Sorry we’re a little late with this announcement. We’ve been a bit busy this year, but we just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who participated and extend an extra thank you to our wonderful pinch hitters! You guys are amazing and we really appreciate the extra effort!

However, I’m sad to say that this is the last year we (Mod D and Mod J) will be modding this event. The last 7 years have been awesome, but there’s a lot of work that goes into pulling off this event every year, and it’s time for us to step down.

As for the future of Zecret Santa, don’t worry! We already have a wonderful new mod lined up to take over next year–we’re handing over all the logins so the  tumblr and email will be the same if you need to get in contact.

We are looking for another mod (or two) to co-mod, so if you’re interested please reach out either on Tumblr or via email.

Thank you again, be kind to each other and we hope 2022 treats you well!

All the best!

Mod J & Mod D

To: @witchervesemir

From: @kiichu

Hey, here’s the extra gift I promised! This was so much fun to write, and I hope I created a believable cast/universe. There’s some fun things on the Ao3 page, so I encourage you to please read it there!

AO3

“Oh my gosh, is that you… Jumpy!?” 

“K-Kanny!?”

“CUT!”

A loud screech and the slap of a clapperboard startled the young man and woman out of their acting illusion, two sets of eyes flying towards the director. 

“What’s up?” Junpei Tenmyouji asked, crossing his arms. The rest of the actors on set had relaxed their stances, chitchatting amongst themselves for the time being. 

“That was good, but I didn’t really feel the emotion,” explained the director, Kotaro Uchikoshi. “Junpei, you haven’t seen this girl in years - she’s your childhood best friend.” 

“And probably his first love.” The actress of the girl in question, Akane Kurashiki, piped in, elbowing her co-star. “You didn’t really seem that surprised. Or rather, not I-can’t-believe-you’re-here-on-this-murder-ship-too surprised.” 

Uchikoshi laughed. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Junpei nodded, taking the advice to heart. He’d wanted to be an actor ever since he was a kid, and had slowly built up a resume throughout the years. Now in his late twenties, he still had enough of a babyface to pass for the college-aged male lead of the upcoming movie, Zero Escape: 9 Hours 9 Persons 9 Doors. When he’d auditioned, the director hadn’t had a name for the character - and, to his surprise, chose to name the protagonist after Junpei himself upon seeing his performance. There really was no greater honor, and Junpei considered himself beyond lucky for this opportunity. The least he could do was listen when the man gave him acting advice. 

“Akane,” Uchikoshi continued, “you were great - just need more of that ditziness, y’know?” 

“Tone up the ditz? Can do!” Akane exclaimed, twirling around in emphasis. 

With a huff of laughter, Junpei watched his co-star in awe. Akane Kurashiki was a well-known actress, starring in several important roles in pivotal movies the past decade. She was a beautiful young woman in her twenties, continuously growing a loyal and large fan following. 

It downright made Junpei nervous, being in the presence of such talent, but Akane was a kind and patient person. He could really learn a lot from her, and recognized his privilege for this opportunity.

Akane’s younger brother, Aoi, was also in the movie, playing her character’s sibling as well. Aoi had been cast as the rowdy and sarcastic Santa not because of his actual relation to Akane, but because he was just that damn good at it. Aoi had tried to explain away his talent by saying that Santa’s protectiveness for June stems from his own for Akane, but it didn’t change the fact that the performance was believable and admirable. 

Really, everyone in the room with Junpei was so damn brilliant at acting. 

If this movie was going to be as great as they all hoped, it would take every one of the actors’ efforts to make it work. And really, the cast had been nothing but supportive to one another, so Junpei found the confidence to believe in the film’s success. 

“Alright, everyone! Back to your places!” Uchikoshi called, and the cast scrambled to their original places. “Roll sound. Camera ready? Action!” 

“Are you seriously doing a Tiktok right now, Yotsuba?” The actor playing the mysterious amnesiac ‘Seven’ - Yamamoto - chuckled as he walked into the break room, seeing his younger coworker performing a dance in the corner. 

The girl jumped, her bright pink wig sliding a bit out of place. “Yamamoto!” she hissed, adjusting her headpiece. “Ugh, this thing weighs a ton.” 

“I’ll bet. All that hair and the earmuffs and stuff… I don’t envy you.” Suddenly, Yamamoto felt grateful his character only wore a hat on his head, and he didn’t need a wig. 

Yotsuba gave a dismissive gesture. “Not a problem, I’m gonna take it off soon anyway. And hey, to answer your question - yes, of course. Can’t help it, there’s a dance trending and I had to join in the fun!” She giggled. “Besides, it gives some promotion for the movie, so why not?” 

“How do you all know what’s popular on the app, anyway?” Yamamoto asked. “Like, I have one of those Tiktoks, but I don’t really get how it works. There’s always something new going on.” 

Yotsuba Field took a deep breath. “Yeah, explaining that to you would take all night. Ask Kubota or Nijisaki - they’re boomers too, but get it better than you do.”

“Hey, I resent being called a boomer.” Kubota Teruaki, the actor for the trembling character of the ‘9th Man’, cheerfully stepped into the break room. “Because I do have lots of followers. My contract lets me post little preview clips of the movie, too.”

Nijisaki, another friendly actor with an extremely minor role, strolled in behind him. “Nothing about your character dying in the first twenty minutes of the movie?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Kubota wrinkled his nose. “But you have to wonder if they’re going to edit the trailers to make it seem like I’m there at later points.” 

“Probably. They did that with the actress for Sayaka Maizono in Danganronpa, you know?” Yotsuba pointed out. 

“Makes sense. At least you have a speaking role, Kubota. Me and Kagechika get grunts of confusion, and then we’re corpses.” Nijisaki laughed. 

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, a low raspy voice announcing the presence of another actor. “Yes, sorry about that! Oops!” Gentarou Hongou, the actor behind the spoiler murderous villain, Ace, snickered. “I kinda wish my guy would just chill out. Eat a Snickers bar, or something. He could’ve been best friends with everyone! The cool dad character! But nooo.” 

“He’s not very charming once the scary faces come out. Or so I’m told,” Light added agreeably from behind him. 

“Yeah, I don’t see him topping any popularity lists…” Hongou lamented.

“I don’t ‘see’ him at all.” Light’s lips curled to a smirk as he opened his sightless eyes, earning him a giant groan from everyone else in the room. 

Aoi and Hazuki were just coming into the room and heard that line, and Aoi promptly threw his head back in exasperation and groaned. “Oh my God…”

“Sorry, sorry,” Light chuckled, not seeming sorry at all. “But, Hongou, it could be much worse - remember the original script that got cut? I guarantee if that leaks, there’ll be tons of creepypastas about the ‘deleted scenes of 999!’. They’ll say someone burned alive in our incinerator set during that scene or something.” 

“Creepypastas?” Yamamoto echoed. “Do I want to know?”

“My kids mentioned something like that years ago, when they were teenagers,” Hazuki pointed out. “Is that the slender man?”

Yotsuba snorted, trying to cover her mouth in politeness but failing miserably. “Like with Tiktok, not explaining that.” She nudged Hongou and Light. “That does remind me, though, of my own deleted scene. The one where I go ax crazy?” 

“They deleted that?!” Nijisaki gasped. “But it was such a cool scene…” 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make much sense in context, I guess. They’re not supposed to really know until the editing begins, but I was told it was going to be cut from the final movie.” Yotsuba shrugged. “Sucks, but what can you do? Uchikoshi says he’ll talk about it in the DVD interviews  and stuff. That’ll definitely make it talked about online. And hey, any traction is good, right?” 

“I guess so,” Aoi said. “But anyway, I think we’re all about done for the day, right? Akane and Junpei are finishing up their scene, so… how’s going for some pizza sound?”

Everyone in the room exchanged a pleasant glance. This was nothing new to them, as the entire cast was on friendly terms with each other and frequently went out after work. Usually, the only reason someone wouldn’t come with the group would be family obligations, such as Hazuki or Hongou picking up their kids or grandkids, or a scheduling conflict like Yotsuba’s model work. 

However, that particular day, the entire cast was thankfully free. 

“Oh, but what about the kid actors? From the incinerator? My little self?!” Akane gasped. 

“Ah, they went home hours ago…” Aoi replied. “Damn labor laws!” he joked, shaking a fist in fake frustration. 

Hazuki nudged him with a roll of her eyes. “Then how about we order them food the next time they’re all back on set? Yamamoto, don’t they have a scene with you in a couple days?”

“Yep! We’ll be starting the boat escape scene,” Yamamoto replied. “That’ll be a fun day. Wet, too.” 

Light rolled his sightless eyes. “Side effect of having several boat sets to work on.” 

“Hey guys,” Yotsuba cut in, stopping any further conversation about work, “about that pizza?” 

The group rumbled in enthusiastic agreement.

Gentarou Hongou stepped out of the dressing room in his new costume for the day. It wasn’t anything fancy, really - a blue pinstripe suit and a lab coat overtop, with a fedora to match. The younger actors originally had protests to the fedora in particular, but the director argued that it would make Ace seem even more like a dick, so they went with it in the end. 

Being a more seasoned actor, Hongou had embraced the wrinkles he’d gained over the years. It was exciting to evolve his talent to different roles, roles that had been all but locked to him before simply due to his age. The ‘wise old man’ was certainly fulfilling to play, but Hongou had to admit he’d been having fun hamming it up as Ace. Being the first twist villain of the movie, Ace had to be played as a deeply unstable man seemingly out of nowhere - and the evil faces Hongou got to do! Oh, they were so fun . Sometimes, Hongou couldn’t believe that he got paid for this stuff. 

That day, he was set to film a flashback scene, and Ace was significantly younger (Hongou even had to shave…!), so the makeup department got to work smoothing out the lines on his face. By the end of it, he was on set with Yamamoto and a bunch of kids at the incinerator backdrop.

There was a particular scene, however, that made Hongou a bit nervous. Ace had to drag the younger version of June into the ‘incinerator’ - typical evil bastard stuff - but he had to grab the little actress’s wrist and actually pull her. They’d practiced it before, to make sure she’d be safe and he was pulling in a way that didn’t hurt her, but he still had his concerns.

Yamamoto’s costume made him look considerably younger, as well, with prominent makeup and no beanie. Hongou nodded to the other man as he walked onto set, noting June’s child actress hovering nearby. 

The little girl didn’t hesitate to approach Hongou, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Wow, Mr. Hongou - you look way different!” she chirped. “Just like Mr. Yamamoto!” 

“Amazing what some makeup will do, hm?” Hongou chuckled. “I don’t even think my wife would recognize me like this. Maybe she’d think I’m more handsome this way.” 

The little girl giggled, the sound putting Hongou a bit more at ease. “She’s super excited to shoot today. Was yammering on and on the minute she walked outta makeup,” Yamamoto rumbled.

“I’m glad you’re not scared of me,” Hongou admitted sheepishly, kneeling down to look her in the eye. “I’m going to be making some pretty silly faces, and they might seem a bit intense in the moment.” 

“Oh, I know!” the girl exclaimed. “It’s just acting - I know that, Mr. Hongou. Don’t be too worried if I seem scared, okay?” She patted him on the shoulder with a beaming smile. “I’m not, I promise! Everyone here is so nice, I’m so glad Mommy let me be a part of this! I’m having so much fun!”

Ah. Hongou smiled at her warmly; her youthful energy reminded him of his daughter when she was the same age. “Well then,” he rasped, “I say we have a scene to shoot, don’t you?” 

The little actress nodded. “Let’s do this!”

“Ah, how wonderful to see you decided to come back.” Hongou said his lines with practiced ease, staring down at the little girl opposite him with the eyes of a killer. Or, at least, he tried - it was hard to get into the headspace of a faceblind character without actually being faceblind himself. 

They tried to cast someone with prosopagnosia for the role, but there weren’t any auditions - and Hongou had a pretty good idea why. This situation wasn’t like Light, who was actually blind as Snake was - the disability in Ace’s case was not being portrayed in a respectful or realistic manner, so it wouldn’t exactly be the role of a lifetime for an actor with prosopagnosia. 

Little Akane’s actress trembled as she turned around and faced him; Hongou had to remind himself of her earlier reassurances, and hope she remembered his. The girl shook her head, taking a step back away from him. 

“Come with me,” he recited, “We must continue the experiment.” 

Hongou really tried to play up the ‘deranged’ look - Ace was really off the deep end, even in the past! - and hoped he was selling it. The little girl was very talented, definitely giving the impression she was genuinely terrified. Hongou wondered absentmindedly what acting school she went to, or if her parents were in the business. 

Unfortunately, he was so lost in that train of thought, he missed the cue for his next line, and fumbled out the words, “Stop snuggling, goddammit–” He stopped short, rumbling out a deep laugh, “D-did I really say snuggling?!” 

His scene partner giggled in response. “Mr. Hongooooou!!” 

More laughs sounded from behind a nearby prop door. The young actors for Santa and Snake’s kid portrayals were waiting to pop out and call for Akane, as well as Yamamoto.

“Oh my God, Hongou,” Yamamoto said, his voice muffled behind the door. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hongou chuckled. “I’ll get it right this time. No snuggling allowed on my ship.”

Uchikoshi gave a chortle of his own. “It’d be a much different movie.” 

“Not nearly as exciting, though,” Hongou replied with a smirk. Conflict does make a story, after all, and 999 ’s conflict was pretty damn interesting. 

“Okay, okay - from the top, people!” Uchikoshi cried out, clapping a few times to get everyone back into their places. “And no snuggling this time!” 

“You– Akane!? You’re Zero?!” 

Akane couldn’t contain her laughter as Light, Yotsuba, Yamamoto, Hongou, Kubota, and Hazuki all read through the latest piece of their scripts. From the beginning of shooting, only Akane, Junpei, and Aoi were told about the end twist in an effort to make the surprise feel as real as possible. The last pages of the script were hidden from most of the actors until the final shooting days.

Up until that point, everyone had been under the impression that Aoi was Zero. Sure, they knew the twist about Akane and Aoi being siblings, but weren’t aware Akane was part of the operation at all. In fact, the script had actually said the contrary up until the last minute ‘change’ (or, more accurately, the last minute switch to the real script). 

“Oops?” Akane shrugged lightly, giggling as her friends gaped at her. “Sorry!” 

“Holy shit,” Hazuki whispered. “Holy shit, I like that twist.” 

