Infinity Circuit

[ ♫♫♫ ]

Somehow, Mokichi feels happier than they’ve ever felt in their entire life. 

They’re happier than when they played the guitar for their sister for the first time, happier than when they were singing and playing their heart out in the light music club at Yoshioka, and somehow even happier than the time they took those photobooth pictures with the coworker they’d fallen head-over-heels for. 

Mokichi feels the kind of happiness that swells up in your chest and makes you want to tell the whole world. Maybe even break into song, if they feel like it.

They’re happy– happy because they’re finally getting off that horrible crackling train, they’re happy to be walking through the empty hangar, and happy to finally open the door to the outside world. With everyone. Alive. Together.

The warm, radiant sun shines on Mokichi’s face and they breathe in fresh air for what feels like the first time in a long time. And even though they’re so happy to be leaving this death trap… as they enter the realm outside of the train… weirdly… weirdly… they think that they’re going to somehow miss this life.

On the Yoshioka Express, or… er, what was it called now? The Hell Train to Fuckville? The name doesn’t matter much now. On the train, Mokichi saw horrible and terrible gruesome things– some things caused by their own hands– but they also had some of the best times in their life were on here, against all odds.

It’s like the end of a performance. An overwhelming happiness at a job well done, but a sadness knowing that this is the end of something you worked so hard for. The happiness in their chest becomes bittersweet, because they know it’s time for them– for everyone to let go– and face the world once again.

It’s a laughable thought, right? Missing the place where you got your face bashed in with an electric guitar and where you sunk to the bottom of the ocean; a place where you watched so many others meet the same terrible– maybe equally terrible– or worse fate. Missing a place that hurt so many different people, in so many different times and places… A place that must have personally torn them apart from the inside in all those Mokichi-goes-missing scenarios from the sound of those notes… It’s laughable to think they’ll miss that, and they know it. 

But when all’s said and done, Mokichi Mamizuka is the sentimental type. They don’t think too hard, but they have a big heart. Most know that. They know that. So, that will never change about them. This situation is no exception. Their heart begins to ache.

Their fear is that it’ll all be gone once they say goodbye, won’t it? All the memories and the friendships… What will happen to them? This will be the last time they’re all together like this.

Though, that’s what it felt like on the day they graduated. And here they are now, 10 years later. Together again.

So…

The aching feeling fades, and the happiness fills their heart again.

Maybe that won’t be the case.

Because, honestly, maybe things can’t just end here. It feels like they’ve grown a lot since they first set foot on the train all those months ago. He isn’t the same Tanuki who boarded. So they think: maybe everyone else grew, too. 

After seeing and after remembering everyone’s smiling faces, remembering their high school days, saving their classmate who had been lost, and knowing that, as a group, they could choose mercy towards their other masterminding classmate after everything… so yeah, no maybes. Things won’t just end.

–

Eventually, people begin to depart from the hangar to take their well-deserved rest on solid ground, and Mokichi does too, but not before they take a glance at their now-working cell phone. Firstly, it’s a wonder the battery hasn’t died yet but, well… it’s not that which shocks them. 

The lock screen is filled with– no, practically teeming with notifications.

Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts. 

Oh, shit.

Nothing needs to change when the most you are is a cloud, floating gently along the sky's lining. Nothing needs to change when the most you are is a simple example of nature's force; unstoppable, though not inherently dangerous. Each cloud is functionally the same. Brought into existence as a gathering of water, which builds until... the water falls, or disperses, and thus the cloud ceases to exist. 

And yet, we see so much more in them. We see them for their shapes and sizes. We see them for their time of arrival and time of departure. We see them for their blocking the sun or moon. We see them for their rain. We see them for their personality. 

We see them as a lining in our otherwise boring day sky. 

Clouds exist to be seen. 

Blowing the whistle on his former employers is among the first things he does. And it is ultimately a simple affair. Of course, the lab he and his ‘siblings’ were made in had been dismantled years ago when it was decreed economically unsustainable to try and make any more batches of clones, but the paper trail was eventually tracked down and confirmed.

That, and all the ‘specimens’ were still alive and ready to testify for varying reasons, ranging from ‘you know my existence IS a bit fucked up’ to ‘i just want to work here please god’ or something along those lines.

And then he disappears. He came into public existence for just a while as a ‘certain man’ blowing the whistle on one of the most alarming cases of human rights violations in the history of corporate espionage… And then he just disappeared. His name wasn’t mentioned, pictures weren’t posted, and when people tried to find whoever this man was, he was gone like the wind.

At another place and another time, he contemplates freedom.

