Rhodes Island Archives

To love someone was a choice made and a truth you often wished you did not learn of. The thoughts loitered and persisted more than usual today. Even as the reports spread upon the desk called for your attention, even as the portable music player hummed with a familiar song, even as you sat in a spare Rhodes Island office with countries of distance to separate you from the source did reality still plague you. Neither an unwanted nor unloved child; the opposite was far more true, but to be cared for as family was unrelated to being liked as a person.

Not a choice, but an obligation.

After so many years, it almost ceased to bother you. Only almost. After all, you could not blame the circumstances—all was average enough. You barely caused more or less trouble than any other child growing up and everyone knew that. The sad fact, to you, was it simply was; being an obligation was just your lot upon birth and nothing gutted you worse than that. All the effort and intent of more years than you could recall made no difference. Not a single preference remembered, no requests ever honoured, and of course never fault to be found in anyone but yourself. Because love is a choice and that was how your parents chose to love you: not as a person, but an obligation.

The plastic tip of the pen cracked with an audible snap and the deluge of ink was instantaneous. Before you could think to move your too tightly gripped tool aside, your report was ruined by the dark stain and scattered splotches. You sighed with little care for the papers themselves.

"Again, huh? Maybe I should ask Closure for a custom pen next," you mused to yourself with a smile.

Just a small curl of your lips that never meant anything. Anyone else on the landship could easily recall the expression since it never seemed to leave your face. You always smiled. You had to smile. If you just smiled enough, maybe someday it would be real and every moment before could follow in such irrational footsteps of your delusional—

Clack clack clack!

The wood frame of the free-use office door rattled on its hinges as a visitor tapped against the murky glass. When you glanced over, emptiness greeted you as no one stood beyond the room. Before you could ponder it, however, another series of raps caused it to shudder and your gaze darted down to the source. Seated primly as ever save for her single paw pressed to the glass, Miss. Christine awaited your attention. You were confused, but rose to let her in nonetheless. Just as you pulled the door in and poked your head out though, the shadow of a second presence fell over you.

"Ah, you're why she insisted I follow her."

Suppresing a startled jump, your head turned to find a familiar face.

"Oh, hello, Operator Phantom."

The Feline nodded minutely in response, but neither of you seemingly had much else to say. Thankfully, before the stillness could persevere, Miss. Christine chirped to announce her presence and brushed past you into the study space. You opened your mouth to protest, but just as quickly aborted the thought when even turning around had fatigue pressing along your shoulders.

"I was due for a break, I guess," you relented with a sigh. Opening the door wider, you let your free arm welcome Phantom into the room. "Did you want to come in as well?"

"Pardon," he excused himself as he accepted your invitation.

For a moment, you debated on whether to close the door or leave it open—social implications still festered in your periphery from your upbringing. The thought brought a bitter tang to the tip of your tongue and you quelled the urge to click it away. In an impulsive moment of (pointless) rebellion, you dragged the handle as you turned. It only stopped when it echoed with a minute click.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" If your smile had ever left your face, Phantom's expression made no note of it.

"Miss. Christine's reasons are her own; I simply deigned to follow her today," he answered.

You settled into one of the spare chairs closer to the entrance with a half-amused huff. "Well, then I should be honoured to have the lady's favour."

The lady in question had settled herself in full comfort on the office desk; she loafed right atop your half-finished reports. Phantom cast her a glance before he returned his attention to you.

"I hope you're not bothered."

"To be in an enclosed room with the Operator who almost killed me a few days ago?"

Your smile should have been cruel. Teeth glinting, upper lip curled, gums on show—anything but the demure tilt at both corners of your mouth. Yet, the airiness of your response somehow masked the cruelty of the words themselves, because they were not an attack. To you, it was a simple fact and not one that could be quietly hushed by social conventions. To Phantom's credit, you had to admit, his gaze never strayed from you. He seemed well aware of your reality (this time) and did not cower from his own responsibility. He gave a curt nod in acknowledgement.

"I'm not scared, if that's what you're asking. No grudges here, either," you practically hummed. "Do you feel guilty?"