“It makes a bit more sense in hindsight,” Hongou pointed out. “Something was weird about you, Akane.” 

Akane bopped Hongou on the arm. “Like you’re one to talk!” 

“Fair point.” Hongou just gave a sheepish grin. 

“Do you know how hard it was to keep this a secret from you guys?” Aoi asked with a grumble. “Really really hard.” 

“Yeah, Aoi’s mouth is big enough that I was afraid he’d spoil,” Akane sighed, shaking her head. Her brother was a bit of a loudmouth after all - just like his character. “But seeing as his career depended on his silence, I’m glad he pulled it off.” 

Aoi put his arm around Akane playfully. “Hey, I seem to remember you and Junpei whining about how we couldn’t spill the beans, either.” 

“Shh, don’t tell them that!” Akane exclaimed. 

“Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter much now that we do know. And I’m glad Uchikoshi went this route.” Yamamoto chuckled, reviewing the new script. “Seems we just have that final car scene to shoot.”

Hongou groaned loudly. “Not that scene…” 

“Shut up and wear your duct tape and ropes,” Hazuki laughed with a wink. 

Yamamoto snorted, turning the script to the last page. “And then that’s about it for a while, huh? Until reshoots, if we need any.” 

A murmur of agreement fluttered around the room, everyone simultaneously coming to the conclusion that their fun was almost over for now. It was a shame, really, that things like this couldn’t last a bit longer, but that was showbiz. They’d all been through this before - everything must naturally come to an end. Take away the costumes, director, scripts, and sets, and all you had left were a group of people. 

But at the very least, they were a group of people that cared about each other and promised to stay in touch. 

And in the end, that made it all worth it.

To:@aoikurasexy​

From:@mortellanarts

Extra gift for @aoikurasexy because I liked all the couples in the prompts and immediately thought of them showing off their new animal babies to each other on a video call! Light comes by to say hi eventually and Clover is just there hanging out and saying “Aww! Alice, can we have one?” the whole time

To: @cheesy0nion

From:@erisofimladris​

This is a treat for @cheesy0nion!

Santa was the best-known, of course.

When it came to Christmas figures, no one didn’t know Santa. Who could forget him when his face was plastered across every place on the whole planet to the point that she suspected the earth would grow a red hat and jolly beard every December?

And it had been getting worse in recent years. Hardly a November went by when she didn’t see his face everywhere, when she didn’t see her own face anywhere except in some doctor’s offices or on the backs of old, forgotten reports no one cared to read.

Unlike Santa, she didn’t have any followers. She would know if she did. She would hear their voices speak her name. She wondered, sometimes, how Santa could go through the winter months hearing his name so many times without his ears falling off. She was sometimes jealous and wished her ears would do the same, if only to avoid hearing the endless void of no one saying her name.

But Santa’s ears must have stayed on, for his legend rang out in every house in every land that she ever traveled to, and no one ever spoke of her.

It might have been that it was hard to capture her likeness in a form humans could create. How could they comprehend the precise way her nose wiggled when she got a good scent, the ratio of her eyes to her head, the way her eyes didn’t look like jolly balls of light but rather, like the emptiness of a dark sky with only a few stars too far apart to shed any light?

Someone had seen her, once. Gazed into the little dots in her eyes and tried to copy her shape. They knew no one would believe what they had seen, so they tried to recreate her in black and white, to show her image to those around them. But no one thought they were anything other than a fool. And while everyone guessed the craziest things, no one knew her.

She was no man, with a nose that ended so short and lips anyone would want to kiss under the mistletoe.

She was no butterfly, born to live such a short life that none would know or remember her. No, she was meant to endure forever, even if those who saw her only got the tiniest glimpse. Nor was she an actress, who could portray such a role if it was asked of her.

She was not a koi or a small boat floating in a lake. She was nothing other than herself.

Few knew of her. Her stories were not told the way Santa’s were, full of presents and joy. No one quite knew what she was meant to be, who made her, or why. She was just there. She was just Funyarinpa, her name as meaningless as her life.

She was prepared, as soon as Halloween ended, for the usual onslaught of Santa, to fade even further into the darkness until her beak could only pick up the slightest of smells of cinnamon-crusted Christmas dreams. She was prepared to live in obscurity, to get her only Christmas joy from the dreams she ate when food in the Field ran scarce.

But then, someone spoke her name.

It was the first of November. She was not doing anything at all. And someone spoke her name.

She could not recall the journey, for in her mind there was no time between the instant when she heard the word and when she appeared in the room, hovering by a golden door with an ornate pattern deep inside a warehouse in the middle of a desert.

Did she finally have a cult of her own? Santa didn’t have any cults that she knew of, but some of the other creatures had cults, and they would speak of it sometimes. Few beings dwelled in the Field to compare with, but she had seen enough of human culture that she knew some humans would pick a secluded place to worship something they could believe but not see.

There was silence after, as if speaking her name was enough to conjure her in her true form. She was unsure how to enter. Should she be bold, awe the humans until they fell to their knees in worship? Or simply watch and wait, siphon their brains for what they wanted and give it to them so they would love her?

“What the hell is a funyarinpa?”

Her ears rang again, this time from a woman in a dancing outfit, out of place among the others. Her nose twitched with displeasure and her ears burned with shame.

“What do you mean ‘what the hell is a funyarinpa?’ You mean…you don’t know?!” The same man who spoke her name the first time was pointing to a portrait. The one that had been drawn of her once by the person whose journey took them a little too close to madness, who saw her true form. Nose and all. Hanging in a frame like it was worthy.

“How the hell would I know?!” the woman yelled again. She wondered if the man was going to stand his ground, if she was going to defend him. In all the years, all the centuries beyond human comprehension, she never had a defender.

“How could you not know?!” he yelled back, then paused. “That’s… that’s practically blasphemous.”

He knew! He knew she was real! She twirled in the air as he knew she was real and there - but what was he going to do about it?

“Say you’re sorry! Apologize to the funyarinpa! Goodness, you are such a rude woman.”

If she had a heart, it might have stopped then from pure shock. She was not someone worthy of an apology to most. She was not someone at all, to most. But she was someone to this man who could not coordinate his clothing to match and smelled of sweat and fear and a strange dream of reuniting with a childhood friend as her nose snuffled in his hair.

The woman thought he was “screwing around.” She started to tell another story as if the portrait showed a dog and not her magnificent form. But the man knew. He looked back. He spoke her name. He was hers.

And yet, the place was not one of worship. It was a prison, and he escaped it with the others, his dreams lost and confused in the following nights and weeks. But then a letter came, a strange, unexpected letter that made him rush off in such a hurry that she followed him at the same pace, not caring that the world was lit with ornaments and Santa’s face loomed around every corner.

She followed her follower to an apartment with a view of city lights sparkling in the window. She slid through the wall and found herself in a chilly room next to a plate of cookies, where a hastily-wrapped box in the corner let out a small noise no one paid attention to.

“Open this one first, Junpei,” said a young woman with brown hair who had not been there when she first saw the portrait of herself on the false cabin wall. Strong in the Field, so strong that she was surprised the woman’s eyes darted past her instead of looking right at her.

Junpei - oh, how sweet his name sounded as she traced the shape of its letters with her nose - reached out to the colorful package. It was wrapped in bright green paper with a red bow, the job somewhat sloppy but it did not matter for long, as he quickly tore through the colorful paper.

She was certain he would hear the snort that came out unwittingly when she beheld the sweater.

It was meant for humans, sized for Junpei in particular. It was knitted, woolen and warm like so many Christmas presents. And yet, this one was different. This one was perfect. Black on the sleeves, with white patches leading to her own image, her portrait, and he let out a high-pitched sound that she never knew a grown human could make.

“It’s the funyarinpa!”

Her ears buzzed with the sound, sending a vibration through her body. She soared through the air, emerging partially into the floor of the apartment above before drifting back down. She would have tried to smell Junpei’s dream on the way, but it was clear that his dream in the moment had just come true.

“You’ve been playing the stock market for over a decade, and this is what you spend your money on?” said the white-haired young man from the warehouse, now wearing clothes to look like Santa. But if they believed in him, she wondered, why would they also be honoring her presence?

It didn’t matter. There had been nonbelievers last time too, and Junpei was undeterred. He lifted off the sweater he wore, bedecked with Christmas bells, and pulled the woolen image of her over his head. Rolled his shoulders, widened his face into a grin. The woman at his side laughed, and soon the white-haired man was laughing too.

There was no fire roaring on a log in a fireplace, no mistletoe hung from the ceiling. The tree was minimal at best, the group of people small. But they were honoring her. The one who had seen her had brought her joy to his compatriots.

And then the box in the corner let out another sound as an elderly dog paced around the corner, followed and pounced on by a puppy that looked like her portrait. Black and white, spots in the right places. The white-haired man was rolling his eyes so far she thought they might fall out of his head entirely, but the puppy and the sweater matched and the little dog curled up in Junpei’s arms just like it belonged there.

She was not a dog. But she knew that humans could never comprehend her fully, and in all the years she had been waiting for someone to enter the Field and see her, no one had ever tried. Finally, finally, someone tried.

No one knew she was there as she hovered near the cookies, watching the humans exchange more presents covered in shiny paper. A book, a gadget of some sort. She didn’t care. She already had everything she wanted.

Her name was spoken many more times throughout the night. Not even the puppy, unnamed and with eyes full of the newness of the world, could see her. But they knew her, and that made all the difference.

Santa was the best-known. He probably always would be. But now she had a follower, and her follower had a family, and for the first time, she was going to have a merry Christmas too.

To: @crossbbones

From:@umbreonyxze​

I’ve really enjoyed your art for a long time especially since you’re one of my favorite ZE artists. I’m really lucky to be able to create art for you this year!

FIC: Heel

To:@windsorgirllove

From:@chessanator​

Well, that certainly managed to expand from what I’d first planned! I hope you find this exploration of the Myrmidons in the world post-Zero-Time-Dilemma as intriguing as it was to write.

AO3

Content warnings for terrorism and suicide bombing and maybe related warnings.

12th December 2028

Today was the day. Myrmidon Trainee Left would take his final test, prove that he’d learned the skills needed to impose Brother’s will on a fallen, degenerate world. His performance would be reviewed by the Lefts that had come before him and then, Brother be willing, he’d be a fully-fledged operative of Free the Soul.

All Left had to do was undertake one single trial mission to prove his competence. So that was why he was in the staging area of the Myrmidon compound, standing against the left-hand wall and waiting for his trial to begin. Every muscle in his body was itching to move, to work off the tension that was building. But Left didn’t. Myrmidons did not pace. Anyone who wore the noble face of Left was too dignified for that.

So instead Left looked over the rest of the room from his vantage point on the side. The fleet of vehicles arrayed in the centre, the rows of armouries across the opposite wall, Left surveyed them all and grounded himself in this location. These were the tools he would need to become familiar with it as he took up the standard as an actual Myrmidon. And he also watched the other Lefts hurrying back and forth as they prepared for their own missions, his comrades against a world too vile to be allowed to exist.

Left’s attentiveness also served him well when he saw his Drill Sergeant entering the staging area through the main doors at the back end. Even as Sergeant Left advanced across the staging ground at a brisk, purposeful pace, Left was able to make himself presentable and stand at attention just as the Sergeant arrived.

“Look lively, Trainee!” Sergeant Left belted out as he came to a halt in front of Left and received his crisp salute. “Today’s the day when we find out what you’re made of. Do you know what you’re made of, Trainee?”

“Sergeant! I am made of the pure soul that will inherit the new world, Sergeant!”

“That’s right, Trainee Left!” Sergeant Left replied. “And I’m not going to be having you tarnish the good name of Left out in the field today.” He paused just a moment, his eyes scanning Left up and down as he let his statement sink in. Then he asked, “Are you scared, Trainee?”

It took about half a second too long for Left to get out his reply. “No, Sergeant!”

The Sergeant snorted his displeasure. “That’s a lie, Trainee, and you know it! I can see you quaking at the knees!” He leaned in, just close enough to let his voice blast into Left’s ear even though he’d barely raised it above a mutter. “Luckily for you, you aren’t the first lily-livered Left clone to pass through my hands. None of them failed their debut missions, even the ones who were even more maggoty specimens of Myrmidons than you are. Do you know why, Trainee?”

There was only one possible answer to that. “No, Sergeant!”

“Because you don’t have my permission to fail! That’s why you’re going to get out there, do your duty, and you’re not going to stop until you’ve made Brother proud. Do you hear me?!”

Left offered a firm and vigorous nod. “Yes, Sergeant!” He was a Left. He’d soon be a Myrmidon. If anyone had the tools to succeed in carrying out Brother’s will, he did. “What’s the mission?” he asked, respectful but increasingly impatient.

“We’re getting to that,” the Sergeant replied. He stepped away from Left and turned around, calling out to a knot of Left clones huddled in conversation near the hub of computer terminals at the back corner of the staging area. “You there, Ops? Get over here and give this Left his first assignment.”

One of the Lefts in the crowd straightened up, murmured parting words to the clones he’d been talking to, then headed over to Left and his Drill Sergeant. Left recognised him as the Chief of Operations for this Free the Soul compound, even though he’d been so far above the trainees in Left’s group as to never interact with them before now. “What’s the situation, Sergeant?” Ops Chief Left asked the Sergeant.

The Sergeant replied brusquely and succinctly. “Got a neophyte here who needs a suitable training mission. I understand you have one ready?”

The Ops chief brushed his golden hair aside with one slick motion, then nodded to the Sergeant. “That’s right. Yes, this mission is well within the capabilities of a new agent.” Turning towards Left, Ops pulled out a brown envelope from his suit and handed it to him. “Looks like you’re heading to the other side of the country, young man. Examine that briefing carefully. You’ll need to accomplish the objectives methodically and to the best possible standards if you’re to get perfect marks on your graduation as a true Myrmidon.”

“Yessir!” Left replied.

He opened the envelope and – after a quick glance at the Sergeant’s and the Chief’s expressions – opened it up. The mission briefing inside gave Left the location of a penthouse apartment in Denver which needed to be blown up at a specific time and day. Left would be provided with the explosives, but the method by which he’d gain entry and plant it would – surely to prove that he’d developed enough of his own initiative – be his to devise.

“What’s the purpose of this mission?” Left asked the Ops Chief. “Where does it fit into our Brother’s vision?”

The Sergeant cut in. “Do you have a need to know, Trainee?! Is there some pressing need you haven’t told the rest of us?” he belted out in his full disciplinarian growl.