You know, for as much as he dreaded the idea of being used, the idea of just doing things because someone else planned for them to happen, he never hated his work conceptually. He enjoyed doing what he did, and he was damn good at it. Being another person was an unfortunate hanger-on to the fact… But doesn’t becoming ‘free’ also mean you have to become yet another new person?

No, that wasn’t quite right. He was just becoming the person he was meant to be before everything else. The person he was born to be.

Although if you’d asked him before, ‘the person he was born to be’ was not the kind of guy he expected to find sitting on a couch, arm locked around the shoulder of someone else, enjoying a quiet Saturday evening watching TV. He’d always assumed things would be a bit more… Exciting.

But then again, it is only Saturday.

It doesn’t take long to shut TAP down. The place was designed to be pulled apart anyway, so it’s only a week or so before the last gold plated toilet is boxed up and shipped to a clueless eBay seller. The train- shining jewel of human ingenuity, unknowing venue of a million killing games, overall tacky piece of shit- is carefully dismantled and scrapped for parts, although the whereabouts of the actual time machine components is a secret known to Lindsay alone. …Well, maybe not just Lindsay. One of the low-level employees saw Employee 001 grab a stack of notes and walk off muttering something about an “infinite wife timeloop”, but they didn’t give it that much thought.

Three days after the Hunt for Red- er, the Yoshioka Expr- er, the Hell Train to Fucksville rolls to its final stop, MEATCOPTER69 springs back to life on all social media. Sorry for the absence, meatlings, but guess what? That’s right- there’s a volcanic island in the middle of the Pacific and it’s about to host the grandest, stupidest influencer tournament ever. The Meatlympics are Manifesting.

Fourteen days after that, the entity known as “MEATCOPTER69”, or Lindsay Tsai, tragically- but, like, kind of awesomely- perishes in a massive explosion at the closing ceremony. It runs on the news for weeks. All of Lindsay’s social media accounts are set to ‘archived’. Long-suffering roommate Akihiko Yamada makes a mint selling most of Lindsay’s belongings to crazed fans.  He’s fine with it, after all. “Lindsay Tsai” is dead, but someone else lives on.

(Somewhere, among the countless articles covering the Meatlympics Tragedy, a fascinating op/ed is published in the Taipei Times by one Emily Tsai which recounts the troubled past of her now-dead younger sibling. By the time it gets translated and spread among the English meatling fanbase, however, many of them have already made peace with the fact their idol probably wasn’t that great of a person.)

Over the next few weeks and months the anonymous backers of the Tsaimeline Alteration Project begin to reap their rewards. A copy of Citizen Kane with them in the background. A realistic prehistoric echidna fursuit. The full, 60-edition run of Sex Thanos. What looks to be, for all intents and purposes, THE original Red Octobers. How these things came to pass, who knows? Forgeries, perhaps? Or did someone shove the time machine into the back of a Honda Civic to get the job done? It doesn’t matter. Time rolls on, and the final threads are tied up.

So, at some point…

[♪♪♪]

“I believe… this is our final goodbye. Hopefully, the restoration of the field will hold...”

Rinpa’s voice rings out behind you, but what he has to say is of little importance. Your watches-- now defunct-- are effortless to remove, should you choose. There is no threat of poison, no invisible boundary that you’ll be punished for crossing. In fact, TAP arranges for each of you to return home, safe and sound.

But never the same.

Despite your knowledge, the media initially seems to have little to say about time travel, or any sort of morphogenetic field. Maybe it’s better that way, or maybe you’re doing everything in your power to change that. Regardless, life seems to do its best to grant you a sense of normalcy.

But how does one go back to normal, after experiencing the span of the multiverse? Where do you go once you travel to the center of the lemniscate? What is left to see when that lemniscate bursts? When you’re the one to heal it?

For some of you, there is no normal to go back to, so you simply make your own. But now, for better or for worse, you’re no longer alone with that decision.

You have a choice, and this time, the stakes aren’t always going to be life or death. There’s no oncoming trolleys, there’s no metaphorical lever to pull to make you complicit in deadly collateral.

For the rest of your lives, you have the freedom of choice after choice after boring, beautiful choice, and the consequences are just as dull and mundane as you could ever hope for. You never have to think about that horrible train, or the morphogenetic whatever for that matter, ever again.

One of those choices is to read a trending article about increasing reports of recurring nightmares. You might choose to read about strangers around the world experiencing disturbances in their sleep, calling them “visions” of a broken moon, an ashen hellscape, an abandoned laboratory.

Or maybe you choose to close the tab, and roll over, and go back to sleep.