"An apology would only be proper—"

"I don't want it." This time, your words caused a visible startle in Phantom. "Oh, sorry—that was sudden of me. What I mean is I know whatever happened wasn't on purpose, so I don't need an apology to sate my feelings."

"I… see," Phantom said with a low drawl.

His expression held a thoughtful downcast rather than hesitation. He accepted your words at face value, much to your relief. Quiet settled between you at that point, still but light. You gave Phantom his space to process your perspective while Miss. Christine continued to rest comfortably amongst your papers.

"…Lucian, right?" You did not dare to look away as Phantom startled for a second time. "That's what Doctor called you before. So your name is Lucian?"

Phantom remained silent for a moment before his chin dipped in a nod. "That's correct."

"Everyone does wrong at some point in their life—I don't care to hold onto grievances like that, though. Instead, you can make it an opportunity to do better," you offered, equal parts diplomatic and earnest. "How about I hold you to that? Not as Operators, but because I want to help the guy named Lucian. No matter what, you're going to be 'Lucian' to me!"

Was it a whim? You were not entirely sure, but something—too much—about Phantom felt familiar. The controlled expressions, the social awareness in contrast to his reticience, none of it was new to you. How many times had you been the one behind that perspective in so many years? Idling, regretting, and hoping were pointless pursuits. If you wanted change, then you needed action.

"…Very well, I'll accept."

Concrete shattered and whistled through the air, each successive explosion only scattering more debris to rocket and rattle in rhythmless beats. Even amidst the bombardment of machinery and Arts alike, meaningless static screeched in your earpiece with a definitive scenario: the operation had failed.

"Fall back! Use the alleys for cover and retreat!" You barely heard your own shouts, but you trusted in your Arts to carry your words to the rest of the team. "Use Rendevous A! Our mission is to return home alive!"

Adrenaline fueled your limbs as you ducked past an enemy Caster's volley and weaved through the dust clouds. Picking up stones along the way, you made sure to scatter as many false trails as possible. Your ears rang and grit coated your tongue. Blood leaked from you ever-mounting wounds and it hurt. By the time you dragged yourself into the shadows of the tucked away warehouse, you could pick out at least three different sediments that dusted the air and filled your lungs with each rasping pant. Still, you wasted no time and moved your feet in the direction of the meeting point. Before rounding the second to last corner, you made sure to announce yourself with the coded knock pattern for the mission. The sight of an empty room greeted you back.

Frustration pricked at your lashes, but you gritted your teeth and stepped in. You were not a frontline fighter; you being the first arrival was more than likely. With a determined breath in, you settled into a nearby chair to do what you could. Your earpiece still buzzed with faint static, which meant it still had some sort of functionality even if the connection was severed. If you could just get back in touch with the operation base, the team's chances would improve significantly. Before you could make any headway, however, a familiar knocking pattern sounded from down the hall. Just a few seconds later, a familiar figure in dark layers walked into view. You began to stand in a relieved greeting, only to notice your coworker was not alone. Limping along with Phantom's support was another Rhodes Island Operator and the soaked-through fabric at his torso left little to the imagination. Immediately, you hurried over to assist the two and helped the injured man settle onto a makeshift bed of sadly thin sheets.

"Is it just you two?" You only hoped your voice held steadier than you felt.

"Just us," Phantom confirmed, "but I didn't see any bodies either."

Despite the good news, you did not allow your spark of hope to show. "We need to help Vantage first. Your emergency aid cert-level?"

The silent shake of his head was all you needed to know.

"Ha-hah ha… Fuck me," the young Perro rasped. "Just my luck—to die… on my first major mission."

You only offered silence as you retrieved your first aid supplies. A few precise snips freed the wound of the operator's tattered clothing and allowed you to actually assess the injury. A major laceration with a couple minor puncture wounds to the side. The amount of blood was too messy for a clear view, but the let was far from overflowing. The young man had been a victim of flying debris rather than a direct hit from any assailants; lucky.

"You'll be fine," you eventually replied to him.

"You don't need to comfort m-"

"I said, you'll be fine," you cut him off, voice even as you did not even deign to spare him a glance. "Not as a consolation or hope, but because you will be."

