Out of all the emotions that Arthur had felt, anger was, surprisingly, one of the few he hadn’t felt. Immense remorse overall. Such deep depression and agony that left him so extremely lethargic. Sure, there might have been irritation. A sort of condensed rage that barely crept past the lines meant to keep it at bay. But when there, it was only directed toward his own self. His stupidity. His horrible, horrible choices. When stripped of the Joy that he popped down and down and down, it wasn’t a child he had given up. It wasn’t a life of freedom. It wasn’t Germany. No, no, no. It was the exact opposite.

              Steps were staggered. Slow. The screams, roars, suicides, fires, uproar – everything – was booming around him. Sure, the crash of it had come and went and now the people had either killed off or decided to run off into the Mainland. Yet he heard nothing. It was a muffled chaos drowned out by the weight of all the actions, decisions, and all of his morale in his life forgotten. They were springing upward. Without the racing thoughts of ecstasy, bliss, and ignorance, brain had grasped everything. How many hours had passed? How many deaths did he witness on his desolate stride through the now brightly lit Parade in flames? He didn’t keep count of anything. All he could think about was himself. His disgusting, pitiful self.

              Hand grasps opposite limb. Glasses fog up from the warmth of the anarchy around; face cold with the rampant terror running through every vein. Yet there was little care. So what if he tripped? So what if the embers bubble up and scorch dirty and greasy skin? It’s less than what he deserves, in his opinion.

               Admittedly taken aback by the greeting, the bloke is up and alert. Like racing away from each and every problem, each and every emotion, the very idea of escape and satisfaction – some sort of happiness – was potentially the fabrication for eternal life itself. Eyes dart around, scanning the perimeter to see none other than his old teacher step forward.

               “  Oh. Miss Byng! I figured you would have been the first to go with all this mess.  “   it wasn’t until after the newfound downer spoke that he had noticed one important detail: her mask was off. Recalling the hours before, trying to shove aside all those awful memories, he notices that no one is wearing their mask. No one is conforming anymore. Shock turns into confusion, and confusion turns into defeat.   “  But… your mask’s off. I suppose no one’s wearing these anymore, are they?  “

               Hand, shaking, ascends to the face. It grips at the cheek and pulls at the matte, the skin beneath sticking for a moment from the tugging of the material. The moment it’s off, a new wave of exhaustion hits him. Muscles ache and burn, lips drooping from the now lack of muscle stimulation. Caramel gaze glances it over before they hover back up to his teacher.

               Wait. Teacher. Teacher? Brows furrow.

               “  Wait, you weren’t always my boss!  “   a hand is pointed toward her –  a gesture that could easily be perceived as aggressive. But in reality, it is simply the panic that continues to swarm him. Bony digits fiddle after pointer is retracted, forming a fist and then dropping to his side.   “  You were my teacher. One of them… back in Secondary. Nngh… I’m remembering so much. It’s all so… overwhelming.  “

               Mask is clenched tight in his free hand. Limbs fold amongst themselves, pressing to a bony chest that protrudes up against his suit. Skull shakes for a moment, thoughts ablaze in the unknown as gaze drifts toward a fire. Feet fumble, slightly shifting left and right as they carefully tread toward the other. Clip, clap. Clip, clap. With a new expression, which could only be described as lost, Arthur throws a stare toward his teacher boss, searching for answers.

               “  What happened?  “   voice stings now.   “  Why did we stop giving everyone Joy?  “

          Admittedly, she hardly remembers being his teacher now. The memories that she had with the children before they were sent away to Germany were ones she still, even now, desperately wanted to repress -- because the memory that had unfortunately stuck with her was the ones where the same children were crying out and screaming for mercy when they were forcefully shipped away from their families, their homes - and never seen again. Recalling who she was before all of this - someone who wanted to set up the next generation for success; who took pride in seeing the people she taught grow and do good for the world...  it was difficult to relate that women with the person she was now. Someone who couldn’t -- or, wouldn’t step up and say something when she knew what was happening was wrong. 

          There isn’t initially a response given while Arthur speaks,  she allows him to process everything that’s happened, the memories that must be coming back to him now for the first time in years. Though, inevitably, he redirects the conversation back to her - asks what happened for them to stop producing joy. She.. isn’t sure where to start.       ❛  ... We were starving. There’s a plague in the village, and we were all too high off of our joy to see any of it.  ❜  They  wouldn’t have survived much longer under these conditions, though no one may be able to see it now.  Hopefully, given enough time --- they would see that what she did was for their own good.  

          ❛  I couldn’t stand by and watch. The only people who knew any better were only interested in saving themselves. ❜   her father included.  she thought she’d be able to prove him wrong by forcing everyone off of their joy - show him that people would come to their senses once they saw the world around them;  she still believed that they would... it’d simply take more time than anticipated. 

            It was either the fact that Victoria was getting older,  or the androids that Cyberlife had produced in their final years standing had become significantly younger than the models she’s seen in her time. She isn’t certain on what the cause may be -  but she finds herself quite uncomfortable around androids resembling children.  Most YK units that she’s met before now have simply been memories of people that were now long gone;  now a ‘perfect’ replica standing in their place.  

              She has -- at least some what,  changed her focus from finding the remaining survivors of the parade district to cleaning up the streets. People were angry,  it was understandable -- she had been angry too, when she was forced to be taken off of her joy. It took her longer than she’d like to admit to come to her senses,  to get over her anger and make sense of what was happening to the world around her. 

              Once she did,  however,  it was for the better.  These people would come around, too. If, that is, they all don’t leave right away. She did notice a few stragglers who were either too shocked or horrified to make a decision on if they should stay or if they should go. 

              She ended up finding that a lot of the people she considered her friends were the same people who ended up abandoning the parade district, perhaps they had felt betrayed and hurt by what had been done. The same, so it seems,  couldn’t be said for the scrawny six foot something Arthur Hastings that she catches among the debris of their district. He was almost unrecognizable to her now,  though.  He looked so... tired.