But the Chief cut him off. “It’s important for every last one of us to understand the majesty of Brother’s stratagems,” he said. Turning around and gesturing across all the activity and materiel in the staging area with a graceful sweep of his hand, the chief explained, “The apocalypse will soon be upon us. The day when Brother cleanses the world of all the corrupted filth that’s kept humankind from perfection.”

“Amen!” Left and his Sergeant intoned in unison.

“Unfortunately, our enemies in the outside world have recognised our increased activity in the past few months. Degenerate as they are, we have to expect that at least some of them might anticipate our final operation, and move to hinder us. Therefore we need to give them multiple lines of attack to consider, to disguise our ultimate goal.”

“So… this is just a diversion?” Left had hoped to do great deeds in Brother’s name, to advance the cause of Free the Soul as best he could in one brilliant action. His frown drooped as his daydreams of heroism, and of the unanimous acclaim of his fellow Lefts, slipped away.

“Don’t worry, young Left,” the Ops Chief added. “Even if this isn’t part of the primary mission, you’ll still be striking a blow against Brother’s enemies. The penthouse you’ll be targeting is owned by a judge who’s targeted businesses owned by those who’ve been enlightened to the truth of the soul. His mockery of justice has caused him to spit on Brother’s teachings. He doesn’t even deserve the chance to survive into Brother’s new world.”

The Sergeant placed his hand firmly on Left’s right shoulder. “Shall we get this kid kitted up and ready to go then, Ops?” he asked. “Best to get him out on the road before he overthinks this.”

“Not just yet,” Ops interrupted. “We have a taskforce arriving back any moment. We’ll need to keep the staging area clear for them. Hold back until they’re settled and debriefed.”

At that moment a loud but not-particularly harsh warning klaxon sounded throughout the staging area as the blast doors at the front – the only entrance to the compound – began to rise. Once the doors were fully open three sleek black civilian cars drove in at pace, coming to a halt in the space just in front of the vehicle parking lot. Their occupants climbed out: three Left clones and the handful of Free the Soul acolytes who’d served them.

Their leader – a Left in a slick black greatcoat – locked eyes on the Operations Chief almost immediately and began to head over. Just watching him walk – poised, utterly perfect strides – it was clear to Left that this was a highly experienced operative. The ideal human form was a Left, and the ideal Left was this agent. Left felt like he should have recognised which Left this was in an instant. Maybe once he was more experienced, he’d be better at that.

“Report, Agent Left,” the Ops Chief ordered the newly arrived Left.

“Mission successful.” The Agent got into his report. “We recovered the data and ensured our enemy had no further copies of it. Not a single casualty, of course.” He flashed a confident grin. “Had to sacrifice the asset we used, in the end. But that’s a bonus, in my judgement. Nothing connecting her to us.”

“Good work, Agent,” the Chief replied. “Have your acolytes pack away your equipment and vehicles and then head back to quarters. We shouldn’t need your services for another week, but keep yourself prepared. The time is upon us.”

“Righteo,” the Agent replied. “I’m always ready to bring the fury to our enemies, whatever it takes.” With that, he turned to walk away.

Something clicked in Left’s mind. “Wait!” he called after the departing Left. “You’re that Left, aren’t you? The hero? The best of the best. The operative who rescued one of our brothers from captivity by SOIS, and successfully tracked down executed that Free the Soul member who fled after questioning Brother’s teachings.”

The Elite Agent turned back around. “That’s me, alright.”

“I can’t believe I get to meet you! And on this day, as well!”

“This Trainee,” the Sergeant said, “is just about to undertake his first mission, finish off his training. Any tips for him before he goes?”

Left nodded at his Sergeant, then turned back to the Elite, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Yessir, please sir! I’ll take anything you can teach me. Any unique killing method that only elites can manage? Or any super-specialised breaking-and-entering skills; I’ll need that for my mission.”

The Elite chuckled. “You’re an eager one, aren’t you Left?” He nodded to himself a couple of times. “If you want my advice, you shouldn’t focus on the flashy stuff. Hone your basics. Ninety percent of being a Myrmidon is just waiting. Patience, and observation. Train up those and no-one can beat you. That’s why we Myrmidons, who’ve divorced ourselves from temptation and worldly distraction, are the best in the world.”

Chastened, Left glanced away. But then he looked back up and met the other Left’s gaze. “Thank you, sir!” he belted out, probably more forcefully than was necessary.

“Let’s get you ready,” the Sergeant said to Left. He turned to the two others. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Brother be with you,” the Operations Chief said. “We’ll need every good Myrmidon we can get in the new world.”

The Sergeant led Trainee Left to one of the vehicles on the closer side of the parking lot: a rugged and sturdy four-wheel drive. The explosives Left would need were already stored in a hidden compartment under the floor, the map showing his route across the country already stored in the glovebox. Once the blast doors had opened once more Left drove off, heading towards his destiny and Brother’s bright future.

He succeeded in his mission, of course. There was no way a Myrmidon could fail.

—-

31st December 2028

Today was the day. Operations Chief Left would be overseeing the most important event in human history. Brother had entrusted it to him personally, the responsibility of ensuring the safety of D-Com and the underground bunker and preventing anyone from interfering as Brother brought about the end of the old world.

“Status report,” he commanded. Everything had been quiet so far, but as the leader in control of this operation he’d need to stay on top of the incoming information in order to make the right decisions in the moment.

It was the Left on the nearest com-console that replied. “No contacts within the inner three perimeters. Some activity at the fourth line but it looks like civilians only, normal activity. We’re still waiting for reports from the fifth line.” This Left clone had only recently graduated from his status as a Trainee, and been posted to desk work in the Operations Centre to teach him temperance and iron out some of his over-eagerness. He’d taken to it surprisingly well, considering.

“Keep an eye out,” Left replied, “and update me if anything new comes in.”

The Lefts at the various com-consoles nodded and turned back to their screens with renewed attentiveness. Leaning over his podium at the head of the room Left went back to studying the large display that covered the wall opposite, studying the topography of the various defensive lines the Myrmidons had set up around the sacred site. If he was able to anticipate where the threat would come from he’d do Brother proud.

“It’s too quiet,” someone murmured.

Left twisted his head around. That voice had come from a Left leaning against the rear wall. Unlike every other Left in the Ops Centre he wasn’t in the proper sacramental robes of Free the Soul. If any concerted attack from Free the Soul’s enemies did come this Elite Agent would lead his squad in the counterattack, so he needed to be able to blend into the civilian population: he wore the greatcoat he often donned for this sort of mission profile.

“Surely that’s something to be grateful for, Left” the Ops Chief replied to the Elite. “Yet more proof that the will of the world is with us, if anyone here still needed it.”

The Elite Agent shook his head. “You brought me in here for my advice. My insights. Well, that’s what my intuition is telling me.” He paused, scratching his chin. “I wish we had footage from inside. Leaving our Brother in there with those scum…” He put on a mock shudder. “We ought to be in position to defend Him, in case anything goes wrong.”

“We cover the external security only,” Left snapped. “Brother’s direct orders. The honour of what happens today belongs to Him and Him alone.”

“I’m sure Brother’s decision is wise,” the Elite conceded, making the sign of the ‘f’ as he did so. But Left couldn’t help but notice the slight delay before he did so.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Not that the Chief of Operations was idle: one could never be idle in service of the Truth, and he spent each and every hour evaluating potential threats, considering countermeasures, and organising the rest of the Myrmidons so they’d be ready to defend Brother with their lives. But since no threats materialised, it seemed that the only event that would take place this night was the holy transformation of the world that would take place inside the underground bunker.

That didn’t change until an hour after dawn, when the recently-graduated Trainee stood up from his com-console and turned to salute Left. “Sir! Report from the fifth perimeter, sir! Possible Crash Keys activity, coming from the south-east.”

“Details, Left,” the Chief commanded.

The Trainee turned back to his screen, tapping away at his keyboard. When he raised his head again his expression was concerned but sure. “Our observers at the fourth perimeter got a better view, sir. It’s a small convoy: only three vehicles. But it’s definitely Crash Keys. We recognised some of their operatives onboard. And they’re definitely heading towards the Holy Site, ETA ninety minutes.” The main display screen opposite updated to show the path of the incursion.

The Myrmidons would need to respond. Left instinctively glanced over towards the Elite again, but… No. There weren’t enough enemies to justify committing the elite squad of Lefts; in any case, it could be a diversion.

“Sergeant!” Left called out towards the group of armed and kitted up Lefts that stood near the door through to the staging area. “Take a squad of acolytes and shadow these Crash Keys interlopers. Engage when they reach the third perimeter. Observation only, until then.”

“Yes, sir!” The Sergeant opened the door and began efficiently calling orders through to the other side. If this was the only threat to Brother’s plan then the Myrmidons would have it well in hand.

But then another interruption came. “Sir! There’s activity by D-Com!” shouted the Left who was manning the com-console.

By D-Com? No enemy should have gotten that close to the Holy Site.

“It’s the Mars Mission test subjects,” Trainee Left continued. “They’re lying on the ground outside. And that’s… That’s Brother! Brother’s outside, too!”

It was about the right time for Brother’s grand design to conclude. Was it complete, then? Was the cleansing of the world now inevitable? Even if it was, Left still had a job to do. “Ready your squad, Agent,” he said to the Left still leaning against the wall behind him. “Be ready to bodyguard our Brother. With enemies this close to Him we can’t take a single risk.”

“About time,” the Elite Agent replied. He stretched out his arms and his thighs. “I was looking forward to cracking some of our enemy’s heads, but if this is what I’ve gotta do for Free the Soul…”

Left turned his attention back to the Trainee’s computer screen. On it he could see Brother speaking to the subjects, though without sound he couldn’t know what was being said. It looked like none of the subjects were a threat to Brother – they were all still dazed from the anaesthetic that had been used on them, but he would be far more comfortable once he had loyal Myrmidons by his side to protect Him.

Especially since some instinct was pricking him, warning that something was amiss. He peered intently at the image of his Brother on the screen, trying to work out what was triggering that instinct. Was that… all nine of the test subjects, there? Weren’t six of them supposed to have been sacrificed to bring about the uncorrupted world?

Then, while Left’s attention was focused entirely on his Brother, the lights in the Operations Centre flickered.

“Sir…” the Left at the com-console said hesitantly, “the computers are doing something… strange. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He paused, fiddling with one of the controls. “Is this something we should expect, sir? Part of Brother’s plan for today?”

“No,” the Chief replied. At least, Brother hadn’t informed him if it was part of today’s plan. “Contact our computer technicians and get them to –”

And then everything in the Ops Centre – computers, main display screen, lights, everything – went out.

Operations Chief Left reacted instinctively. “Has anyone got eyes on Brother?!” he bellowed. The radios were still working, thank Brother, but with all the cameras down they were going to have to rely on human eyes to gather information about what was going on outside. Perfect human eyes, it was true – no eyes could be better than those that belonged to the Lefts – but unenhanced nonetheless.

Through Left’s earpiece, one of the Lefts at the innermost and final perimeter responded. “No! He’s vanished! We have eyes on the test subjects outside D-Com, but Brother’s disappeared! Just vanished!” There was silence, and heavy breathing, for a few seconds. Then the earpiece squawked again. “What’s going on in there?!”

Left didn’t know. “Get these computers back up and running!” he ordered. “There has to be some to get around what’s happening.”

The Sergeant was the first to react, “Get those servers opened up!” he ordered, leading two of his acolytes over to the back of the short wall that held all the com-consoles. Under his direction the acolytes pulled open the panels on the other side, and then the Sergeant peered in at the servers contained inside. “Brother damnit!” he exclaimed. “What forsaken soul-closed cur put that there?!”

“Details, Sergeant,” the chief demanded.

The Sergeant peered in more closely, then explained. “Some infernal device attached to the cables. There’s no way that’s supposed to be there. If we just get it off…”

“Hold it!” It was the Elite Agent who’d interrupted. He rushed over, almost barging the Sergeant out of the way. “It could be booby trapped. No: of course it’s booby trapped.” He took out a small flashlight and trained it into the server cabinet. “I’ve seen this before…” he murmured. “No. I’ve used this before.”

Left frowned. “Can you disarm it?”

The Elite scowled. “Of course I can.”

“Then get to work. We need everything up and running as soon as possible. Brother needs it. All of Free the Soul needs it.”

With that, Left could just stand at his command podium, waiting. It was out of his hands, now. He’d just have to put his faith in Brother that the Agent could remove the device.

And, after an agonising minute, he did. The lights started to flicker back on.

“Nasty little device, that,” the Elite Agent said as he pulled the guts of that device out of the servers. “Would have corrupted everything on all our computers permanently, if I hadn’t known what I was doing. But they should be up any moment now, thanks to me.”

It took a bit longer than just a moment, but one by one the com-consoles around the Operational Centre turned on. Multiple Lefts – including the recent Trainee – breathed sighs of relief as they regained the ability to do their duty. And then, finally, the main display screen returned, still showing the map of the area around the Holy Site and the footage of the D-Com test subjects. Though, another information window had appeared on the main display, one that hadn’t been there before.

It read, ‘Time to Self-Destruct: 7:58.’

The Sergeant scowled bitterly. “When did that come on? Which one of you mangy idiots turned on the self-destruct?”

“No. It wasn’t any of us,” Chief Left said. “It must have been part of the same sabotage caused by that device. We couldn’t see that it’d been turned on because the computers were down.”

“What do we do?!” the recent Trainee cried out.

It was Left’s decision to make. He was the one in command. He was the one this operation had been entrusted to. And with less than ten minutes to go, there was only one way he could reasonably choose.

“We evacuate…” he murmured. Then he said it louder. “We evacuate!”

“No!” The Trainee’s eyes were wide with desperation and anguish. “What about the Day of Truth? Are we just abandoning it?”

The Sergeant cut him off with a sharp clip round the back of the head. “Are you questioning direct orders now, kid?!”

The Operations Chief continued. “We don’t know what sort of attack will follow up this setback. Each Left who survives is one more who can seek out our Brother. Who can come to our Brother’s aid when we find Him. Who can get to the bottom of what defeated us today.” He gestured over towards the doors through to the staging area. “Open all the blast doors. Then abandon posts. Four to a vehicle! I don’t want to see any driving off half-full. Bring the acolytes with you if you can, but don’t put any Myrmidon’s life at risk to do so.”