It’s a beautiful morning.

The choice is yours.

You feel it, when the field fixes itself.

You feel, too, that you’re not meant to be here— but not in the unsettling, wrong sense that had greeted you, nor in the disconcerting sense you’d felt as the timelines converged on the train, throwing everything into disarray. It feels wrong in a way that’s comforting, almost: this is something beyond you. You no longer need to bother with it. Everything is fine.

There’s a pulling sensation, and just like that

you’re back on the train.

[♪♪♪]

Rinpyon, on the table, collapses— its screen goes black. Smoke pours from its neck, the collective power of the entire field and every timeline having been too much for it to handle.

And then… the air is still and silent. The table and chair beneath you are comfortingly solid. The walls are sturdy, and as you watch, they don’t flicker.

There are nineteen faces around you. You all look at each other, taking in this new sensation— new in that you’d grown so used to the pervasive wrongness that had plagued you since the timelines had begun converging that it’s almost jarring to feel normal. No longer do you feel out of place. No longer do you feel as though the floor beneath you could suddenly vanish, transported to another time and place. No longer do you have to worry about being dead, or dying.

For one of you, Akitoshi Hibayashi, no longer do you have to worry about vanishing from this timeline, forgotten by those who care about you. For another, Lindsay Tsai, no longer do you have to worry about your past mistakes requiring your death to fix. For the rest of you—

It’s as if your memories have been rewritten, but only in the way of things now feeling right. You remember, simultaneously, a high school graduation with everyone present and the game that had brought you to this point. You remember the overwhelming sensation of the morphogenetic field, and the memories you’d set in place to repair it. The pain of the past months of your life hasn’t been erased, but you know now that the horrors are over. You’re here, on the train. Your friends and loved ones are around you.

With time, you stand and gather your things. You make your way to the door of the Yoshioka Express one final time, stepping out onto the platform. Together, the group of you proceed out of the warehouse, through the abandoned facility and to the door, now able to be unlocked. You step outside, into the sun and fresh air.

It was the morning, when you all boarded the train so many months ago. Now, the sun slowly begins to set over the horizon. You stand together, some hands clasped in hands, some arms around shoulders, and though the connection of the field has faded, you all feel the same, refreshing sensation: peace.

You feel something swell in your subconscious.

You’re more certain than ever…

It’s the final stretch.

In quick succession, you see IUSTISE brushing some ash off of a custom tailored outfit for

You remember Katashi Aoyama. You remember his sweeping, grand gestures when speaking to the class, and how whether he was on a stage or merely having a conversation in the hallways, he naturally created a spotlight for himself, dimming the halls as to become the sole source of glittering light. You remember his voice carried down the hall, through the theatre, across the courtyard, dramatics intertwined so lavishly you wonder if he wrote a script for himself. You remember the blue ribbon from his hair, and the ceremony that followed it's culling, the shedded tears and the goofy celebration. Maybe you remember how goody-goody he could be, calling out on your -- their -- cheating, demanding justice in grades. Maybe you fought him about it. Maybe it's only now you realize that he only wanted you to succeed on your own merit.

You see MONET painting the awful, lonely landscape of the apocalyptic

You remember Koyo Yanagihara. You remember his constant smile, though perhaps less unsettling at the time than it’s been in the present. You recall that, despite the unsavory crowd he hung around with, he was always happy to talk to anyone, whether in detention or when competing for the top grades in the class. There was a near-miss, where it seemed like he might not graduate with the rest of you-- but when he returned from the hospital weeks later, none of his pleasantness had waned, even if he was a bit more quiet. It seemed like what he wanted most was to be friends with everyone, so it’s no wonder he would invite you all to a reunion years later for the chance to see you again.

You push your consciousness further through, and see TSUBAKI dressing an animatronic

You remember Shizuo Sasaki. You remember seeing him constantly in the garden, white hair and gold eyes shining brightly in the sunlight. Maybe you even listened to one of his many rambles on the various plants and flowers Yoshioka was growing. A warm smile comes to your mind, as does someone who would constantly drop what he was doing to help anyone. And how could you forget his younger brother, constantly following after him - and doing that weird chuuni bit, too?

The pressure from the field is diminishing.

In each of these timelines, you realize, there’s been the constant presence of MEATCOPTER69, alive or

You’ve always remembered Lindsay Tsai, despite everything. You remember the studious, introverted bookworm who would turn down your invitations to social gatherings. He had to devote to his studies, and you remember the results. Top marks across the board, but at what cost? Maybe you remember not bothering to engage with him at the time, or maybe you tried with minimal success, or maybe you were one of the few people to have a meaningful conversation with him. But even if his presence was minimal back then, it still was, and you know deep down that it wouldn’t have been the same at all without him. You know it like you know your own self, and after a moment of resistance, the universe starts to believe you.

