(Ab)normal Days - The Enigma of Asahara's Fault
A blighted, monotone wasteland sat lifeless under a sky of eternal dusk. Dead trees, their emaciated limbs clawing at the sky like the hands of so many fallen souls, stood arranged in an eerie uniformity. A hot, dry wind billowed across the macabre expanse. A pale ring of light shone down upon the otherwise featureless tableau; whether it was moon or sun remained unclear. And standing lost, at its center, was Lawrence Lang.
He felt as though he had been traveling this lonely purgatory for an eternity. Things like thirst and hunger troubled him not, his only burden being the weight of the guilt and despair that seemed to hang from his back and shoulders, threatening to drag him down into the cracked earth. Aimlessly he had wandered, deviating little from the immediate path before him.
"Not that it would matter." The boxer thought bitterly, continuing his hopeless journey. "I haven't seen anything that would suggest I'm making any progress towards...well...anything."
The fatigue that had been steadily building within him finally reached a head, and he took refuge at the base of a nearby tree, the otherworldly incandescent orb in the sky causing it to cast a rather lengthy shadow--one of the few lucky breaks he'd had.
"<I have no clue where I am...I have no idea how I even got here...this is hopeless.>"
Larry sighed, pressing his head back against the gnarled trunk, his eyes closing in a facsimile of peace. The parched air made breathing uncomfortable, but doable. He had laid there for but a few moments, when he felt a sudden pressure on his wrist, which woke him with a start. Looking down, he noticed a delicate, pale hand clinging to him, and as his gaze sprinted along the hand, up an arm, to its source, he was confronted with a tangle of black hair, and his words collapsed in his throat as the apparition called out to him.
"Lawrence."
A line of cold fire exploded along his spine.
"<FUCK!>"
Tumbling out of his bed, Lawrence Lang found himself on the floor of his dorm, drawing in shallow, ragged breaths as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. It had just been another nightmare. This was a comparatively tame one, though that brought him little tranquility.
"<Goddammit...again...>"
Larry picked himself up off the floor. He tried hard to mentally retrace his steps. After witnessing the execution of Yukiko Asahara, something within the boxer had shut down. Perhaps it was a self-defense mechanism, but with not a word to any of his classmates, Larry slipped out of the courtroom, and back to his dorm, promptly collapsing into bed. As he gazed at its now rumpled surface, no doubt in such a state from his restless tossing and turning, he could make out the faint outline of his body, and realized he had broken out into a cold sweat.
"<Yukiko...what's goin' on? Are you...tryin' to tell me somethin' from the other side? And why me?>"
Larry swallowed hard, finally getting a handle on his emotions.
"<Take it easy, Lang...you're just...you're just gettin' bent out of shape because...because Yukiko is...>"
Even just thinking of saying the words made bile rise in his throat, and it took him a moment to steady himself once more.
"<You can't crack yet. Get it together...you're the last person she can depend on to solve this thing...there'll be time to grieve when this is all over.>"
The pep talk Larry recited to himself like a mantra served less to reassure him, and more to give him a point of focus--a means to distract himself from the reality of the situation long enough to continue his investigation. He knew such deep denial couldn't be healthy for him, especially in his current state, but if he gave in to his feelings now, he would surely enter a pit of despair from which even his strength could not extricate him.
"<And remember...the Mastermind vote was wrong...Yukiko was innocent. She's...you need to find the real Mastermind and bring them to justice. Not just for her. For everyone: Koemi...Fumiko...RenƩe...Mimi...Kazuya and Jaejin...them and every other student that'd been killed in these pointless murders. You may not be a hero...but you'll be damned if you're not gonna try all the same. So get your shit together and start bein' useful.>"
The boxer barely believed his own words. But they were enough to keep him from crawling back into bed and pulling the sheets over his head, isolating himself from the Resort and its horrors.
"<Shower and get your grind on; it's time to go to work.>"