“Where do we go once we’re out?” the Sergeant asked.

“Scatter,” was Left’s answer. “They’ll be hunting us. The degenerate world outside can’t abide having pure souls like us among them. So we scatter, evade them, and try to regroup later.”

A chorus of ‘Yessir’s came from around the Operations Centre. Left could trust that his orders had been understood, and that they would be obeyed to the best of the Myrmidons’ abilities. As the various Lefts scrambled into action, the Chief of Operations allowed one more murmur to escape his lips.

“May Brother be with you.”

—-

1st January 2029

Today was the day. Today was the day when everything went wrong for Free the Soul. And so Left, most skilled of all the Myrmidons and an Elite among all of Brother’s Elite Agents, would get to use all of his talents holding together what was left.

In the evacuation from the Free the Soul compound Left had stuck close to the Chief of Operations: his talents would be put to best use by those with more information about the bigger picture. They’d ended up in an off-road vehicle with the Trainee Myrmidon left had seen preparing for his graduation mission three weeks before, and his Drill Sergeant. They were heading east straight across the desert, not having seen any of the other cars full of Myrmidons since the compound had gone up in a ball of unhallowed flame. The Trainee at the wheel, handling the driving, allowing the three more experienced members of their reduced group to put their heads together and devise a plan for this unexpected situation.

“We need to find somewhere to regroup,” the Ops Chief said. “That has to be our first priority. If we can get a stable place to act from, we can –”

Long term planning might be the Ops Chief’s area of expertise. But evading enemies out in the field was Left’s. He interrupted. “First off,” he said, turning to address the Trainee in the driver’s seat, “turn south here. A full ninety degrees.”

“Y-Yessir!” the Trainee replied. It took a while for him to get his bearings – Left wouldn’t have been impressed with driving skills like that if he’d first seen them in any ordinary mission – but then the car began to turn, skidding slightly but controllably on the dunes.

“Huh?” the Sergeant gasped from the seat in front of the Elite. “Don’t we need to get as far away from our compound as possible?”

Left scoffed. “If we flee from the compound at top speed in a straight line it’ll be obvious to any of our enemies where to look for us. And when they spot this vehicle it’ll be obvious that it’s us. An unpredictable path will let us outwit them.”

“I presume you have a route already planned, Left,” the Chief said. He paused, considering. “Very well. Engage your plan. Where will we be once we’ve slipped any pursuers we might have picked up?”

“There’s a safehouse my squad used on a previous mission,” Left explained. “That’s where we’ll hole up as we make our plans. The safehouse has food stocked up, a cache of weapons and equipment, clothing to replace all of your robes. All I need to do is reactivate one of my previous cover identities and we’ll have access to all of that.” He paused; a thought had shot through his mind. “On that note, names.”

“Names?” the Trainee asked. “What do you mean?”

Left sighed. “We don’t know how long we’ll be out there, among people who reject Free the Soul. Among people who hate Brother, and hate the name of ‘Left’. All four of us will need cover identities if we’re going to interact with those people. I’ll be able to forge papers once we reach the safehouse, but it’s more important that you get used to acting as those identities. If you call me ‘Left’ in public instead of using my cover identity’s name – Elliot Adams – you’re going to bring a whole load of problems down on our heads.”

The Trainee’s eye twitched. “We’re… going to have to pretend to be apostates?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Of course we are,” Left replied. Brother damn it, novices were annoying when they had to be led everywhere by the hand. “Come on. You’re a big strong Myrmidon now. This isn’t going to stop you, is it? Start thinking about a name for your cover identity. You’d better have come up with one by the time I get back to you.”

The Drill Sergeant picked a name for his cover first – Stephen Raynor – and Left murmured it a few times under his breath to make sure he could say it naturally when the time came. It took a bit longer for the Chief of Operations – they had to go back and forth a bit to find a name that sounded right, the Ops Chief not having been out in the field for such a prolonged – but they eventually settled on calling him Charlie O’Brien. Finally, Left turned back to the Trainee.

“Come up with a name yet, kid?” he said. “Oh, and turn north-east here. Keep an eye out on the freeway as we approach so no-one sees us joining the road.”

The Trainee spun the steering wheel around slowly. Left would hardly be an Elite if he couldn’t tell from the Trainee’s body language that he was doing it slowly to try and stall.

“Come on, kid. Pick a name for yourself, or I’m just gonna end up sticking you with ‘Trevor’, or something like that.”

The Trainee craned his neck around to meet the Elite’s gaze. “My name…” he murmured, “is Left.”

The Elite snorted. “Trevor it is, then. You’d best get used to it. It’s gonna be a long time before we’re around enough true believers in Free the Soul to use our real names in public.” He paused, chuckling to himself. “And if you think using a different name is bad, you won’t like the other thing we’ve got waiting for us at the safehouse.”

“What’s that?” the Sergeant – soon to be called Stephen – asked with such brusqueness it was almost like a bark. “What else do we need to do?”

“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The rest of their flight from the Free the Soul compound went uneventfully. They joined the freeway without being seen, at which point they were indistinguishable from any other vehicle that had been on the road to any but the most observant of viewers. The convoluted route they took through the road network, including three moments when Elite Agent Left instructed the driver to double straight back on themselves, should have thrown off or exposed any tail they’d picked up. Left was pretty confident that they hadn’t been followed. When they arrived in the suburbs around Denver it was just as night was beginning to fall and the streets they were driving down began to grow dark.

Which was a good thing. It wouldn’t have done them any good if anyone had seen the other three Lefts before they had a chance to change out of their robes.

Left gave the driver directions to the safehouse, a large suburban house on the bend of a winding residential street. After a thorough look both ways down the street to make sure none of the occupants of the other nearby houses were looking out their window, Left bundled the other three Lefts out of the car and through the front door into the house. Now free from any possibility of prying eyes, Left breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned around to face the others, then gestured around the clean, well-furnished rooms they’d entered into. “This is where we’ll be living for the next few months. Make yourself at home!”

Left took them on a tour through the safehouse, starting with the wide-plan lounge, the dining room, and the well-stocked kitchen on the ground floor. Next up were the rooms on the upper floor, which had all been converted to bedrooms so that the safehouse could house as many Free the Soul agents as necessary.

As they passed through those bedrooms, observing the smooth mattresses and soft quilts on each one, the Trainee spoke up. “Is this really the sort of decadence apostates live in?” he asked. With a slight, disdainful shake of his head, he added, “No wonder their souls end up so wretched.”

“Remember your training, Left,” the Sergeant interrupted. “You’ve got to learn to steel yourself against all this, if you’re going to be an agent for Free the Soul.”

The Ops Chief turned to Left, peering intently at him. “I presume there’s a reason why our hideout is furnished so unnecessarily extravagant?”

Left had the answer to that particular question ready in an instant, of course. “Our safehouse needs to blend in among all the other houses on this street. We can’t take any risk of being discovered by our enemies.” Since they’d just finished touring the upper floor, it was the perfect time to change the subject. “Let me show you the weapons and tools we have stashed here, next.”

Since those were the sorts of items that would instantly, one-hundred-percent certainly, expose the Myrmidons to anyone who saw them, the weapons and other equipment were stored in the basement, the path down being concealed behind a false panel in the kitchen. After showing each of his comrades the trick to removing the panel – and emphasised the importance of putting it back in place correctly – Left led them down and turned on the lights.

The Sergeant gazed around the weapon racks on the walls – the collections of combat knives, various handguns, small machine guns, even a couple of assault rifles and a bandolier of grenades – with admiration. “You weren’t lying when you said this would be a good place to launch our counterattack from.”

Left let out a hearty laugh. “Now, would I ever lie to any of my brothers?” Then his expression grew serious. “Now, there’s one more thing we need to do before we settle in.”

“What is that?” the Ops Chief asked. His forehead furrowed, puzzled. “Wait… this is what you were talking about back in the car, I presume.”

“Exactly right!”

Leaving that there, Left headed deeper into the basement in search of what he needed. He headed straight past the weapons, of course, and also past the cabinets that were next along the walls and contained electronic warfare equipment, rappelling gear, field medical kits, and other equipment that the Myrmidons who used this safehouse would need to be successful in their sacred mission.

Finally Left reached what he was looking for right at the back end of the basement: a small bag next to the wardrobe which contained whichever clothes, uniforms and disguises wouldn’t be suitable for storing upstairs. From inside that bag Left drew four tubes full of gooey, viscous liquid. He checked the labels, then presented them to the others with a flourish. “Ta-dah!”

“Is… Is that what I think it is?” the Ops Chief asked.

“Yes, that’s hair dye, alright,” the Sergeant replied.

The Trainee gasped, almost shivering in place. “Hair dye?! We’re gonna have to get our hair dyed? But… But the perfect form of Left? It’s blond! We’re supposed to be blond.”

Left shook his head gently. “Look. If four identical men arrive at this house, it’ll be obvious to everyone around us. Especially if our enemies have taken advantage of our vulnerability to propagandise against us. So, we’re going to have to change our appearances. Get our hair cut, change its style and, yeah, get it dyed. You think you can do that, kid?”

The Trainee – looking so young and inexperienced even though, objectively, he had an identical appearance to all the other Myrmidons – took several deep breaths in and out. “This is for our Brother, right?” he asked. “So we can regroup. So we can rescue Him from our enemies?”

“That’s right, Left,” Left said softly.

Trainee Left nodded firmly, straightened his posture, and met Elite Agent Left’s gaze head on. “Then I can do it. Dye my hair.”

“With an attitude like that you’ll go far, kid,” Left replied.

And the Trainee would have to go far. They all would. They might have survived the disaster that had befell the Myrmidons and the Day of Truth, but they had a long way to go if they were going to rebuild.

If they were going to bring Free the Soul to its eventual victory.

—-

25th March 2029

Today was a day like any other. For three months now, Sergeant Left – he was going by Stephen, now, but he’d kept his real identity at the core of his being. He’d have to, if he was going to provide a good example to his oh-so-recent Trainee – had been waiting for the news that would let the four Myrmidons in the safehouse get back into action.

That news seemed no more likely to arrive that day than it had any day previously. Ops had been hard at work, trying to establish channels to any other cells of Myrmidons that had survived. But there hadn’t been any reply yet. Had there really been no other survivors? Had every other Myrmidon been captured; or worse, killed? The Sergeant would have guessed that their vehicle would have been most favoured in its chances of escaping, with the Elite’s guidance allowing them to evade pursuit. But every other vehicle had failed? What was the point of him training up Myrmidons for so long if his training helped them succeed in the crucial moment?

And then there was the question of Brother. How had He disappeared from the Myrmidons’ watchful sight, at the moment when it had been most important for them to be ready to defend Him? Brother could perform miracles; the Sergeant knew that. But that miracle seemed to work at cross-purposes to anything Brother could hope to accomplish; it only made the Myrmidons’ life and mission harder.

In the meantime, all the Sergeant could do was stay ready, and keep the others ready as well. Which was why he was out in the backyard of the safehouse, engaged in a sparring match so he could keep the Trainee’s hand-to-hand skills honed. They’d put on protective padding that they wouldn’t have in proper Myrmidon training. Between that and their changed appearances – they’d both cut the long golden locks of a Left down to a crew-cut and dyed what was left, black for the Sergeant and brown for the Trainee, and the Sergeant had allowed a beard to grow in as well – they wouldn’t have looked to observers like anything more than a pair of average martial-arts enthusiasts.

Particularly skilled enthusiasts, of course: Left’s Myrmidon pride wouldn’t let him settle for less, plus the training wouldn’t have any benefit if they weren’t going all out. And it quickly showed that Left was comfortably more skilled than his Trainee, when he got control of one of the Trainee’s arms with a well-time grapple, swept his leg out to kick away his ankle, then threw the Trainee onto the grass.

As the Sergeant held out a hand to help the Trainee back up, he sighed. “You’re better than this, Trevor.” Left changed the name for the benefit of any of their neighbours who might overhear. “If you take risks like that in a real fight you’re going to get hurt, you idiot.”

‘Trevor’ glowered back at him sullenly. “You’d have put me in the ground even if I hadn’t done that. Let’s face it, you’re better than me. I’m not going to beat you in a sparring session unless I take somerisks.”

“You aren’t pretending you picked up that bullshit from me, are you?!” the Sergeant barked, giving the other Left a quick clip around the head.

The Trainee quickly replied. “No, Ser… Stephen!” He was still a bit out of step, keeping to their cover identities. Something else they’d have to work on.

His point made, the Sergeant softened his tone for the rest. “Nothing like that matters in a real fight. A superior opponent will just take advantage of a mistake like that even harder. That’s even more of a reason to do the right thing, every time. Remember what I taught you.” The Sergeant couldn’t say aloud what he usually would have: that as clones of Left they were unsurpassed in physical potential, and would therefore inevitably win any fight as long as they didn’t make any errors their opponent could exploit. It didn’t matter. He’d hammered it in enough during drill that it should have been as instinctive to the Trainee as breathing. “Let’s do this again,” he said once the Trainee was steady on his feet once more.

Before they could start, though, a voice drifted over the fence that divided their backyard from the next garden over. “Stephen, Trevor, at it again boys?” the Myrmidons’ next-door neighbour, an older, grey-haired, wiry-thin lady named Sophie, asked as she came to peer over the fence, her eyes only just making it over the top of the wooden panels.

The Trainee shrugged as he turned to address her. “Got to stay in shape, right?” he said. “The way the world’s coming to.” He’d been overly withdrawn the first few times they’d interacted with their neighbours, but since then he’d gotten used to putting the façade of ‘Trevor’ over his Myrmidon core.

“Oh you are right, you are right,” Sophie replied, her voice sing-songily light. “If anything were to happen around here, I’m glad we’ve got some big strong men like you around to take care of it.”

“I’m sure nothing’s going to happen, Sophie,” Left replied. Of course nothing was going to happen. The Elite Myrmidon had picked this neighbourhood for his hideout precisely because it was so safe from anything that would disturb or expose them.

“Well if you’re sure, dear,” Sophie replied. Then she perked up. “Stay there, boys. I’ve got something for you,” she exclaimed, before disappearing back behind her fence. When she reappeared she’d come round to the Lefts’ side of the fence, into their backyard, carrying a small serving tray with four glasses sitting on top. “Freshly-squeezed orange juice, just for you. Come on! You’ve got to be thirsty after all that rough-and-tumble.”