You see GONBE, with Rinpa at his side, begin the process of shifting back to

Finally, completely, you remember Akitoshi Hibayashi. You remember him taking class casually-- too casually-- that same grin on his face as he’d pipe up to say something off the cuff to piss you off -- make you laugh -- cheer you up -- leave you wondering just what the hell he was talking about. You remember the sound of a recorder echoing down the halls, sometimes grating, sometimes skilled, always quintessentially him. And even if the memories are tainted now by what he’s done, you remember back then just how easy he was to be around, no matter who you were. You remember that he was around. You’ll remember that he will be around. And you remember, right now, that he is around.

You remember.

You remember.

You remember.

You can feel it.

You’re almost there.

But you’ve got some more remembering to do.

It doesn’t stop, as you see MOTHMAN pouring over schematics you couldn’t possibly

You remember Keiji Tsutsumi, whether he wanted you to or not. You remember his bleached hair, his defiant gait, his sneer and cold shoulder. You mostly remember his test scores, top of the class and expectedly so when the picture of him rattling out numbers and terms your brain doesn't even know how to process comes to mind. You remember fights, heavy in swears and jeers as he's lifted by his collar and slammed against a wall, spat at yet unphased and grinning as his words confuse the attacker -- or you -- until a certain blonde rushes in to calm things. Most of your memories of him involve a blur of blonde hair, in fact, as without his second part he's buried in his work, hidden off to the side, avoiding interaction. You think about reaching out, or you did, and it's only now you find him reaching back.

Yet another timeline unravels, showing BIGFOOT looking around the laboratory for

You remember Kazuya Sato. You remember that lazy smile, those heavy lidded eyes peeking over the top of a magazine he's showing you, opened to an article about a haunted shrine nearby. You remember him asking and you declining -- accepting -- sputtering an excuse -- boasting how unafraid you are -- and then tagging along with him after school regardless. You remember the seance he held in third year, more serious than you thought he'd be, hopeful for something, for someone, but smiling along as others goofed off around him. Maybe you remember watching him bike to and from school, uphill in the winter, bundled up like a snowman himself, teeth chattering long into the school day. And of course, like someone else, you remember a delinquent-looking boy by his side, so consistently with him you'd assume they moved hand-in-hand, or he had grown a second shadow. You know he'd be excited about that if it did happen.

Ysee ARACHNIDA, arms outstretched as she twirls under the red and broken moon with horrific delight at

You remember Ume Karasu. You remember her braids bouncing as she laughed, peals of giggles bubbling up at the strangest of times. But you also remember how genuine she was, despite it all. You remember her showing up to every event, every game, every performance -- a figure in the crowd you could always count on, whether you wanted to or not. You remember the rotten apples and the awful food and the love that she so carefully poured into every gesture, backwards and broken as it was. Maybe it repulsed you, or maybe you learned to appreciate it, find solace in the consistency. If there was ever one thing you could rely on, it was that venom smile and glowing red eyes, complimenting you even on your worst days for merely being at your worst.

In yet another timeline, you see CLOUDSPOTTER arguing with a small version of

You remember Larcei Magnolia, and you especially remember her name now. Despite her best efforts to blend into the background, you remember bumping into her in the hallways -- front gate -- rooftop -- music room -- and the brief conversations she powered through to move on. You remember seeing her name on the program of events, but sometimes completely missing her when she goes up, so out of the limelight she could have been behind the curtains the whole time. You remember, possibly, her friends she spent much more time with, people you didn't know and only saw with her, rough looking students that always seemed half-asleep. Maybe you remember wanting to talk to her, to them -- and maybe you did-- but getting hardly any progress of stepping into that world of hers. You know now Larcei is a face you’ll always see on stage, light on her or not.

Almost as if waiting for you, you see UNLIMITED RANGER fighting the fabric of timespace itself as he returns to

You remember Mugen Kizaki. Of course you remember him. You remember, more than anything, his evergreen smile as he would greet you each morning in class, booming and bright and the classroom sunshine, gleaming even on the rainiest of days. You remember his persistent enthusiasm for class projects, for class events, and how he attempted to rope you in and involve you, no matter how reclusive you tried to be -- shoving pencil crayons and markers onto you desk to help make posters, taking your hand and leading you out to where the class was making cultural festival booths, dropping tools into your arms before you could even utter an excuse -- a remark -- a question. Maybe you joined him with equal enthusiasm, or maybe you managed to slip away. You remember he never held it against you if you did. You remember now, looking back, how different life was leading up to graduation -- overcast in weather and taking steps away, his voice missing where you always remembered it should be.