With steeled determination, you managed the nimble action of opening various packaged items. The sterile gloves slipped on snugly and the stinging scent of alcohol was apparent from the wipes you retrieved next. You pressed a small bundle of gauze and your handkerchief to Vantage's lips and he understood his next steps well enough.

"Help him stay still."

Phantom wordlessly braced his weight over the Perro's torso.

"I'm treating you now, and as the one doing so I can tell already—you'll be fine. As a Communications Operator I know the weight of my words all too well." Still steady, still even, you spoke without any forceful confidence but instead a grounded certainty.

If the other Operator wanted to respond, he had no chance as his teeth clamped into the makeshift bit. The seconds passed swiftly thereafter into what must have been torturous minutes, but you only continued to work with neither haste nor slack. Whether it was because Phantom was stronger or Vantage was too exhausted, you were grateful his suppressed thrashing did not interrupt your concentration. The next time you were aware you were blinking, the last stitch was knotted and trimmed while sterile gauze bandaged the Operator's wounds. Blood still crusted his clothes and dotted various scabs, but no more flowed freely. Through the smell of dust and copper, you sucked in a deep breath to release your tension. Your gaze connected with Phantom's for a half-second in confirmation and Vantage was released. He panted past the drool-soaked bit, but you knew the fatigue would pass.

"I'm going to search the other rooms for anything useful, but you can rest now, Vantage. Think about what you want to eat for the next long while because you'll be on bedrest when we get back to Rhodes Island." You pulled the blood-coated gloves off in proper procedure before glancing at Phantom. "Can you watch him?"

A silent nod was all you needed before you stood and slipped into an adjacent hall with deceptively steady legs. The building walls might have been a rather elegantly muted chestnut colour, but everything distilled into bleak grey as it passed in your periphery. Your own steps bounced off the empty walls until the sound faded and stopped. You stood in what must have been a pantry of some kind. The space was relatively large for storage, but clearly held nothing of note. You turned to leave. Your vision shifted, but the scenery stayed stationary. You should leave this room and keep looking, but your body seemingly rooted itself. Your gaze fell to your boots, the feet within still not responding.

A drop of water splashed and disappeared in a splatter on your right shoe toe.

Soon, more and more fell until your vision blurred. Your shoulders hunched, you hiccuped, and then your body followed the tears to collapse upon the floor. The strain felt so heavy that you let yourself cry without wiping a single stream from your face—your arms had no will to rise for even the smallest of comforts. Yet, your sobs barely resounded past your shut mouth and stifled sniffles. You had to stay silent. Vantage needed to recover and you being in distress could make things turn worse. All it took was one crack for what remained of the team to crumble. Everyone carried their own weight. Everyone must survive. Shut it down. Stop it. Stop stop stop stop stop stop s███████████████

"Go ahead. The shadows will conceal you."

The first sob choked in your throat. The second broke past in a hiccup. The third wheezed out until your whine turned into a wail. Once it started, you made no effort to stop yourself. Your already dry throat rasped with hoarse cries and you could barely make out even the darkness through your tears. Still, your hands stayed away from wiping your face. Phantom himself made no move to do so in your place, but once sure the shades of his Arts enclosed you both, he settled against an empty shelf and simply sat beside you. In the dim world provided by the darkness, you sobbed. Eventually, you eased from your wails into stuttering sniffles. Your shoulders heaved with strained breaths and sighs, but the heavy responsibility you shouldered finally seemed to lighten.

Through a couple coughs, you managed to clear your throat enough to ask, "What about Vantage?"

"The others made it."

Those few words cleared even more of your worries than you originally queried. Overwhelming relief chilled your body and you finally gave in to your fatigue. Without a care, you slumped over right into Phantom himself. The Feline shifted to accommodate your sudden weight, but made no other moves. Little light, minimal sound, and in the comfort of another person, you soaked in the calm respite.

"Just a little longer…" you mumbled.

Phantom said nothing and let his cloak also rest across your shoulders.

"Were you ever going to say hi or was I supposed to only find out through cafeteria gossip of all things?"