The Trainee shook his head, almost wildly. “N-No, we couldn’t.” A quick inquisitive glance the Sergeant’s way made the double meaning in that clear.

The Sergeant cut the Trainee off by stepping forward and lifting the closest glass of juice from the tray. “Drink up, lad,” he said. “Gotta rehydrate. Even we can’t keep going forever without that.” Once the Trainee had taken a glass as well and started to slurp it down, Left turned back to Sophie and nodded. “Thanks very much.”

“Take some for your housemates, as well,” Sophie said, gesturing at the other two glasses on the tray. “It’s an old family recipe, you know. The times my poor old mother would show me how to get the amount of sugar just right to make it come out right…” Once Left had taken hold of the other two glasses she tucked the serving tray under her arm, sighing as she did. “You know… I never see Elliot or Charlie around much. Are they okay? Not settling in?”

Left quickly shook his head. “Work’s keeping them busy.”

That was a completely lie, naturally. The four of them were supported, monetarily, from untraceable accounts that had been set up long ago and filled with money by forethinking Free the Soul adherents; it wasn’t like they needed employment. Nor was it in any way right for a good Left to offer his labour in service to those who controlled the degenerate world that Free the Soul needed to change. But it bolstered the cover identities they were using, and gave the Elite Agent a good explanation for the time he’d left the house vacant between when he’d first used it and when the four of them had arrived, to claim that they were working from home. Since the area they’d claimed to be employed in was informational security, the Elite had been confident that they could pretend to describe it with no-one they were speaking to being able to or even wanting to follow the details. Case in point…

“A bit of an emergency came up at work,” Left continued. “Elliot’s been up all night tracing the incursions to see if they got anything, but…” He finished off with a calm, resigned shrug.

At that moment the back door to the house opened up and Ops stepped out, a dour expression on his face. Unlike Left and his Trainee he’d kept the blond hair of a Left rather than dying it, but with it cut much shorter than any Myrmidon would usually wear it he looked more than different enough that there was no danger. “There’s news from…” Ops started off, before flicking a quick look Sophie’s way, “… work. You’d better hear it.”

Sophie just nodded softly. “You boys get on it. Don’t let an old lady like me hold you up.” She raised her voice to call into the house – “Enjoy the OJ!” – before disappearing back into her own garden.

After making sure Sophie really had left, the Sergeant turned to meet the Chief of Operations’ gaze, his expression stern and serious. “What news? Are we ready to go back into battle?”

Ops shook his head. “But you should come and see what we’ve found.”

He led the Trainee and the Sergeant back into the house – the Sergeant made sure the back door was closed and very firmly locked behind them – and up to the main bedroom, where the Elite was hunched over the computer they’d set up there. The Elite brushed the long, ginger-dyed fringe out of his eyes as he peered at the screen, scowled at what he saw, then turned to look up at the other Myrmidons as they entered.

“Can’t disagree with your analysis, Chief,” the Elite said to them morosely. “Looks exactly like what you said it was. Have you explained it to them, yet?”

“No,” Ops replied. “But it won’t take long.” He turned to face Left and his Trainee, his hands clasped together gravely. “First things first, it looks like we can be certain that our Brother failed in His anointed task to remake the world.”

The Trainee gasped. “No! He couldn’t! It’s not possible!”

The Chief cut him off with a brusque wave of his hand. “I’m sorry. But it’s true. Only I and a few other high-ranked Myrmidons were informed of how exactly Brother would accomplish it. But if it had worked, we would have seen signs of it by now. Nothing about this corrupt world has changed. So the mission was a failure.”

The Sergeant sighed. He’d known, inside, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hadn’t wanted to compromise his faith in Brother. “I’m guessing that’s not the only reason why you’ve brought us here, sir,” he said.

“As you know, I’ve been trying to reunite us with any other cells of Myrmidons that escaped the disaster at the Holy Site. What I’ve found has been… disturbing. Some, even many, of them survived, and established bases from which to carry out Free the Soul’s mission. But by the time I was able to identify them one of our many enemies had done the same and wiped them out. That was true for each and every cell I tried to contact.”

“Someone’s been killing our brothers?!” the Trainee exclaimed. “We have to avenge them!”

The Elite chuckled. “Now I’d love to do that, too. But maybe you should learn everything we’ve got before you march all four of us into the meat-grinder in a Brother-forsaken wild goose chase.”

The Chief continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Last week, I was able to make contact with a group of our brothers that had been sheltered by one of Free the Soul’s most devout adherents. We had just managed to confirm that our identities were true; that neither of us were impostors hoping to infiltrate and finish Free the Soul off. And then, yesterday, they too fell silent.”

“The same enemy got them.” The Sergeant didn’t need to make that a question.

“True. But this time we were able to find out who they were. Since we knew when they had been attacked, I was able to track down surveillance footage from just beforehand.” Ops gestured at the computer screen and said to the Elite, “Show them, Left.”

The Elite slid the chair he was sitting at to the side and turned the computer their way. On the screen, in grainy but unmistakable footage, was a slender, cocky-looking man with white hair, giving orders to people just off screen with a vigorous arm gesture. The Sergeant recognised the man instantly, righteous hatred swelling inside him.

Only the Trainee hadn’t had that reaction to the image. Though he did know this was someone to hate, all he said was, “Who is that?”

“You wouldn’t have been briefed on all of Free the Soul’s enemies until you were going out in the field more regularly,” Left explained. “That’s Aoi Kurashiki. He’s the brother of the leader of Crash Keys, and their most dangerous operative.”

The Trainee’s eyes widened. “Crash Keys! They attacked the Holy Site, just before it all happened.”

“That’s right,” the Chief said with an encouraging nod. “And, once I knew what to look for, it was clear that they were behind the deaths of all our other brothers as well. There was only one conclusion I could reach. One thing that could explain both the disaster that befell us on what should have been our day of glory, then the systematic hunting down of everyone else who escaped.”

“That’s gotta mean…” The Trainee fell silent, his brow furrowed. Then he gasped, a sharp, strangled rush of air. He’d worked out what the truth had to be. Why the four of them had ended up in this situation.

“… There’s a traitor. Someone betrayed us to Crash Keys.”

—-

2nd August 2029

The days were passing by, faster and faster. Chief of Operations Left had kept his cell of Myrmidons together as best he could, and their shared faith in Brother was a glue stronger than any mere camaraderie. Still, the months without anything for them to do – surrounded by the outside world and all its temptations and corruptions, the lingering threat of being betrayed to a Crash Keys death squad hanging over them – could only be wearing them down. With no guidance from Brother to lead the way there wasn’t much more they could do.

In the weeks following their realisation of a traitor within the Myrmidons the four Lefts had started working in shifts, keeping someone up and awake at all times to watch out for the attack, whenever it came. But it never had; between the increasing fatigue and the increasingly strained excuses they’d made to the neighbours for the strange pattern of activity, the constant vigil had proven to be unworkable.

So they’d gone back to living their ordinary undercover lives.

Maybe there was some other approach they could take to defending themselves against Crash Keys. If Left could work out who the traitor was, how they’d infiltrated the Myrmidons and sabotaged them on the Day of Truth, what secrets they’d communicated to Crash Keys, then maybe he’d be able to anticipate their next move. Or even lead his Myrmidons out and attack them first.

So the Ops Chief was down in the hidden basement below the safehouse, at one of the workbenches that they had set up there. The device that had been used to bring down the compound’s servers – the Elite Agent had brought it with them in their flight, after he’s disarmed it – lay open on the worksurface, its wires and innards exposed. The Elite had said that he’d recognised that type of device when he’d first found it, and now that Left was looking inside it the device certainly bore all the hallmarks of Myrmidon construction. Yet more evidence that the person who planted it was a traitor to the Myrmidons, no matter how much it twisted Left’s guts to think that.

Even the acolytes at the compound had been chosen for their utmost loyalty to Brother and were individually vetted by Brother Himself; none of them should have been traitors. And Left clones weren’t supposed to be even capable of betraying Brother.

And there was also the question of how the device had been attached to the servers in the first place. Had the traitor sneaked into the Operations Centre before the Day of Truth to plant it? No. The Ops Centre had been constantly manned, especially in the days as Brother prepared the holy site for the end of the world. And the servers had been located right in the middle of the room, where any of those Myrmidons could have witnessed and prevented it. The only way the sabotage device could have been planted was if every single one of those Lefts had been traitors, or if all of them had been struck blind at the same time but hadn’t realised that had been done to them.

And yet, the sabotage device had been found there, attached to the servers.

Left’s thoughts were distracted when he heard the panel entrance to the basement being shifted aside. After the firm click as the panel was slid back into place, footsteps descended the stairs towards Left. The Trainee emerged from that passageway into the basement chamber, a weary look in his eyes that turned to a flash of surprise when he saw the Chief sat there.

“Sir!” the Trainee exclaimed. “You’re down here as well?”

Left nodded. “I was just re-examining this device. If I just…” He trailed off. His subordinate had no need to know this. “What are you planning on doing down here?” Left asked instead.

“I need to purify my soul,” the Trainee replied.

A usual enough request. “Carry on, then,” the Chief said.

The Trainee headed over to the far end of the basement and laid out the implements used for Free the Soul rituals in a rough ring on the floor, before reaching into the wardrobe down there for the Free the Soul robes they’d stored there. When he’d donned his robes and knelt down in the centre of that ring he began the purification, closing his eyes, making the sign of the ‘f’ and chanting a prayer under his breath. When the chant was finished, just before moving onto the next part of the ritual, the Trainee opened his eyes again and looked up at Left. For a moment his lips quivered, but then he shut his eyes again and reached out for the mortification cables.

The Chief pushed the remains of the sabotage device away from his across the workbench and turned in his seat to face the Trainee head on. “You can speak up, Left, if you feel the need. Your spiritual health is important, to all of us here. Please, speak your mind.”

The other Left breathed in and out, several times, deeply, before replying. Eventually he said, “You must think I’m weak. Too weak to be a real Left. I’m needing to do this nearly once a week, now.”

Left sighed. “Do you think the rest of us aren’t purifying ourselves, also? Living for so long surrounded by this fallen world is something that threatens to taint all our souls. Never mind having to live here without His guidance. The methods He provided are a salve to us all, and it’s no weakness to rely on them.”

“But…” The Trainee shook his head forcefully. “Aren’t we supposed to be the new race of humankind? Those with strong enough wills to avoid the sins of other, lesser humans? If my willpower isn’t strong enough, if I’m not good enough, then…”

As the Trainee trailed off, the Ops Chief nodded gently. “Let me tell you something about willpower, Left,” he said. “You’re right that strength of will is a virtue. The crowning virtue, for those of us who follow Brother and act in His name. And it does you credit to want to strengthen yours. What I’m about to tell you is something you can only really come to understand from experience.”

The Trainee looked up, his eyes open and filled with hope. “What is it, sir?”

“Willpower isn’t some sort of finite resource you use up. Or some sort of quality a human can either possess or fail to possess. It’s a choice. Willpower is a choice. The choice to do the right thing, every single day of your life. You choose to keep up with your exercises and sparring, to keep your body strong. And you choose to act with kindness and generosity towards your brothers, and do good by your Brother. Those bonds of loyalty, renewed with every choice to maintain them, are what keep us together.”

“Yes, sir?” the Trainee said, nodding hesitantly.

“And look at us.” The Chief gestured around, taking in all of the basement and also the safehouse up above. “Where the rest of humankind was content to let the world fall to greed and ruin, we in Free the Soul made the choice to kill all those that cover the world in filth, to restore and rebuild it. And even when our most direct path to that was taken from us, we persevered. You made that choice, just as much as any of us, and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

“I guess so… But if that’s true, why is my soul feeling so weak? Why do I feel like my willpower is wasting away, compared to the rest of you?”

Left stood up from his workbench and strode over to the back end of the basement. He knelt down on the floor there, in front of the Trainee. “That feeling in your soul, your urge to purify it, isn’t a lack of willpower. It’s your recognition of what willpower requires. Your soul is calling out for the tools it needs to make the right choices, and you’re answering it diligently. You’re a Left, Left. You should trust your instincts.”

The Trainee pondered that for a moment, his posture relaxing. But he still reached out for the mortification cable, and his hand was still visibly shaky and hesitant as he did so. Left could tell that he still wasn’t in the right state of mind for the purification of his soul to take the most effect.

“I’m sure you didn’t come down here to discuss abstract theology with me,” the Chief added, softly. “Tell me, what’s really causing this?” A pause; the Chief took stock of how the Trainee reacted to that. “That’s an order, if it has to be.”

“Yessir.” The Trainee nodded firmly. He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then spoke. “We’ve been living among people ignorant of Free the Soul, right? For months, now. And we’re even having to interact with them, to maintain our covers.”

“That is a very trying situation for your soul, indeed,” Left said.

The Trainee continued, “I know these people are supposed to be degenerate, fallen, their souls filled with sin and greed. That’s what Brother taught us. It must be true. But when we’re talking to them, when I’m pretending to be ‘Trevor’, I just can’t see that. Take that woman, Sophie, next door. If her soul is as degenerate and sinful and wretched as she has to be, wouldn’t it be easier to see than this?”

Left nodded a few times. He took the moment to collect his thoughts. “Do you really believe that it’s a sin to sympathise with human beings who are not yet members of Free the Soul?”

“But we’re supposed to stay separate!” the Trainee gasped, slapping his palms against his knees. “We’re supposed to stay above them. That’s how we keep free from being contaminated by their sin, isn’t it?”

“That’s true, for most human beings,” the Chief explained, “but there are several people out there, many even, with the virtues to evade the corruption that engulfs the rest of the world. Where do you think our acolytes come from? They hardly grow on trees. They’re just ordinary humans with enough virtue to recognise the truth of our Brother’s words.” He reached out and laid his hand on the Trainee’s shoulder. “It’s no sin to associate with those with such virtue, whose souls are yearning to be free, even if they don’t yet know the words or the truths Brother taught us.”

The Trainee’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, sir!” he exclaimed. After a short pause, he asked, “Should we try to recruit her? Bring her into the fold so that her soul can be free?”

Left furrowed his brow, making a show of thinking about it. But when he replied, his answer was what it had to be. “No. If we were still at full strength, perhaps. But as vulnerable as we are right now we can’t afford to take the risk.” It wouldn’t do for the rookie to be getting idea into his head that would compromise the mission of the rest of them. Once he’d said his piece he stood up, stepping away from the ritual ring. “Finish off your purification, Left. When your soul is fully free once more, think over what I’ve told you with a clear mind. You’ll see things differently.”

