placidity

TO: Kyle Klim

FROM: Sigma Klim

(1/3) Because people are dying and much to YOUR surprise, I’m sure, I am  (2/3) I am (3/3) ,,,mmm,,,,

Give him 3 minutes.

TO: Dr. Sigma Klim FROM: Kyle Klim

TO: Kyle Klim

FROM: Sigma Klim

TO: Dr. Sigma Klim FROM: Kyle Klim

TO: Kyle Klim

FROM: Sigma Klim

TO: Dr. Sigma Klim FROM: Kyle Klim

[ ♉ ] TAVROS: tAVROS 1S MY NAME, 1 DON’T KNOW WHERE 1 GOT 1T, [ ♉ ] TAVROS: tHERE ARE A BUNCH OF TROLLS HERE AND 1′M TOO T1RED TO COUNT, bUT WE ARE A FORCE TO BE RECKONED W1TH, 1F RECKONED W1TH, [ ♉ ] TAVROS: aND THESE GAMES ARE ONLY GONNA BE HERE FOR A B1T, tHERE’S SOME FEST1VAL R1GHT NOW AND 1T’S GO1NG TO GO AWAY SOON,

Kyle said, “Oh, I see!” and then, “But why do you need your cellphone? Is it going to run out very soon?” Cellphones had clocks in addition to their more communicative features, didn’t they?

She laughed weakly, but it was getting harder and harder to believe this was all a mistake, all amnesia. Eventually she’d have to come accept that this was some sort of reality, but she found herself avoiding that all the while. At least it wasn’t her reality, she repeated to herself. She knew that, she remembered correctly. She had to. If she had died, she definitely would have known. That’s just a thing a person’s aware of, right? It wasn’t like she could have amnesia or anything. After all she remembered everything pretty clearly.

“Sorry, but that’s kinda weird too. I mean like that’s the name Akane went by.”

How did Kyle even know about that? Why would he consider himself K? He acted as if the name was something Clover would be more comfortable with and it was familiar, but. K was the name of the person she spent a good portion of the AB Game with. Kyle was not that person. 

Would that have been preferable? If he were asleep during the game, and sealed in a pod all along, it meant his father had never put him in that kind of danger--it meant he wouldn’t have died, or witnessed the deaths of the others (who, according to Clover, hadn’t died, either). But it meant he never would have even met them. When he awoke--if he awoke--he would still simply be alone. ...Maybe that was better, after all.

If nothing else, he wished he had had the chance to choose. But that right, like every other, rested solely with Sigma. Of course, he thought, asleep.

“Is it really,” he said. “Then call me Kyle. I don’t mind. That may be best, after all.”

Maybe it would have been easier to stomach if he had been asleep, and had never walked among them as K. It wouldn’t feel like such a loss of that identity if he had never worn it, would it? But he had, and he was--and for a moment he begrudged Akane even that, even as he recognized that her survival was akin to a miracle.

Love is what reduces the destruction induced by the human touch.

So this, every bit of it can only be accredited to his own negligence and errors, he’s well aware–well aware of the wrong he’s done unto his son, well aware of what it’s created.

So as Kyle pulls away, he looks at him, features unchanging and stoic and merely rolls his shoulders, prior to heaving a sigh. However, his gaze flickers back towards his son as he hears what can only be described as the onslaught of a choked sob–his gestures are sporadic, comprehensible to him and only him. Wordlessly, he draws out a handkerchief from his pocket, extending his arm as if he were to toss it in his direction–only to then hesitate and gradually pull back, clearing his throat as he gradually motions it towards him.

“You can cry, if you want.”

“I’d much rather you not poke an eye out with those fingers of yours. We match well enough as it is.”

A silence lingers and he rolls his shoulders once again–however, he looks at him. He looks at him and blinks, all upon hearing a single statement–the ‘I don’t knows.’ He looks at him, with what appears to be shock, a single eye widening and–

He laughs. He throws his head back and laughs a laugh strained with a bitterness, or perhaps a melancholy of his own–an unscrupulous sort of melancholy not fully understood by even himself.

His head bobs downwards, and his gaze levels–shaking his head, he speaks at last.

“I don’t know. Quite the surprise, isn’t it? The prospect of your deadbeat, villainous father not knowing something. The possibility that said deadbeat, villainous father is as human as you are. I don’t know, but sometimes, it’s better to relish in uncertainty. Sometimes, uncertainty is the exact factor one needs for a plan to succeed. After all–uncertainty is what provides us with risk, provides us with new possibilities. Would you believe me–…if I said you were one of the individuals who taught me this?”