The timelines are thinning.

Alone, you would have long since succumbed.

But you’re not. And you’ll never be alone again.

Yet another timeline wraps around your mind, with CLARION pouring over notes and trying to comprehend

You remember Aurora Kannon. You remember squeaking sneakers on the gym floor, diving to save a volleyball and sending it in a pretty arc to the setter. You remember the cheers -- yours -- theirs -- and the hugs when they won.You definitely remember her voice, hot like a whip when it cracked through the halls, the courtyard, the side corners on campus. You remember tears pricking her eyes while she winds her arm back and smashes it into another girl's face, you in the crowd -- watching a wobbly feed on a cell phone -- pressing on a video player on Twitter. Maybe you remember her sitting with you at lunch, weaving in and out of groups nonchalantly, talking about anything at all, to anyone at all. Maybe it meant more to you than you were willing to admit at the time.

Still, you see MERCEDES surrounded by red ash as she wanders

You remember Mercedes Luz. You remember someone far more tame than the star that gleams across top 50 charts around the world; a clumsy flirt to the girls, serenading them from the ground level outside, up to the classrooms several levels above him. You remember the bodies squished together to peer out the window at her, squeeing, laughing, rolling their eyes. Maybe you remember seeing her at tryouts for soccer -- swimming -- basketball -- volleyball -- everything -- chin tilted up, winking, and grinning just before he fell flat on his face. You remember the music, the guitar riffs, the singing, and performances filled with love and sweat and dreams he would one day fulfill.

Another timeline clips into view, where you see SWEEPER staring deeply into that horrible, broken

You remember Guy Cleansgoode. As tempting as it is to remember Rodney from Alabama, or Gilles Mann, your memory of that enthusiastic and eager classmate prevails. You remember laughing, good-spirited, as he beat his fist against his chest and declared his plans to be a boxer, top chef, movie star, surgeon, CEO, inventor, everything, anything, big and bright and ambitious. You remember his grades -- high but not top, his worth ethic making it far too easy for him -- her -- them -- you -- to kick up your legs and bum off as he finished the group project all by himself. You remember the devotion to everything, and the days after exams when you watched -- listened -- spoke to him, about how he did a good job when he felt he didn't. Your memory would not be complete without him.

Another timeline, and you see HELLRAISER’s eyes light up, announcing to the empty ashen world that it’s time for

You remember Tomie Katsukawa, and she made goddamned sure of that. You remember that big, sharklike smirk whenever she had an idea, remark, reference to some twisted plot or scene from a horror movie. Sharp smile and even sharper eyes honing in on you from across the hallway, ideas already spilling from her mouth in excited, passionate rambles as she flags you down. You remember watching her shoot footage of others, or of you, and you remember fog machines and props swiped from the drama club storage to cover a spring evening in eerie plumes of fog, someone tugging a staggering, distorted figure across a grassy field. You remember her laugh, booming over students' shrill shrieks at something gross, her shouldering through to get a better look at it, snap some pictures, spout some extra icky facts and details about whatever was found. You grimace -- smirk -- turn away -- ask questions -- and she reacts to them with amusement all the same. It's no wonder that the entire country would come to remember her, too.

Yet another punctured timeline, and you see FRANKENSTEIN laughing, or maybe crying, as they plan

You remember Alice Kishinami. You remember their quiet demeanor, sure, but you also remember the eccentric spark that had them questioning everything that fluttered by them; curious and eager in the name of research and discovery. You remember walking by the science room after evening club activities, the light still on and her form hunched over a notebook, scrawling and scribbling and then reaching out to drop something in a test tube. Maybe you remember doubletaking when you saw them squatting with delinquents, coughing out smoke -- maybe you remember being the one to give her the cigarette, being the one to find her skipping class and doing things with reckless abandon. You remember the dedication, the fire in their eyes, the feeling that there might have always been time running out.

You see a timeline where SLIDE is forgotten, left to wander aimlessly in

You remember Jinki Noguchi. You remember the flying chairs and clattering desks knocked to their sides, his fist twisted in his -- hers -- their -- your -- shirt collar, as his growl prompts another classroom fight. Maybe you remember him balancing on the two back legs of his chair, half sprawled out on your desk waving a crumpled thousand yen bill in front of your nose, sliding his unfinished homework closer to you. Maybe you remember the rooftop guitar strumming, the jumping of fences and laughter when the chain on his pants got caught on a twisted wire, the spending five minutes counting coins on a WcDonald’s checkout counter for a large fries, the bumming off a cigarette from him, or him to you, the sitting in dingy arcades under burnt lights as he kicks the side of the machine for his tokens back.