Your glare trained on the other Operator as soon as he entered. You took in the major changes in his attire before he slid out of view. The spinning chair kept in its rotation until he came back into your other peripheral. He was the focus of your vision again for a while longer. And then, the wall greeted you once more. As lightly as you had pushed the seat to turn when he opened the door, you did little to stop the rotational force. The jerk was probably some sort of dumbfounded by your odd actions as he remained silent. So, you whined about his neglect while slowly spinning on the standard Rhodes Island dorm chair.

"Everyone was buzzing about a new Operator being some movie star, y'know. Wow, he's so handsome! The queue for the in-landship film screenings are days long already. Oh, but he's actually been part of Rhodes for a while, hasn't he? You mean those stories of 'Phantom' weren't just urban legends?" you continued to mock and lilt until the chair slowed to a stop just short of facing him fully.

Tragodia had already moved out of the doorway to let it close behind him, but he remained rooted to the spot otherwise. Whether it was because he was a Feline or it was just unique to him, Phantom's eyes always caught the light differently. Maybe you just admired his looks too much. Now though, with the switch still untouched and a desk lamp only offering dim rays, Tragodia's irises glinted far brighter than you remembered.

"How rare for you to be upset with me," he only mused in response. "You missed me."

"At least let me finish scolding you first before you say that!" You stood up with a huff. Of course he saw right through you, but you were determined to stand firm. "I read through the Wrankwood files—Doctor gave me permission so shush! This…!"

Your tongue stopped short as you sucked in a sharp breath. There were so many points to that case report you wanted explanations for. The medical reports were absolutely terrifying yet incredulous. His general past both before and during his theatre days were no secret—both Phantom and Shalem trusted you enough for that. You had personally filled and sorted files related to Crimson Troupe incidents when assisting the Doctor. Yet, it felt like a stranger now stood in front of you. Tragodia took a step toward you. When you stayed still, he took another, and another, until you could make out a sliver of his honey-coloured eye hidden by his loose hair. With seemingly deliberate slowness, he removed a golden-nailed glove. You had no idea you were trembling until the warmth of his fingertips on your cheek stilled your shaking.

"You haven't called my name this whole time," Tragodia murmured lowly as if to soothe you. "Neither 'Phantom' nor 'Tragodia' should matter to you, right?"

You felt the blunt edges of his nails skirt against your skin as his touch trailed downward. Your pulse jumped when his fingers brushed over it, causing you to look away on reflex. Tragodia, however, focused on tracing a horizontal line across your throat instead. Even though it had healed without any fuss, you knew a slightly off-coloured mark persisted along your skin. Only those looking for the scar would notice it.

"Drowning and flailing in the depths of my madness or burning the companions I made of my hallucinations in a path to sobriety; I'm still me and you taught me to accept that." He guided you by the chin to face him properly once more. "You taught me to be better for it."

After that first meeting in the Doctor's office, you did not expect to run into Phantom regularly (that definition was rather loose to begin with). Being of interest to Miss.Christine though had you seeing Phantom more frequently than most. Doctor had somewhat explained the other Operator's circumstances in way of an apology that night. You did not blame him for the accident, but he had nearly killed you. That was exactly what you told Phantom the next time you met.

"You can make it an opportunity to do better. How about I hold you to that? Not as Operators, but because I want to help the guy named Lucian. No matter what, you're going to be 'Lucian' to me!"

Having made his point, Tragodia retreated from your personal space soon after. His glove slipped back on without issue despite its design. Your buffering mind turned on you for a moment to mourn the loss of Tragodia's touch and you felt heat start to creep up your neck before you stamped the reaction down.

"That's not fair…" you grumbled. "Since when did you have a silver tongue?"

"I've had time to improve on myself," he supplied unhelpfully.

Despite the monotony of his reply, Tragodia smiled at you. It was the barest of a curl at one corner of his mouth more than the other, but it was undeniably there. It was a smile you recognised. Your feet carried you in response to it before you even made a conscious decision and you enveloped him in a hug without hesitation. Even as the fine silks of his new clothes felt foreign, Tragodia still smelt of rich woods and a hint of ash. His hands returned your embrace by cradling your head and the small of your back, never fully restricting you both now and every time before. He huffed a near silent laugh as you squeezed him without any intent of letting him go. In every way that mattered, you could recognise it was still him.

