#2bvirtuous

The end of his second week in this city draws to a close, one where he feels as far away from finding the truth behind this place as he was at the end of the first. He’d read so many books. He’d investigated so many local businesses. And yet nothing indicated what the sensible truth of this place was. It had a history, yet its population consisted of creatures that history said were livestock, and a bizarre collection of beings that were seemingly plucked from their own worlds at random, with no similarities between them – not even humans. He ought to be able to connect the dots. But there were no dots to connect.

Even if he should expect no reason for anything anymore, it still makes him frustrated. If they were going to take him from a state like that, there had to be something...

He stops, in the middle of the street, the moonlight that was still so strange to him lighting the pavement up white. A horrible, ominous sense of deja vu rises up, so strong that he questions what he’s seeing at all. It’s A2. They have the same face, after all. It’s just like that first day. But it isn’t. It isn’t. A2 doesn’t make him feel like that. A2 wasn’t, wasn’t the reason –

“2... 2B.” His voice is weak, weak as his knees as he feels himself growing lightheaded, the ghost that’s been haunting his every living moment having materialised without warning. Rational thought goes out of the window, as a warm, yet distinctly unstable feeling bubbles up. 2B. She’s here. I’m so... happy. But she isn’t. He knows that. He’s seen it over and over, over and over – from the day he lost her, to the times they have come face to face since, not one of them real, not one of them sparing him the distinctive feeling of his sword slicing through ‘skin’. Again, again. It’s happening again. I have to fight her... a... again.

He clutches his head. His body feels sapped of all its strength. Then, so be it. One hand finds its way up to his eyes, tugging at his blindfold, the other falling limp at his side. He won’t draw his sword. If you’re here to kill me, then so be it.

Hakuno didn’t know what to expect when murmurs went around that a police officer would come to the school and talk about illegal narcotics. Apparently a dealer had been caught in that part of town and the police found it necessary to lecture students on the dangers of narcotics and addition?

Naturally her sheep classmates seem more than a little annoyed and patronized that some cop was coming over to tell them what they’ve been told since they were lambs, but Hakuno had no real knowledge of the subject. She knew what illegal narcotics were naturally, but not much else.

She was surprised when the officer who was assigned to speak to them was...horribly familiar. Stylish black uniform, black blindfold, silver hair. She had definitely seen her before. Hadn’t she? At the very least her appearance reminded her of 9S...

THE SUN: What was the happiest moment of your muse’s life?

Rather than one big moment, 9S appreciates the little fragments. It’s the small moments where he and 2B are allowed to have moments of peace that he recalls the most fondly – slow data collection assignments, rather than the offensive ones, where they get to simply chat and get as close to a normal life as possible for them. They’re plentiful, and yet far too few. He would rather give himself up than forget those times.

DEATH: If your muse had to change something about themselves, what would they change?

This is a surprisingly difficult question, actually. While sometimes his desire to seek out the truth and question everything seems more of a curse than a gift, and he resents it, in reality, it isn’t something he could give up – no matter how much pain it’s caused, for 9S, he cannot imagine himself without that desire. It’s the very core of who he is, and he doesn’t altogether believe the risks he’s taken in the name of knowledge were wrong, despite the consequences. Things that are hidden are supposed to be uncovered, no matter what.

No matter how he tried to just blend in and relax, it seemed like the mere action of trying to look calm made him appear obviously the opposite. After having been here for so long he doubted it was just the setting, he supposed he’d just come to realise he really was... a useless, nervous wreck, by his mere demeanour. Unlocking his phone to apologise and reassure the latest asker, he glances up at her – mouth falling silently open.

Ah... this lady... she definitely couldn’t see, right? Even though running into a blind person was something he’d constantly reassured himself could never actually happen, it was seriously happening right now? No, no, there wasn’t any problem before, but... this was a problem, no matter how he looked at it. Ah, how was he supposed to...

The Star: If your muse had one wish, what would it be?

While the concept would be very daunting, he’d wish for a family again. One  that actually teaches him things and treats him as a human, rather than another pawn to be used, and not purposely trying to leave out facts..

The Hanged Man: Name a bad habit your muse can’t give up.

Making weird aru grunts instead of actually saying words.

Even with her goggles, she has a habit of not making direct eye contact with the people she talks to and will actively look away from them after a while. This gives off the impression that she is cold or disregarding them, but that’s not the case entirely.

☤:What do you have in common with your muse?

A fear of the oncoming inevitability of death and an urge to prolong it as long as possible.

...in terms of less heavy and depressing stuff, I also like candy and consider myself caring and compassionate. We both value our friends heavily and will do do whatever we can for their sake.

☑:What are the biggest differences between you and your muse?