You see another timeline where HIMAWARI is stranded, smile waning as the weeks of isolation

You remember Hinata Fukumoto. You remember her laugh, the crinkle by her eyes when she smiled, and how she was always eager to volunteer to sweep the floors or clean the chalk from the brushes when you were running late for something, her waving her hands slowly in front of her face and oh, no, don’t worry at all! Or maybe you remember her in art class, paint splattered in places you didn’t even know you could reach with just a paintbrush in hand, and then watching others -- you -- spend hours after class picking paint from her hair that she'd missed. Or you remember her sitting out on a bench in the courtroom before school, her book bag neatly by her side and notebook on her lap, how she perked up when she heard her name being called. Sitting next to her, gentle and patient as she helped you through your algebra. If anyone deserved to be the class representative, it was certainly her.

Another timeline weaves into focus, with DESPERADO tediously building a

You remember Kakeru Kinokyu. Seriously, how could you not? With a lightning-strike heart to his firecracker personality, a story always followed him wherever he went. You remember him hanging from trees, upside down, tangled in branches, laughing and laughing and didja get that on camera? You remember the trips to the nurse’s office -- watching him leave with someone -- huffing as you walk with him -- him grinning at the nurse when she asked what he did this time. You remember his hand shooting up when a student was asked to volunteer for something, or jumping forward in the gym before anyone else could, ready to demonstrate anything, whatever, he would figure it out along the way. You remember that for every bruise or scrape he had that day, he always had a smile and a story to go with it. I mean, you saw the video, right?

But then you see SAEMI studying that awful, abandoned lab in the

You remember Lily Nakahara. You remember a tiny figure in the back of the class, the end of the line, folded in on herself in a crowd, trying to shrink beyond what little her presence already was. You remember her peeking into the drama club sometimes, her eyes glittering, her lips pressed tight shut. Those same eyes you see in every theatre performance looking up at you -- sparkling at the stage from your audience row. Maybe you remember actually reaching out, startling her like a mouse, assuring her during exam week, or nudging her to pursue her interests. And maybe you wouldn’t realize for years to come how much it meant to her, the gentle conversations, the smiles and waves, the acknowledgment and encouragement. She would bloom into something so gorgeous, so kind, years to come.

Even still, you see TANUKI holding their head as the pressure of the

You remember Mokichi Mamizuka. You remember them being late to class most of all, and all the different ways he tried to sneak in: crouched over and shuffling -- hidden behind his textbooks -- gunning straight to his desk -- ducking behind others -- but always catching the attention of the teacher, whether or not their back was turned or not. You remember them sleeping, behind their books or buried in homework, conked out long after class had already ended, or during lunch when balancing games would take place, where others -- you -- would make towers on their head until they woke up. Or maybe you remember him asking for homework help, study help, hands pressed together in prayer and bent over at the waist, begging and grinning lopsided up at you -- him -- her -- them -- when he got a yes. You remember jam sessions in sunrays out on the grass, and the lazy strums on a summer’s day in class, eyes closed and humming.

You open your eyes-- but maybe you’re better off leaving them shut, because they won’t do you any good here. Your senses are overwhelmed by a sort of metaphysical pressure-- it’s impossible to describe at first. Only after choking past the initial wave do you begin to recognize the presence of knowledge, of information, flooding into your mind without ceasing. Formulas, events, secrets-- your mind somehow strains to process and understand the constant influx, but you remember the reason you’re here.

(La la la la…)

And that memory serves as an anchor, keeping you grounded while this unknowable force threatens to overwhelm you.

A voice whirls around your consciousness; it feels like light in the form of jellyfish ribbons, or the halfmoon betta’s tail fin. Washing a silk scarf in a river. Hanging up sheets on a windy day.

Except you are the current, you are the breeze.

And a woman’s voice echoes around you, blanketing you in support when your memory may fail you. She sings differently than she did at the talent show, or through tears -- this feels like starlight, fireflies that dance by you.

You see everything, and nothing, and something beyond this world, this time, this cosmos. And you see her, and you don’t see her, and her voice wraps around you and carries you on the path you’re meant to follow. She’s there with her arms outstretched, dressed in sunlight, her hands held out for you to take. I know the way, she sings, I have been here before, and I will not let you drown.