And with that Left turned away. He headed up the stairs back to the safehouse, the Trainee’s grunts of muted pain receding behind him.

When the Ops Chief arrived back in the safehouse kitchen, he found the Elite Agent and the Sergeant standing around the counter there, discussing something intently to the point where they were completely ignoring their lunch. After fastidiously locking the false panel back into place over the entrance to the basement, the Chief went over to join them.

“What’s the news?” he asked them, a sharp staccato command. “Have we received word from Brother?”

The Elite shook his head. “Closer to home, I’m afraid, boss,” he said. He then turned to the Sergeant. “Give him the details, Stephen.”

‘Stephen’? The Chief’s eyes narrowed.

“Our neighbour,” the Sergeant said with a sigh, “has invited us over to a ‘barbeque’ next week. We…” He glanced out the kitchen window, his eyes pensive. “… need to decide how to deal with it. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m not sure what the best course of action is.”

“Surely we should reject it. It is in our best interests to minimise our engagement with those around us.”

“Hold up, Chief,” the Elite interrupted. “That ain’t such a good idea. If we act too standoffish all of a sudden we’re going to blow our cover to smithereens, just as surely as if we paraded down the street wearing our robes and singing Brother’s praises. We need to be cautious, but that’s no reason to make a snap rejection without thinking it over.”

“And, also…” The Sergeant glanced away contritely. “As far as I can tell, I already accepted the invitation. I apologise, sir. I had to make a decision when she asked. As far as I could tell, Brother’s will was telling me to accept.”

Left grimaced deep inside, but nodded openly. He wouldn’t have made it far as Operations Chief of the Myrmidons if he couldn’t manage subordinates having flexibility and using their own judgement in the field. “Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at 8:30am to brief on what we should expect. I hope you’ve made the right choice, Sergeant.”

Even without an enemy directly in front of the Myrmidons under his command, directly threatening them, there was still plenty of unwelcome surprises and decisions to be made. Left would keep his squad of Myrmidons together as best he could.

—-

16th November 2029

Today was…

The four Lefts had attended several other events and invitations after that first one. Always with some trepidation – the worry of blowing their cover loomed constantly, and they were ever-wary of the impact on their souls from immersing themselves in the outside world – but each time passed without consequence. Bit by bit they were getting more accustomed, knowing exactly what to say and do to navigate the thin thread between their obligations and their cover identities. Even the Trainee was perking up, gradually recovering from the malaise that had weighed down his soul over the previous months.

And today, one more little interaction with the neighbours had wrapped up without incident. The meal they’d eaten over at Sophie’s house had been hearty and filling, without any of the unnecessary luxury and overindulgence that would sap the strength of their souls. Al

To: @miraicrystal

From: @caramellum

Hi hi! I tried to include snippets from as many of your prompts as I possibly could. I hope you enjoy your gift, and that you have a lovely holiday!

AO3

Aoi Kurashiki was no stranger to nightmares. It was, he thought, a fair casualty in his rather grisly line of work; something nowhere near the correct magnitude for an equal karmic exchange, and yet just irksome enough to be a real thorn in his side.

The content of such dreams would perhaps be of no surprise to anyone that knew him. There were gleaming knives drawn so readily, so swiftly, he hardly registered the predetermined bite of the blade as it came down so cruelly between his shoulders.

Sometimes, he instead saw the chapel room bathed in a pool of stained glass light; eerily silent, except for the steady beat of muffled fists against a coffin lid—a staccato that slowly faded as the clock struck six, like a wax candle flame sputtering as it neared the end of its wick.

And then, on occasion, she was there. The figure in black robes, veiled so mysteriously behind a mask just as her intentions behind honeyed words. The cloud of smoke surrounding her dark silhouette twisted and curled before dissolving in the crisp November air, the light breeze from the apartment window fanning her hair like a halo as her loose hood dipped behind her back.

But it wasn’t the figure herself that made the vision a nightmare—oh, no, certainly not. The sight of his sister living, breathing, and corporeal before his eyes was enough to quell even the harshest of anxieties twisting Aoi’s gut.

No, was not her bulky gas mask that sent chills down his spine, but rather how she looked when she finally took it off.

“Aoi,” she would whisper. “He looks so small.”

Aoi would very much beg to differ. Junpei Tenmyouji was many things, but small wasn’t particularly one of them. The man seemed the very textbook definition of average—at least, on the surface. “Pretty sure the Soporil didn’t shrink him, ‘Kane.”

She wouldn’t reply immediately. She very rarely did; at least, not when the gears were turning in that brilliant head of hers. At her feet, the brunette man who held her heart would lay still, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was alive at all. “That’s not what I mean. He just…” The breath would always catch in her throat. Her eyes would shine dangerously, though the tears never fell. She never let them fall. Not since the day she ceased to become a child, having seen herself live and die a billion times over, in a billion different ways.

Perhaps Aoi had not witnessed those infinite demises, but even the once was enough.

“Yeah,” he would mutter. He would scoop the sleeping man gently from the floor, reminded suddenly of another, much smaller brunette; one lying feverish and alone on the chapel floor, her consciousness incinerated just as her form in another time. “I know what you mean.”

That particular dream was so vivid, so real, that he thought perhaps he might be SHIFTing. It wouldn’t be out of the question, Akane once mused. She herself would occasionally slip between dimensions if she wasn’t careful. Who was to say the same couldn’t happen when one was sleeping; when they were at their most vulnerable; when their thoughts ran wild, untamed by the inherent reason of consciousness?

It was for this reason that the dream, despite the inevitable pang of melancholy, was perhaps one of the more stable constants in Aoi’s life. He knew it like the back of his hand. He knew the creak of the window frame as they made their escape under cover of night. He knew the way she squeezed his hand even before he set Junpei in the back of the van; how he squeezed it back, and she had to struggle to pry it free, giggling softly as he intentionally tightened his grip. He knew the gentle hum of crickets as they drove the empty Nevada highway; knew how the moon and the stars shone brighter through the windows that night than any city lights. 

And most of all, he knew the look in Akane’s eyes when all the pieces had fallen into place—all the best cards in her own hand, with a royal flush hidden firmly up her sleeve. Players 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, and 9 slumbered peacefully as the Zero duo stood in the vast, soon-to-be-flooded hall of Building Q. They said nothing and everything all at once. Even so, spurred perhaps by formality and finality, she spoke.

“Are you ready?” she would say. Despite the inflection, it wasn’t a question. The telepathic race of thoughts connecting their minds left little to the imagination. She knew he was ready, just as she knew she had been born for this day.

“Nah.” Aoi would feign a yawn, cracking his neck from side to side. “Was thinkin’ I might catch some Zs instead. Think Hazuki would mind if I took the bottom bunk?”

Akane would almost smile, her eyes darting to the line of doors covering the hall. “Yes. I think she just might.”

But this wasn’t how the dream went. Not tonight.

“Aoi Kurashiki.”

The man in question groaned, stirred abruptly from a deep slumber. Could one be woken from a dream, by another dream? He dared to crack open an eye. Even in his slumber, he could use every tactical advantage that he could get.

There was the figure, bathed in moonlight, dressed in black. Even in the dark, the ominous visage of the gas mask could not be mistaken. Ah, so it was this dream again.

And yet… was Akane’s voice always that deep? Even under the layers of morphing software embedded in the mask, there was a confident, distinctive lilt to her voice that Aoi would recognize anywhere. In its place, there was now an undertone of bass; of gruffness; of… well, not his sister.

In order to make that connection, however, one would require at bare minimum two functioning brain cells. At present, Aoi was working with half of one, at best.

“Aoi Kurashiki,” the figure declared once again. “Please wake up.”

Aoi moaned, shoving a pillow over his head. It was far too early for these sorts of thoughts. “‘S okay, ‘Kane. Just Soporil. He’ll… be… ngh…”

The familiar embrace of drowsiness clouded his mind. He had just crept back into the realm of unconsciousness when a pair of muscular arms wrapped around his torso, plucking him abruptly from the mound of blankets like a ripe apple from a high branch.

“GAH!” Aoi cried. The winter air pricked at his skin like tiny, blizzard-like needles. The curtains of his bedroom whipped back and forth under the barrage of weather, shoved harshly to the side to expose the open window. “What the fuck Akane! It’s… It’s like…” His eyes flicked to the alarm clock, its red LED display piercing through the darkness. “It’s fuckin’ four in the morning!”

“Actually, it’s 4:08, to be precise.” The figure kicked open the bedroom door, carrying him bridal style across the threshold. 

“Oh, haha. Hilarious.” Aoi crossed his arms, thumping his heel lightly against his captor’s stomach. “Now put me the fuck down before I tell Junpei about how you ate bugs when you were three. I’ll fuckin’ do it. I swear I will.”

The figure paused, their quick intake of air audible even behind the mask. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t!” Aoi chimed with a false, hysterical sort of cheer—the kind that can only come from one sleep deprived to the point of hysterics, and in desperate need of a quadruple espresso shot. “I wouldn’t, if you let me sleep more than an hour before my shift instead of stealing me from my bedroom at dawn like a goddamn princess in a tower!”

“…Oh. Sorry.” The figure shifted back and forth uncertainly. The room blurred before Aoi’s eyes as he whipped back and forth, and he groaned, feeling the beginnings of a migraine pricking at his scalp. “I’ll just, um. Down you go?”

Aoi yelped as he landed unceremoniously on the couch, head-first into the sturdy armrest. The shock seemed to knock the air from his lungs, and the headache that was once no more than a dull discomfort now rocketed swiftly into the realm of outright pain.

“You know, you coulda just set me down on the floor,” he protested. The overhead light of the living room was brutal, beating down tenfold in the sleepy calm of morning. He closed his eyes, letting an arm plop against his brow in a makeshift shield against the barrage of brightness. “Fuck, it’s too early for this. The sun isn’t even up and you’re already… The hell kind of prank is…” In the interim, the figure had removed their mask, shaking their dark, crew cut hair from its band. If this was his sister, it was a hell of a growth spurt. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, shit. You’re… not Akane.”

Long forgotten instincts bubbled to the surface. Instincts born from taking shelter on the streets, sizing up every man and woman and child who dared to approach the shivering bundle of a girl at his side. Aoi’s fists opened and closed as he glowered at the intruder. His heart pounded in his chest, spurred by the deep seated protectiveness of an older brother with everything to lose. He resisted the urge to glance towards Akane’s bedroom; resisted it, in case the intruder noticed, and used it against him. Instead, he called to her in the way only he could.

For a tense moment that felt more like three eternities, there was nothing. He prodded again. And again. A feral sort of rage blurred the edges of his vision. If she was harmed… if he touched even a single fucking hair on her head, he would—

“Hm…? Aoi…?”

A B-list horror film blared from the speakers of a small TV, illuminating the living room in a warm glow. Despite the shrill screams of the lead actress, there was a coziness to the rundown apartment that couldn’t be ignored. 

A small houseplant stood proudly atop a bookshelf, adored with so many festive baubles its branches began to droop. Someone had visibly attempted to rig it up with string. While successful, it did little for the sake of aesthetics. Still, the small effort from Akane’s fiancé didn’t go unappreciated—nor was it spared from her amusement.

The girl yawned, burrowing her face into a small throw pillow. Her feet were cold, having drifted outside the warm embrace of her blanket. Lazily, she pressed them against Junpei’s thigh. He jolted awake with a strangled yelp. Akane might have found it funny if she weren’t half asleep.

Akane! Aoi cried into the fields. He latched onto her consciousness, ignoring how she pulled weakly away. Thank fucking god. Look, stay calm, but—

“‘M fine. Still at Junpei’s.” It wasn’t often she forgot she didn’t have to respond out loud. Then again, Aoi generally wasn’t typically picking her brain at this hour. “‘S early… Go back to… sleep…”

Hell no I’m not going to sleep! Akane’s thoughts lulled to a dull murmur, slipping through Aoi’s fingers like sand in an hourglass. He reached forcefully through the fields, grasping her consciousness and yanking it back into coherence. And neither are you! There’s someone in—

“Oh… That timeline…? I left it… mm on my bedside table… G’night…”

The fuck does that even mean?!

Radio silence. 

Akane????

The morphogenetic equivalent of airplane mode. Aoi cursed, cutting what little remained of their connection. He needed his entire mind in the present. There was no telling what sort of danger he was in. At least his baby sister was out of harm’s way, even if it meant staying the night with Junpei. He’d be having a strong word with him later. But for now, he had bigger problems.

“You’re right. I’m not Akane,” the man confirmed. Aoi recoiled as the intruder extended a hand from underneath his sleeve, though he was relieved to find that nothing was hidden in his open palm. “Dr. Sigma Klim at your service. I would offer to shake your hand, though, uh. Judging by the large switchblade you’ve just procured from your left sock, something tells me you aren’t really in the mood for pleasantries.”

So this was Sigma, huh? Aoi held the blade at the ready, feet parted in a defense stance as he rose from the couch. The man certainly fit the description Akane provided. Tall. Muscular. A sharp, brooding fierceness to his features that didn’t quite match the softness in his eyes. He’d seen him in person only once before, on Christmas Eve—and even then, only briefly. Akane had insisted on proceeding alone. Besides, someone had to bite the bullet and keep his batshit crazy girlfriend at bay. Lady hadn’t taken too kindly to the forged breakup texts. Aoi still had the bite marks to prove it.

“You’re damn right I’m not gonna shake your hand,” Aoi snapped. Didn’t matter who this person was—only why he was there. “You’d better have a good fuckin’ explanation for breaking into my apartment. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops to haul your ass to jail.”

“I… wouldn’t advise that.” Sigma appeared sheepish, perhaps even apologetic as he ran a hand through his hair, displacing bits of melted snow that still lingered there. On closer inspection, the man wasn’t adorned with a set of cultist black robes after all, but instead a long, winter trench coat. “Alice mentioned that your outstanding warrants are still being processed. If you contact the police, there’s a greater than zero chance you would be arrested. Possibly Akane, as well.”

Well, shit. There went his bluff.

“Fine,” Aoi sighed, rubbing wearily at his forehead. “Fine. Okay. Sure. No cops.” How many homes had Aoi himself broken into again? He was beginning to lose count. Perturbed though he was, it would be hypocritical to kick the man to the curb without at least finding out what he wanted. 