He heaves a breath once more, a lone eye darting to the side.

“Do you,” he says, a pang of anxiety resonating in his stomach for the first time in centuries. Such a foreign, yet familiar feeling–a state of being he was far too accustomed to. Yet, this time it was different. This time–…

It was a matter of knowing that for once he had no control over his son’s fate, or the risks that could plague him. If something were to happen, for once…

It wouldn’t be in his hands.

Yet–

Of course he can cry. He doesn’t need permission, he thinks angrily, while he begins to cry once again. What he wouldn’t give for a concrete reason to refuse the handkerchief! Just to spite his father’s kindness, now that it’s been finally, awfully offered. But. But that would mean succumbing to the spontaneity of emotion. For a moment, Kyle considers that idea, too.

...But he takes the handkerchief, after a pause. He wipes his eyes delicately, and mumbles something about how it would be quite the feat to poke out his own eyes with fingers this blunt, and doesn’t meet his father’s gaze. At least, he tries not to--but when he hears laughter, he finds himself looking up. What could there possibly be to laugh about? ...Should he be laughing too? But he doesn’t know what’s funny. Kyle watches with bleary, desperate eyes, and tries to understand where the sudden mirth is coming from.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he finds himself saying, and hears that echo again: I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything? Isn’t that part of your job? How can uncertainty be a factor when you’ve been planning for years and years? Have I really done anything besides interfere with your all-important project?”

He certainly can’t have taught his all-knowing, all-controlling (human, uncertain) father anything. And so what if, as an infant, he was cherished briefly for what he represented--success, and human life, and warmth, and hope? He doesn’t represent any of those things anymore. Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe, maybe--

Maybe when his father extends the offer, it’s because he doesn’t matter anymore, because it’s not worth caring, now that they’re here.

(Maybe it’s because he’s free to care as much as he can, as much as he never could before, and he’s decided to care about what Kyle wants, for once.)

She found herself lacking in her usual confidence, for some reason. Wasn’t it fall when she was taken? So why was the city in springtime? Her calendars showed the current month as April, so it wasn’t just another hemisphere. Did they keep her out for an entire winter, or was it that they have artificial weather, too?

“…2021. It was definitely 2021.”

Wasn’t it?

“Y-yes. Yes, exactly like in a mystery novel.”

Jyotsna could help but grin at that – after all, mystery novels were what got her into the whole thing in the first place.

“Well, in reality, there’s a lot more menial work than in fiction. Files to keep track of, info to gather, data to analyze. You don’t just catch a murderer every day, of course. But that’s not to say it’s without any glory.”

Wasn’t she in the middle of looking into… some… thing before she was taken? No, that didn’t make sense. What would she have been working on? Her mentor didn’t have any cases for her, and she couldn’t work alone, so what was it? Was it anything?

“I don’t know what this city considers its year,” he said, “but when I was abducted, it was January of the year 2074, I believe. Although... I did lose some of my memory, so I may be wrong. My father and his partner were taken from 2029 or so. I don’t know what month that was. You don’t have to believe me, but at least consider that it seems strange.”

She probably wasn’t going to believe him. At least he had the armor to back up his point--although that was hardly proof, either.

For all the time he had had to read, he didn’t know mystery novels very well at all. He nodded as if he knew what she was talking about.

Always so quick to assume the worst of me. I haven’t the time for relaxation–nor will I ever. There’s still work to be done here, still duties for myself to fulfill. But you…

You’ve fulfilled your role in my little scheme as well as witnessed the fruition of–or rather a part of–my efforts. You’ve played my game. To some extent, you know… know what I worked towards all these years. You don’t know anything about me at all, you said. Then I’ll start with this:”

He leans forward, snaking a singled gloved hand around Kyle’s neck to meet the back of his head–his index finger presses against the button with ease, as if he’d memorized every detail, every nook and cranny of that suit he wore. 

Unlocked. So he’d been abducted during that timeline.

It’s then that he brings yet another to Kyle’s helmet, now grasping his head by the sides–wordlessly, he slips said helmet off, his gaze now meeting that of a boy who wore the same face as him.