"Welcome back, Lucian."

Enjoying a rare moment of peace, Miss.Christine soaked in the afternoon sun through the small window she rested at. In a landship as expansive as Rhodes Island, the glass panes in odd corners like her current location served as natural lighting more so than viewing spaces. The high sills provided the perfect respite for warmth and solitude. Loosely curled and away from her usual admirers, Miss.Christine did just that until something odd—faint yet distinct—piqued her nose. The scent was sweet even while weak, but an undertone that she could not quite place persisted underneath the saccharine veil. Curiosity overruled the comfort of her sunbath and Miss.Christine rose to her paws. Once sure that her coat was presentable, she started her hunt.

As the halls started to populate after each corridor ventured and turn taken, the constant hum of the landship's machinery fell away to bootfalls and amiable conversation. Some staff stopped to greet or even coo at Miss.Christine's presence. She offered a flick of her two tails and an occasional meow in response, but moved forward without pause and ever silent. The pads of her paws did little to cushion her steps; her walk simply made no sound to begin with. It was so, formless yet undeniable, Miss.Christine approached the target of her interest. This close to the source, she finally understood what had caught her attention in this strange smell.

Sweet, but not unbearably so. Your scent reminded her of floral nectar and spring water—the aroma of your emotions, at least. And yet, under layers upon layers of raw honey and pine sap and even crystalised minerals, when this close she could practically taste the acid on her tongue. You burnt with a fire smothered in sweetened dirt and plant sugars. Drowned and suffocated, but unable to be killed; underneath your resting smile persisted your resentment.

"Oh, hello there," you greeted Miss.Christine as she sat in your path.

She twitched an ear at the pleasant timbre of your voice and cocked her head in reply. She almost doubted her own judgement for a moment at how gentle you sounded. Each breath she took, however, as ash and charcoal tinged your honeyed contentment proved otherwise.

"Enjoying a walk, Miss.Christine? I would love to accompany you as it seems I've caught your fancy, but the Doctor has requested me urgently," you explained with an apology now shadowing your smile.

Urgent it must have been as you quickly excused yourself and resumed your steady pace onward. Very well, Miss.Christine decided, if you could not join her then she would simply follow instead. Something new and unknown to her palate simmered below your amicability and she had to admit it intrigued her. You casted Miss.Christine a glance when you noticed her trailing by your feet, but continued on with only an amused huff.

As expected, the two of you soon arrived at the familiar door to the Doctor's office. After a knock, greeting, and call to enter, Miss.Christine slipped through the entrance ahead of you.

"Hello—Miss.Christine?" Doctor stumbled in their greeting as the unexpected guest diverted their attention.

"She decided to accompany me for some reason or another," you explained as you entered after. "It's not a problem, is it?"

Off-white and pale blue stacks with slices of alarmingly bright red scattered in between towered atop the desks. The paperwork was piled so high that Miss.Christine could barely even see the actual Doctor. Being the proper young lady she was, all her elegance and grace stifled her instinctual snort of disbelief before it could escape. In a much more dignified response, Miss.Christine instead turned the other way and leapt onto the comfortably worn sofa along the far wall of the office. A few strategic press of her paws loosened any tangled stuffing and she soon settled in for another lovely nap.

"Well, that should answer that question," the Doctor responded with a tired laugh. "The sooner we get started on these files though, the better. All the low confidentiality proposals are on the spare desk already."

You sighed and grumbled as the plastic rattle of the office chair wheels signaled your settling. "You promise to be responsible for any outcomes from this?"

"As I have every time before—I trust your judgement."

Your laugh in response was nothing but sweet and indulgent to anyone else, but Miss.Christine already knew of the bitter tang nestled between all your other layers.

"Dr. Kal'tsit would kill us both if she ever found out you have me forge your signature like this," you teased.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Doctor answered far too gravely for a simple jest. "If these forms aren't processed before tomorrow's meeting, she'll kill me anyways."

