weary

His brother, Planck, wasn't insane. In fact, Taylor had believed that it was the natural way for an older brother to act until a few months ago. Somewhere along the way he'd realised that Planck's smile, well, it was what thousands of years of evolution had taught us to avoid.
He was also very, very smart, but that was something different.
Murielle was the name of whatever crosshaired scope was pointed at Evien. He gingerly picks the name and appearance up with tongs and stores them in a biohazardous container. He didn't much like the name, nor the appearance.
Taylor pretends to struggle to remember. His brother had the sort of face which branded itself to the inside of your eyelids. Handsome. Taller than me. Real skinny. Reaching back into his memory felt terribly wrong. It was everything he had tried to avoid. Black hair. Black eyes. His face is greying. He doesn't look like me at all. 
He's thankful for that.
If you see him, just run, he explains, still almost whispering. As if his brother could hear all this somehow. If he asks you where I am, then— You know what to do.