Not that he had another choice, really.

Aoi flopped back onto the couch, throwing his arms over the back and taking a deep, steadying breath. The haze of sleep was beginning to lift, leaving behind something in its wake resembling coherence. Maybe this person was a stranger (and one who picked his sixth story window lock nonetheless!), but if Akane thought he was harmless, then, well… how bad could he be, really?

The intruder waited patiently by the sofa. He hadn’t moved an inch since Aoi’s outbursts, looking for all the world like a Grecian statue frozen in time, save for the subtle trail of his gaze over the picture frames on the walls. He seemed to linger at one point in particular—a region dangerously close to Aoi’s grade school photos. The man’s lips twitched into a half smile.

Aoi flushed, flying swiftly to his feet. “You thirsty? Because I’m fuckin’ parched.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. He trudged swiftly into the kitchen, plucking the kettle from its overhead perch above the fridge and plopping it on the stove. He cranked the burner, realizing perhaps a bit too late that he had forgotten to fill the pot with water. The large, floral kettle hissed and steamed as he ran it underneath the faucet. It was already half boiling by the time he eased it back onto the stovetop. He threw two tea bags into the water, watching as it faded to a pleasant caramel color.

“You want sugar?” Aoi called into the other room. The kitchen was beginning to fill with a familiar herbal aroma, melting his remaining doubts. “Got creamer too, but I wouldn’t risk it if I were you. Akane bought it ages ago and refuses to throw it out. Probably looks like a first grade science project by now.”

There was a pause, broken only by the rapid bubbling of the kettle. Aoi wondered for a moment if his “guest” (if he could call him that) had escaped back through the window. “…Sugar is fine. Thank you.”

Aoi nodded, not particularly caring that the other man couldn’t see the gesture from the living room. He dished the liquid into two hefty mugs before scooping a large spoonful of sugar into each. They steamed invitingly from the tray as he carried them back into the other room, lowering them onto the side table before falling back onto the sofa.

“This… isn’t poison, is it?” Sigma gingerly lifted the leftmost mug—the one that was painfully hot pink, bedazzled, and engraved inexplicably with #1 Abuela. It had been a gag gift from Light. Something meant to poke fun at Aoi’s “mother-henning,” as he called it. Still, it was no skin off his back. If caring deeply about his friends meant he was a mother hen, then cluck cluck, motherfucker.

“Nah,” Aoi replied with a yawn. He took the other mug, nursing its warmth in his palm. The hot liquid burnt his tongue, but not enough to dissuade him from the siren song that was caffeine. “Number one rule of assassination, and all that. If I wanted to kill you, it wouldn’t be in my own fuckin’ apartment.”

The other man froze. “That’s… not very reassuring. Is that supposed to be reassuring? Because I’m feeling very unassured right now.”

“If you don’t want it, don’t drink it. I’m the one that wanted tea.” Aoi closed his eyes against the barrage of the overhead light, sipping lightly at his drink. Already, the throb at his skull had begun to lessen. Something about the blend was like a panacea, he thought; like a universal chicken soup to a cold. “You really care about my feelings that much, then just dump it in the sink when I’m not lookin’. I really couldn’t care less.”

“Wait,” Sigma said, gaze flicking to his glittery mug. “Did you say tea? Not coffee?”

“Uh… yeah?” The other man’s brow wrinkled, and Aoi was struck with a sudden realization. He flew to his feet, snatching the mug from his hands. “Shit, you’re allergic to somethin’ in it, aren’t you? Shit. Hold on, I can—“

“No. No, this is fine. Great, actually. Thank you.” Sigma tugged his drink back from Aoi’s grasp. He shrugged, something resembling a smile dancing in his eyes. “I just, wouldn’t have pegged you for a tea kind of guy. That’s all.”

“Yeah?” The beginnings of irritation began to prick at Aoi’s mind. That was before, of course, he noticed the bright and most decidedly pastel pink cloth peeking from the bottom of the other man’s coat. “Well I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who wears fluffy cat PJs.”

Sigma paused, the mug halfway to his lips. A mischievous grin swallowed his features like a tiny comet to a black hole as he shed his large coat, revealing a matching top that read, to Aoi’s immediate regret, The Cat’s Pajamas. “You kitten me?” Sigma enthused. “They suit me purrfectly. Fur real, I’m feline pretty con-fur-dent in my ap-purr-ence. Could even rock them on the catwalk. I think I’d get a round of ap-paw-se.”

So much for the improving headache. “Remind me to never get you and Junpei in the same room,” Aoi mumbled. He took a large swig of his tea; one which was, to his detriment, nearly the entire mug. He suppressed a cough as the near-boiling drink trickled down his throat. “Think you’re even worse than him, if that’s possible.”

“I will take that as a com-plurr-ment!” Aoi didn’t think the other man’s grin could get any larger. There simply wasn’t enough room on his face, and that was saying something, given that he was at least twice Aoi’s size.

He would never admit that he almost laughed. Not in a million years. “Okay, now that one sucked and you know it.”

Sigma held up a hand, closing his eyes with whatever semblance of stoicism he could manage. “I plead the fifth.”

The conversation dissolved into a companionable silence. Aoi hummed appreciatively as the caffeine worked its magic. He certainly wouldn’t be getting back to sleep that night, but it wasn’t as if he had much time left to begin with. His workload had increased substantially ever since the disastrous DCOM experiment. Twelve hours shifts were far more common than they had been even before the second nonary game. There may or may not be A Terrorist™ who wants to nuke the shit out of the planet wasn’t exactly much to go on, research-wise.

For a moment, Aoi couldn’t help but think that the early start to his day wasn’t so bad after all. He normally had fifteen minutes, tops, to get dressed and out the door; and that was if he wanted to make it to work at 6:30 sharp. Tea was practically out of the question even on a good day. His morning energy boost usually came from a run-down keurig in the break room. It was effective, sure, but equally disappointing. Like downing liquid cardboard in a cup.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly registered when his guest hurtled to his feet, sending a rather impressive cascade of pillows tumbling to the floor.

“Where… did you get this…?!” Sigma choked. The beverage threatened to fall from his grasp, and Aoi dove across the couch, catching it just before it slipped from his fingers. He set it swiftly on the coffee table before turning his attention back to his guest, who now clutched lightly at his chest, eyes distant and unnervingly blank.

“Shit, I thought you weren’t allergic!” Aoi cried. Sigma’s face had begun to redden, and his shoulders trembled uncontrollably. “Why the hell did you—“ Aoi paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. Getting angry wouldn’t do any good here. Briefly, he recalled the time Akane had accepted a granola bar from Junpei in elementary school, believing that the peanuts were actually cashews. Such things weren’t always black and white. “How allergic are we talkin’ here? A benadryl and some water, or an epi-pen and a hospital bed?”

Sigma didn’t respond immediately. His mouth opened and closed, though if he was trying to say something, he didn’t make a sound. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak, and raspy. You could hardly even call it a whisper. “This… this is…”

Aoi sighed, thoughts racing a mile a minute. The guy sounded pretty awful. Hospital it was, then. “Hang on. Just hang on, okay?” He stood, pacing idly across the floor. The police are a no go. What about an ambulance? Medical immunity? Is that still a thing? Even if it wasn’t, he didn’t see much of a choice here. Alice would just have to bail him out later, consequences be damned. “My cell phone is in the other room. I’ll be back. I’ll—“

“No. No, you don’t understand.” The sudden strength to Sigma’s voice made Aoi pause in his tracks. He turned, halfway to his bedroom, to find the man on his feet, clutching the mug desperately to his chest. “This is Luna’s tea.”

“That a brand or somethin’?” Aoi frowned when the man didn’t reply. “If it is, you’re wrong. Akane makes it herself. Dunno what she puts in the stuff, but if you need me to ask, I’ll call her right now.” She may have shut him out telepathically, but he knew for a fact her cell phone still had the ringer on. Junpei was just as insistent about that as Aoi himself. He might not have been particularly fond of the guy, but hey, he had to give credit where it was due.

At this, it was as if the metaphorical floodgates had been opened. Aoi had no idea what he’d said that was so funny, but at his prior remark, the man’s deep sadness seemed to crack like a flimsy eggshell against a metal bowl. Sigma laughed. He laughed until he cried. He laughed until he doubled over, clutching desperately at his stomach. “Akane. Ah, Akane! Of course it was her!” He gasped for air, clapping hysterically at his thigh. “That little minx! She knew all along, didn’t she?”

Aoi thought for a moment that he should be offended on his sister’s behalf, but there was no malice in Sigma’s expression. In fact, there was nothing short of mirth. He was practically glowing with affection as he cupped the blindingly pink mug between his large hands. It radiated from his face like concentrated sunbeams. Aoi clicked his tongue, trying his best to muster up something resembling irritation, but swiftly failed. Sigma’s exuberant joy was almost contagious.

“No clue what you’re going on about,” he began, “but if it’s somethin’ about Akane knowing things she shouldn’t, then you’re probably right.”

“I don’t think shouldn’t is the right word.” Sigma wiped a few tears from his eyes. His raucous laughter had at last dissolved into a fond, unwavering giddiness. “How much did she tell you about our work on Rhizome-9?”

“I know the basics. Not much else.” Aoi was going to leave it at that; however, the expectant silence was unnerving even for him. Sigma waited patiently for him to continue, and Aoi sighed, pondering how much was safe to reveal. New hire or not, Sigma Klim was far from a Crash Keys executive. “Akane and I might work together, but most of our intel comes on a need to know basis. Considerin’ there’s not a universe where I don’t kick the bucket when the plague hits. Well. I didn’t need to know much.”

“…Right.” The look Sigma gave him, all softness and pity and paternal warmth, made Aoi instantly regret the revelation. “Once, in another timeline, Akane and I devoted our whole lives to a project. The AB project, we called it. It was—“

“Yeah, yeah.” Aoi waved a hand dismissively. “Savin’ the world. Time travel. Consciousness swaps. I know that much.”

“I see. I’ll spare you the technical drivel, then.” While the smile never fell from Sigma’s face, there was now a note of melancholy—or was it wistfulness? “The moon… is an unforgiving place. Not like earth. Even our planet scorched by nuclear detonation was still less foreboding than space.” He paused, taking a cautious sip from the mug. It was still near-boiling, though if he was phased by the temperature, he didn’t show it. “Humans weren’t meant to live on the moon. Our muscles… our circulatory systems, they… they don’t always adapt. My Diana’s fragile heart just couldn’t take it. She wilted away, right before my eyes, like a flower under the scorching sun, and I was helpless to do a thing about it.” 

Sigma cupped his mug between his palms. It rocked back and forth slightly in his grasp, almost like a sleeping infant in its mother’s arms. “I… recreated her. As an AI. A GOL-M, I called them. I’m not ashamed to admit it. The thought of living without her was too much to bear. It still is.

“The day that she was reborn as an AI was, I thought, the happiest I’d been in years. But I quickly realized that the woman before me was not Diana. She was less… forceful. Less dynamic. Whereas Diana had a weak heart physically, Luna’s was made of titanium. And yet… even compared to Diana, it was so incredibly, indescribably breakable. Even the slightest of aggressions was enough to send her reeling; withdrawing into herself, sometimes for weeks at a time. She simply wasn’t built for it. The isolation of the moon was too much, and she was slowly going insane, lost endlessly inside her thoughts, with no companion aside from a foolish old man with a pipe dream.

“But then, one day… it happened.”

There was a gentle tug against Aoi’s mind. This was not the force of one trying to pry their way inside, nor the urgent chime of a messenger. It was instead the innocent pull of a powerful transmitter lost in his own thoughts. Akane herself was prone to a similar sort of magnetism. 

Curious, Aoi allowed it to overtake his mind with its gentle, nostalgic allure. It was second nature to him; like breathing. As a powerful receiver himself, he knew he could fight off the presence easily, if it ever became undesirable. The small living room of his apartment blurred before his eyes, transforming into a cold, unfamiliar sight which was nonetheless laced with the rosy hues of nostalgia.

—————————————

Fatherhood was like second nature to Sigma. Being something of an “overgrown child” himself, as Akane had once put it, he had always fancied himself good with kids. Back in his university days, it wasn’t uncommon for a professor or two to ask him to babysit. Of course, the money was the main incentive, but there were times when he actually enjoyed watching the little tikes. Even so, he hadn’t seen many kids since he left Earth so long ago. And Kyle was… Kyle.

Sigma glanced down at the small helmet in his hand. A frayed wire hissed lightly as he clipped it, exchanging it for a sturdier variety. Technically, the boy’s suit didn’t need an electronic air purifying system in his annual size upgrade, but any small luxury he could provide the boy in secret was more than worth it. 

It wasn’t as if Sigma didn’t want to spend time with his son (if you could even call him that, at this point). The young boy had a predetermined destiny, just as his father had one to prepare him for said destiny. It just so happened that Kyle’s fate couldn’t happen, should he be raised under… warmer circumstances. A Kyle who spent time apprenticing in his father’s workshop simply wouldn’t have the heart to betray. Unlike his older twin, of course, who needed no such prompting.

Sigma sighed as he closed the helmet’s latch, securing it with the key on the back side. Certainly, he wished there was more he could do for Kyle, but for now the subtle improvements to his suit would have to do.

…Though he supposed the suit wasn’t the only thing he had gifted him.

At the corner of his workshop, the GOL-M known simply as Luna stood unmoving. It was her default mode. Standby. Ready and waiting for orders, should they come. 

So very unlike Diana.

Sigma shook his head, willing the stray thought to dissipate. Generally speaking, Luna’s standard state would be to attend to Kyle, though the boy had requested that she be removed entirely from his presence. Without a purpose, she had taken to idling by Sigma as he worked. If he hadn’t known better, he would almost say that she looked sad.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it? 1s and 0s do not emotion make.

“Sooooo,” Sigma began. The sterile silence was near unnerving, and he could bear it no longer. “The helmet is finished. What do you think, Luna? Isn’t it sublime?”

“Your work is wonderful as always, Dr. Klim.” Her reply was instant. She hardly left room for a single breath. The girl’s gaze never strayed from his own as she beamed, all teeth and no eyes.

Sigma sighed. The helmet fell back onto his workspace with a metallic thunk. His own reflection glared back at him, as cantankerous and disapproving as ever. “You didn’t even look at it.”