Take a breath.

Let it out.

And if you are lost, I will be here to bring you back, as you once did for me.

The information begins to take form in your mind-- almost like film strips superimposed over each other, playing and overlapping endlessly. You can see-- you can feel-- holes torn through them, and only now can you truly see the damage.

This is what I saw, another voice says. A friendly voice, a familiar voice.

Timelines that were meant to run peacefully parallel to each other have interwoven almost beyond recognition, but with Rinpyon’s reversing the flow of information, you stand a chance to avoid becoming entangled in the void of timespace.

The plan you’ve all come up with has been outlined by Akaji: use your connection to the timelines where you were in his place to access the morphogenetic field, and then convince it that everything is normal here. If you succeed, both Akaji and Lindsay should be able to coexist in the same timeline, and your ordeal should be over. The splintering of the timelines should fix itself, and there will no longer be a risk of you all being flung out of time if things worsen further.

...That’s if it works, though. It seems a bit far-fetched-- using the power of friendship, like some sort of JRPG? Could that sort of thing actually work?

[♪♪♪]

You’ve felt it, though. As this journey has gone on, your connections have grown stronger-- in both the literal sense, with your ability to send messages back and forth growing full-fledged, and in the less literal. You’re closer, aren’t you? Even as your trust in each other has gone up and down through the pressures of the killing game, this high school class has grown into a group of friends and even family. Ones determined enough to go against what seems ordained by the timelines and the universe itself in order to get everyone out alive. Determined enough, or at the very least stubborn enough when facing down an unlikely option.

So if anyone could do it, it would certainly be you, right?

“... ‘course it could,” Akaji says, standing up once more and turning his head to another part of the room.

Rinpa has been sitting to the side this entire time, his paws folded together pensively. Rinpyon, beside him, looks uncharacteristically solemn.

“Hey, you two.” There’s something like affection in Akaji’s voice. It’s the first time you’ve heard him address either of them like this. “You’ve been listening, yeah? Think you can help me out one last time?”

Rinpa sighs, heavily. “It is… potentially possible to reverse the flow of information from the field, but… I’m not capable of it… it would be a task more suited to one already displaced in time…” His clock-eyed gaze drops over to…

Rinpyon. The rabbit creature only half of you know, and who those half generally hate. It has a smile on its screen face. “It’z okay! I can do it! I’m not even supposed to be here anyway, ROFL. I was born in the wrong era...”

Despite the annoying X3 expression on its face, Rinpa still looks sad. “I wish there was some way we could…”

Rinpyon reaches over to give him a tight hug. “Don’t worry! It’s my job to help you guyz out! Maybe Akaji can rebuild me later? That would be totally epic! XD!”

...It seems you may never be free of it. The two robot creatures exchange a hug for a moment longer before Rinpyon steps back and hops up onto the table in front of you all.

Akaji nods at it, then turns to you all with a grin. “You guys ready?”

The screen on Rinpyon’s face suddenly blacks out. A second later, lines and lines of unreadable information begin to scroll across it, faster and faster until you feel as if they’ve gone beyond the screen, and are filling your entire field of vision instead. It’s becoming more and more difficult to see the train, and you shut your eyes against the onslaught of information. The last thing you hear is Rinpa’s voice:

“You know what you have to do, right…?”

All throughout this game, Rinpa has been telling you that you need to remember. You’ve received glimpses of what it is you forgot, but not the full picture. And again in this trial, Akaji has told you his goal was to make you remember. And now, you’re close.

You’re so close.

So one last time…

Akaji lets out a hum, leaning back.

“Alright, let me get this straight. You guys wanna use the timelines where you were the missing students to hook yourselves up to the field, and then use the timelines where everything is normal there to convince the field that everything is normal here?”

There’s a pause.

And then, after a moment, he snorts.

“I mean, it sounds crazy, but this is coming from the guy who set up a death game to cement himself in reality. And it’s not like the timelines aren’t already overlapping, so sure, we might as well use that to our advantage. Let’s give it a shot, yeah?”

Tomie is — oh, god, she feels soppy and sappy and encouraged by the contributions of Gilles Mann and Kakeru Kinokyu. What is happening? Mutual killing is one hell of a drug. 

It’s no surprise, of course, that she feels a swell of fondness toward Lindsay and Lily when they each speak up. There are some lingering questions about who, exactly, she has to jump for making each of them cry. Does she have to kick Lindsay’s ass? Akaji’s? Does she have to kick her own ass? 