You only hummed noncommittally before the scratch of pens and click of denial stamps lulled Miss.Christine to rest.

Two persons occupied the room. Had the Doctor been by their lonesome, Phantom would have easily entered, handed off his mission report, and left all without even using the door. The second presence, however, could only be an assistant at such a late hour and that only meant one thing: overtime.

Phantom withheld a sigh and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The metal slid open with a faint hiss and Phantom allowed the tap of his shoes to echo from the floor. The Doctor greeted Phantom pleasantly, but he could see how their shoulders sagged at the sight of more paperwork in his hands. The assistant at the spare desk seemed to only spare him a glance. Phantom paid it no mind as he realised there was one more occupant in the room than he expected.

"So this is where Miss.Christine has been all day," he voiced his surprise.

Lounging comfortably on the sofa all to herself, Miss.Christine gave no acknowledgement of Phantom's appearance. She had no need to and he already knew that. So, Phantom returned his attention to the Doctor.

"I have my field report finished for you to review, Doctor." He took a step in their direction with the paperwork extended.

"Ah, I'll take that, then. Doctor still has some other high priority forms to finish and I'm almost done here," you spoke up, even beginning to stand from your seat in order to intercept him. "There was nothing too confidential in the mission, was there?"

"Mm, no, it should be fine. Go ahead and hand it over, Phantom." The Doctor gave him a reassuring nod and thanked you by your Operator Codename.

Having already crossed the space from your desk to the door, you reached out for the paperwork with polite hesitancy. The exhaustion of the day's workload clearly weighed itself across your back and the ire of extended artificial light painted itself below your eyes. You seemed otherwise relaxed. So why did the shadows under your feet writhe and tremble as if barely restrained? Phantom shifted the report into your grasp. A small smile of cordial thanks lifted your lips and you murmured so. The inky shades burst in a flurry and clamour, but the dark ghosts did not aim for Phantom like they usually did. The fingers and tendrils of blackened regrets only wrapped around your neck tightly and tighter still. Phantom did not relinquish his report even as you gave a small tug on the papers. The shadows continued to suffocate you, yet your expression never strayed. Garbled voices drowned out his own breathing as shouts and screams muffled his brain. Your gaze held Phantom's with maddening steadiness and an unfaltering upwards curl of your mouth. The dark noose squeezed harder.

"Lucian!"

It was the physicality of being wrenched by the shoulder that broke him back into his usual state of mock lucidity. The darkness receded even faster than it propagated and the influx of light caused a slight ringing in his ears. Phantom could actually make out the Doctor's fearful expression with their proximity, anchoring him in their grasp.

"Let go," Doctor ordered on the edge of a plea.

It took a moment for Phantom to realise his fingers pinched his report so harshly still that wrinkles creased the sheets. A barely breathed gasp left him as his grip finally relaxed. In the corner of his eye, the final thread of inky animosity dissipated from your neck.

"Thank you for bringing this over so promptly, but maybe you should have rested first, Operator Phantom," you chided him, though not unkindly.

Your calm demeanour only worsened his confusion. The smile on your lips had nary twitched and you eyed him with polite concern. Even if weary in the late night, you held a serene confidence. But the shadows? The screams. Bloodlust. Had his Arts not just—

"Mrow?"

"Ah, Miss.Christine…" Phantom mumbled in both surprise and an attempt to ground himself as the young lady spoke up from by his feet.

She held his gaze, clear and bright blue irises offering him a sanctuary to recompose himself in. Phantom sucked in a slow breath and decided to heed her unspoken advice.

"My apologies for the disturbance," he offered with a dip of his chin.

You only smiled wider and ushered him out to rest alongside Miss.Christine. The Doctor bid a hesitant farewell as well, their posture still tense and rigid compared to your easygoing wave. Miss.Christine trotted along ahead of Phantom. As he turned to exit, the glint of crimson caught his eye.

Even his mad reveries and hallucinations could not be blamed for the thin line across your neck that dripped scarlet.

Next→