“I was 46 when you were born. I was in what one could call a depressive slump–the worst I’ve yet to experience in my lifetime. Everything… felt so hopeless. I wondered why, why I was forced to carry this burden for the sake of a world that would scorn me. I wondered what use there was in trying, I dreaded the life I lived and the little substance it had, everyday was… nothing more than a blur. I resorted to smoking as a recreational activity, knowing well that it would be a detriment to my health despite my inability to die as any other. 

I had to create you… for something great. Something greater than the both of us. I did it because I had to. I’d failed quite a few times prior to your birth–but your nativity… it was different. You cried–so powerfully, so loudly it shook the base. It was the most dreadful yet… liveliest sound I had heard in decades.

After the general precautions and medical procedures were done and dealt with, I heaved you into my arms. All of you… was me. Every bit of you. I stared. I stared, and you stared back as I held you… it had been so long since I last felt warmth in my arms. You looked at me and reached out, and for the first time in decades– …rather, a millennium, I felt… affection… care…”

“I felt… love for another human being. I felt the desire to keep moving onwards, the desire to live.

Perhaps the truth of the matter is that I am the villain. To you, to the participants of the Ambidex Game, to the very world itself. I still have a duty to fulfill and there is always work to be done–I cannot tell you what will become of your fate, nor can I tell you everything regarding my own plans.

Of course he didn’t have time to relax. Of course he didn’t so much as have time to humor Kyle’s needs--but he's still talking, and...

The words slip and tumble over him. It’s impossible; it’s overwhelming; it’s easy to become lost in the immediate need to understand. To justify what’s happening. To rationalize it away as inevitable, part of the scheme, part of the plan. But the reality is that it isn’t, and it can’t be: his father is here, and is talking to him, openly, for once, and here Kyle can barely so much as pay attention--

And here Kyle, paying attention, finds himself terrified. It’s not possible. It can’t be possible. He can’t let himself believe in this, because his eyes are bitterly hot and wet and something in his throat, some terrible lump, has started to choke him. Twenty-two years, and now? You build a living hell, you engineer death and hurt and misery, and now?

He waits, he waits. He watches, waiting. And when his father has finished speaking, he pulls rather roughly away, wiping his eyes angrily with metal fingers.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he says with some bitterness. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this now,” and, unexpectedly, his voice breaks. He brings up a hand to cover his mouth. His eyes stare at the ground, unseeing. His shoulders shake. His face, now bare--unfamiliarly revealed--must contort terribly. From within, it’s difficult to tell.

Come to think of it, hadn’t someone told her that they were in some ridiculous year? 2016? 15? She didn’t have the year set to show on her phone or computer, so she hadn’t had a moment to really think about it. But, speaking of which, both of them seemed to be somewhat older models than what she was used to.

“…No, that’s silly. It’s not literally possible to go back in time. It’s most likely the city’s just using older designs and the like for… whatever reason.”

Oh, she just had to run her mouth, didn’t she. Now she was going to have to really make her accomplishments sound impressive – they weren’t exactly special compared to some of the things she’d heard in the city.

“Ehem. Well. Least impressive is that I was the captain of my kendo team in high school. Moreso is that I’ve never lost a match so long as I’ve held the position. Aside from that, I’ve assisted in solving several cases which resulted in incarceration – but that was just a warmup. I’m a full-fledged detective now.”

“What year was it when you were abducted?” he said simply. 2074, he thought, and he thought about his father, and Akane.

He listened to her list in benign silence. High school? The mere fact of her having attended was more interesting to him than any kendo club. (He didn’t say that, though. It would have sounded strange.) Something about cases...? Oh! A detective! His eyes widened in polite surprise. His LED eyes changed also, to express this.

“Really, a detective? Like in a mystery novel? Have you solved any very interesting murders? What is it like? I’ve never met a detective before.”

“I know what you mean. Metaphorically speaking, time does seem out of whack here. Probably because we’ve been so mercilessly ripped from our lives, everything we experience feels wrong or strange.”

Still going with the metaphor thing, aren’t you.

“Well. I’m not normal, no. I’m exceptional. If you’d like to know my accomplishments, I’m willing to share them. However, don’t expect those to be my standard. They’re nothing compared to what I’m capable of now.”

“I suppose that’s also true,” he said. “Although before I was taken here, things were already rather strange. And now I find that they become stranger and stranger. Time may be metaphorically ‘out of whack’, but it is also literally out of order.”

It was only going to confuse her, probably, but didn’t she deserve to know as much as he did? They were both stuck here, after all.

At her next words, however, Kyle was impressed.