She’ll figure it out later. For now, she looks at Lindsay —

“Of course we’re going to power of friendship this shit! You’ve got a whole train of people who either never got good at being told what to do or got really good at it, fucked their lives up, and decided they were done. We’re not getting all the way to the end and then deciding to take marching orders from a field. Or a pair of weepy little dorks in fancy little outfits.”

She smiles so wide at both of the aforementioned dorks that her eyes are forced shut. ^^

“But you two have to help us out, okay? You know how to get in, so help us get in.”

It occurs to her that this may be the Cabin in the Woods ending.

At the end of that movie, the two surviving characters decide the system of human sacrifice that keeps their reality intact isn’t worthwhile. They’re told to kill each other. They say no. They pull down the pillars instead. 

And the world ends. Marty and Dana, final boy and final girl, share a cigarette and get wiped out by the fist of a forgotten god before they finish it.

Joss Whedon, who wrote the movie, has described this ending as reflective of a childish, impractical, fuck-the-system mentality that twenty-somethings like Marty and Dana tend to have. It’s not really worth it. It’s just the kind of thing you believe before you grow out of it.

But, honestly?

If there’s one principle Tomie lives and writes by, it’s fuck Joss Whedon. 

For what at least feels like the first time since this trial began, Lily breathes a sigh of relief.

Sure, the option of literally murdering Lindsay was still very much on the table, but now it doesn't seem so... inevitable? People were looking for other options? Lindsay, inventor of actual time travel, so sure he had exhausted all other possibilities, was looking for other options? There's no guarantee any of them will work, of course, but even just the possibility that maybe no one has to die and that things might turn out okay is enough to make her--

She's already crying. Well, you know. She just hopes that maybe people will finally be able to work together... and find a way to get everyone out of here safely. Like she'd been wishing they'd do from the beginning.

"Th-the morphogenetic field..." she mutters, dabbing her face with her sleeve again. She's trying to calm down, she promises. "Right... there must be, um, a lot of timelines out there that are just... normal. Where none of this... none of this happens, with the time travel, and the killing game, and the... you know. W-we should... try to use those, right...? A-and maybe, um, convince the, um... th-the field, that everything is normal...? That, um, would feel better to me, than trying to convince it that Tsai-san is gone, but... m-maybe there's already too much damage done for that... I'm not sure..."

She says, as if there was a chance of her ever being sure. She's far from a stranger to being indecisive to her own detriment, but she'd rather it not be a detriment to everyone else, as well...

That's enough crying. Lindsay grumbles and calms down enough to talk.

"...Actually, Kakeru, you're not incorrect. There's a million zillion parallel timelines in general, including ones where nobody got deleted at all. There's ones where, uh-"

He pauses. He's too embarrassed to say anything, but he's definitely thinking of the alternate timelines where Lindsay (1) and Akaji got together at some point in time before time travel got invented and everyone got saved a whole lot of heartache. 

"...I just... never have the need to invent time travel. There isn't an 'original' timeline to speak of, just an infinite amount of parallel ones where slightly different things happen every time. In the ones we're all used to, my life fucks up and I invent time travel over and over. But there's a million more where, uh... my life doesn't go so bad. So..."

...He feels a little silly that a whole scope of solutions are being suggested now that he hadn't thought of before, but, to be fair, he never would have thought about these in the first place. He never would have considered his classmates would actually be willing to put time and effort into manifesting a reality where both he and Akaji get to walk away in one piece.

Alright, so his idea was getting some support. That's good. He was very much prepared to retreat back to doing absolutely nothing if anyone laughed at his idea of going all power of friendship on this. He's rubbing his temples to think.

"... Alright, what if we took a bit of Kakeru's idea? Is there any way for us to tap into the other timelines? Just for a moment. I- what if we tapped into the timelines where all of us, each one of us, had to... You know. Do what Akaji has done. So we could sync up with the morphogenetic field there? So that we could all get that same, uh... Attunement to it?"

Of course, he has no ideas on the "how" of this plan, but he can leave that to Akaji and Lindsay. Surely, if they've done all of this, they can figure out some timeline drifting.

Surely.

"... And once we're all tapped in." heh, TAPped in "... I, hm. If we could focus the field to try and quite literally overwhelm it for long enough that it stops noticing Lindsay..." He closes his eyes and thinks. "Then wouldn't that make it think he's dead, and we can hop over that requirement? We could overwhelm his 'signal' with our collective own 'signal' and make the field think he's gone." He tilts his head. "After all, it's not like the field has eyes or ears. It's just got the connection, right? So if it thinks that connection's gone, it should be fine. Right?"