“Would you like for me to look at it, Dr. Klim?” It was a question, and yet it wasn’t. This was not the soft, gentle curiosity of a human—of Diana—but instead the unnerving drive for orders from a machine. The sugary sweetness of her voice changed nothing about her true internal state.

“No, no. There’s no need. You’re right. I am too great for my own good.” Sigma draped a hand over his forehead, heaving a dramatic sigh. It would be enough to earn at least a cold look from Akane, he thought, if not worse.

“Yes. Very great, Dr. Klim.” Luna’s eyes shimmered with uncontained admiration. Admiration which was, in Sigma’s opinion, unmerited—at least, by disqualification of arrogance alone.

Sigma deflated, every ounce of bravado sapped instantly from his muscles.“You aren’t supposed to agree!” 

He said that, and yet he knew it wasn’t true. Hadn’t he designed her with the laws of robotics in mind? How could he ever expect her to be like her if she was forced to tend to his every whim? 

She wouldn’t have put up with his arrogance. She would have scoffed, saying that the only thing he was great at was fraying her every last nerve. She would have smiled, though. She always smiled.

“I… I’m very sorry. I’ve upset you again, haven’t I?” The girl’s hand hovered over his shoulder. She was so close, he could feel the artificial warmth from her palm. “I don’t want you to be unhappy. I only wanted—“

“No, you didn’t!” Sigma cried. A subtle, unplaced fury that had been burning in his chest, smoldering since her creation, threatened to combust. “Surely you don’t want to stand there all day like a bump on a log. What do you want, Luna? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

Her reply was disappointing, but not unexpected. “I only want to serve you and your family, Dr. Klim. That is my purpose. That’s… why I was born, wasn’t it?” Her eyes flicked uncertainly to the small helmet on the table. Instantly, her gaze seemed to soften, and for a moment, Sigma felt a subtle pang to his own heart.

“Fine, then,” he relented. An idea was beginning to form. It was crazy, perhaps, and would go nowhere… But if it did… “What if I said you could ‘serve’ me by serving yourself?”

A pause. Just a heartbeat; but more than the girl had ever allowed before. “I’m sorry, but… I don’t think I understand. Could you possibly… rephrase the command…?”

“I can.” Sigma leaned against his work bench, drumming his fingers idly on the wooden surface. He knew precisely what he wanted to say—but how to say it? “Luna. No—Luna Klim. I created you to be the doppleganger to the woman who once held my entire heart in her hands. She was a nurse. A caregiver. Smart as a whip. The motherly sort of person who is born to care for others. You are much like her in this regard. Still, I’ve come to realize that you are not Diana. You. Are. Luna.”

The GOL-M tilted her head, cupping her hands before her chin. It was a reaction he had programmed himself; an easy quirk to detect when the AI was taking a bit longer to process. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I’m Luna. Would you like me to be Diana instead?”

“No!” Sigma groaned. (Yes, GOD yes, his subconscious chimed, though he shooed away the errant thought. He had long abandoned that idea, even if a small, guilt-ridden part of him still longed for it.) “Absolutely not! I want you to be Luna, whatever that means. I… want you to find your bluebird.” His hand was reaching in his pocket before he could stop himself. The gilded cage on a chain; the one he’d kept on his person since the day she passed. Just five minutes ago, someone would have had to pry the necklace from his cold, dead hands. Now, though, he parted with it so easily, and he wasn’t even sure why. He cupped her pale, slender hands with one of his own, pressing it firmly into her palm. “Take this, and find out who Luna is. Find what makes you happy, and report back to me immediately when you do.”

As she gazed down at the small ornament, her soft, cerulean eyes were wide with… something. It was certainly a mimic of some emotion. Generally, it was much clearer to the trained eye. Robot “feelings” were not complicated. It was like flipping a switch between settings, not wavering uncertainly between them. “Happy,” she whispered. Her fingers curled around the small charm, her thumb stroking the edges of the bars. “It’s not something I know much about, but… I think maybe you make me happy, Dr. Klim.”

The scientist nearly lost his footing, jamming his elbow into his workbench. He rubbed at the injury good-naturedly, chuckling as the girl produced a small bandage from her skirt pocket. “I didn’t mean it like that!” Sigma chortled. Perhaps Luna’s personality was reminiscent of Diana, though he certainly hadn’t programmed her memories or feelings. Then again, she did have a neural network of her own, didn’t she? He couldn’t help the warm flush that rose to his cheeks. But flattered though he was… “I want you to find a hobby, Luna. Something to do in your spare time, when you aren’t tending to my every need. I, for instance, like to crochet!” He whipped open a drawer at his workstation, tugging a small bundle of red fabric free. There was a border of little snowflakes at the edges. At the center was a lacy box embedded with the words Somebunny Loves Me. “I made a festive sweater for Lagomorph just last month, you see? He can’t wear it physically, but I made it nonetheless, just because the idea made me smile.”

Luna seemed to ponder this. Her head did not tilt. Instead, she met his gaze—unflinching, unwavering, and with the fierce sort of determination he would expect from his own flesh and blood. “I think I finally understand. Yes! I’ll find something that makes me happy, too! I promise, I won’t let you down!”

As she clasped the small bluebird around her neck, the smile reached her eyes.

—————————————

The emergency alert system of Rhizome-9 was not easy on the ears even on a good day. At 0408 lunar time, it was particularly dreadful.

“Wakey wakey, Siggy-o!” Lagomorph cried via the speaker embedded underneath the bed. Sigma stirred, plucked from the clutches of some vague dream, though he was far from outright consciousness. “Oi! I said rise ‘n shine, ya old featherduster! Maaaaybe you just need a little encouragement!”

This was followed by the AI’s vocal rendition of what appeared to be a freestyle dubstep remix of Morning Mood by Edvard Grieg. He’d also acquired a virtual recorder—inexplicably off-key, of course. Sigma groaned at the sudden assault to his ears. He was in a morning mood alright, but it sure wasn’t a pleasant one.

Still, it wasn’t as if he could ignore the call to arms forever. It was simply one of the hardships that came with living on a lunar base. Mechanical flaws wouldn’t wait until morning, after all, and came with risks far greater than simple inconvenience. 

Sigma opened his eyes to a rather familiar sight, even in the darkness. The GOL-M’s eyes shone unnaturally from the foot of his bed. An eerie vision to some, perhaps; though to Sigma, her presence was a welcome development. It wasn’t unusual for Luna to provide a detailed report during the night, and she was far easier to hold a conversation with than her rabbit counterpart.

Sigma yawned, reaching blindly for the lamp. Immediately, the girl scurried to his side, pulling easily on the drawstring. The room burst to life in a flurry of artificial fluorescence.

“Good morning, Dr. Klim!” Luna chimed. Her long, lacy nightgown swished around her ankles, and there was a light smear of dirt on her freckled cheek. Her red hair hung in twin braids tied with cerulean ribbon, though the leftmost had begun to come loose. “Did you sleep well?”

“Other than being woken in the middle of the night?” he remarked. The girl seemed to droop visibly at the comment, and he cleared his throat. She may not have had real emotion, but she was certainly convincing, at times. “Still, duty calls, doesn’t it? What seems to be the problem? Not the life support again, I hope?”

The AI shook her head. Her braids whipped back and forth, smacking lightly at her back. “No. Not the life support.”

“The cryogenic pods, then?” If it was, that could be a disaster and a half. The occupants weren’t scheduled to wake for a long while yet. There had been a brief scare three years ago when movement was detected inside Clover’s pod, though it was deemed to be a false alarm. Kyle had merely tripped and jostled it a little, triggering the emergency alarm.

“No, not the pods either.” The girl seemed to stand up a little straighter. Her hands were cupped firmly behind her back as she leaned forward, practically vibrating with anticipation. “I’ve finally found something that made me smile, Dr. Klim.”

Sigma blinked. He’d almost forgotten about their conversation from two months prior, though the girl didn’t flinch. Right—she wasn’t one for pranks, was she? “T-that’s great, Luna. I’m very happy for you.” The GOL-M beamed proudly, and the genuine curve of her lips was almost enough to rouse Sigma from his groggy stupor. Almost, but not quite. “However, truth be told, I’m still very tired. If that’s what all the fuss is about, then could it possibly wait until the morning?”

“No!” Luna blurted. Sigma’s brow furrowed. No certainly wasn’t in her usual vocabulary. “You ordered me to return to you immediately when I found it. I… I have my report!”

Sigma couldn’t help but smile, himself. “So I did.” He rose wearily to a sitting position, patting amicably at the spot beside him. Perhaps he was still half asleep, though she made a good point. He couldn’t very well argue with his own orders, now could he? “Let’s hear it, then. What makes Luna smile?”

Luna did not sit. Instead, she shoved a large, gnarled… thing… so close to Sigma’s face that he had to look cross-eyed to see it properly. He sputtered as a fair amount of dirt made its way into his mouth, sprinkling like snowfall from its edges onto his blanket.

“Well,” he choked, swiping at his mouth. “That is definitely not what I was expecting.” He shoved the offending item to the side. At a distance, it looked vaguely familiar. Something brown, and tuber-like. Definitely one of the specimens from the growing chamber. Ginger, perhaps? “Can I ask why you chose this particular thing?”

An instant reply, as always. “It’s very ugly.”

Sigma frowned. Ugly? It was just a regular ginger plant, wasn’t it? Still, he found his gaze drawn once again to the root. Ginger wasn’t exactly a pretty specimen by any means, so he supposed he could understand what Luna meant. Still, though… the ones he’d harvested in the past weren’t quite so… warty, were they? The edges twisted and writhed, tapering to rigid, furry ends almost like a gnarled set of toes. Sigma recoiled—and then, instantly realized the humor of the situation.

“Ugly, you say? Indeed it is!” he guffawed. It truly was a sight to behold, and not one he would have noticed on his own. “And that made you smile?” The GOL-M nodded fervently. Her fiery, stoic enthusiasm threatened to make him laugh anew. “I think I understand now. It is quite delightful. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Luna.”

She nodded. “Yes! Of course. You’re welcome!” Despite her prior resolve, Luna fiddled with the hem of her dress. It was odd, Sigma thought. Normally she was so… stiff. So unsure of herself, yet unwavering in her purpose. Now, however, these traits were almost mirrored. She was so confident, so passionate, and yet…

“Is that all?” Sigma prompted gently. Instantly, the girl bit her lip, rocking almost imperceptibly on her heels. “I get the impression that perhaps you had something else on your mind.”

“You’re right,” Luna admitted. Some of the rigidity seemed to loosen around her shoulders. She cupped her hands below her chin, the question lingering in her eyes even before she asked it. “You’re always right, Dr. Klim. I was actually… thinking about what I wanted…”

Well, that was a development. Sigma hadn’t directly ordered her to find what she wanted, did he? Perhaps he had mentioned it briefly, though it was only a passing thought and nothing more. Had she been pondering this all those weeks? Was that even possible, given her source code?

“I’d like a garden, Dr. Klim,” the girl declared. “With sunlight. And grass.” Luna lifted the root once again. Though ‘ugly,’ as she put it, there was still a subtle, natural sort of beauty to the way it twisted and turned in the warm glow of the table lamp. “I’ve read that many plants from Earth thrived in natural sunlight. The growing chamber is nothing like the images of earth from my database. If we recreate it, I think… I think maybe… they would grow. Maybe they wouldn’t be so small, and withered, and sad anymore. Maybe they could even be beautiful, with a little care.”

“A garden, you say.” Sigma stroked his chin. He’d considered something similar himself, actually. It was a silly dream that he’d once toyed with but quickly discarded. The growing chamber, unlike a field, was an optimal use of space. It didn’t require grass. Some specimens didn’t even require soil, relying instead on suspended aquaponics. “I’m inclined to say no given space restrictions. However, if you can provide evidence of practicality, then—“

“Oh, but it would make me very happy, Dr. Klim!”

Sigma grinned. Mental health was practical indeed. Akane may give him the cold shoulder for converting the large storage room, but consequences be damned. Luna Klim had found her bluebird, and he wasn’t about to open the cage.

—————————————

“And that was how it started,” Sigma recounted. “With the garden.” 

Aoi wasn’t quite sure what to say. His mind still buzzed with a medley of sensations and emotions that weren’t quite his own, however real they felt. “Well,” he mumbled. “Not too hard to guess how that relates to the tea.”

“Perhaps not.” Sigma smiled into his cup. It was almost odd seeing him as a young man now. It wasn’t as if Aoi ever saw his full older appearance in the vision, per se; after all, the entire scene was viewed from Sigma’s own eyes. Still, maintaining the perceptions of others was an (at times) unfortunate side effect of being a natural receiver. He’d even made the mistake of resonating with a flea-bitten dog, once. He was scratching at his forearms for weeks, and was still trying very hard to forget the incident with the mailman.

“After the garden was complete,” Sigma continued, “Luna proceeded to transplant the most pitiful crops we had on the base. Only the ugly ones, by her own definition. She insisted. As it turned out, she had a knack for gardening. Maybe that isn’t surprising given that she had an entire database at her fingertips, and yet it is such a delicate art. One which even humans struggle with.” Sigma smiled, reaching lightly for a pot of lilies on the coffee table. He took a withered petal, long forgotten in the topsoil, between his calloused fingertips. “It takes a real gift. A human gift. Luna had that gift.”

“A human gift, huh?” Aoi watched as Sigma nudged a layer of soil over the flower fragment. “Thought you said she was a robot.”

“I used to think so, too. Now, though, I suppose that depends on your definition of human. If, for example, I were to transplant your consciousness into a GOL-M’s body, would you still consider yourself a human being?”

“Depends on your definition of human,” Aoi echoed. He tapped his fingers against his mug, eyeing the spot where the petal had vanished into the flowerpot. “You want my honest answer, though? I think people put way too much emphasis on bein’ human in the first place. No way we’re alone in the universe. No way in hell. Even if you don’t believe in that sorta thing, though, you don’t even have to look past earth to see humans aren’t the only ones that are sentient. We’ve got tribes of apes wagin’ calculated war against each other. We’ve got birds that crack seeds by droppin’ em in traffic. Hell, even dogs show neurological evidence of love for their owners, not that you need a scan to see it in the first place.

“So, long and short of it? If robot girl was sentient, then she’s sentient. Doesn’t matter what her brain’s made of if it thinks.”

“Yes!” Sigma enthused. “Yes, she did. Still does, somewhere out there. I believe you’re right in saying that Luna isn’t human, but still she has a bigger heart and a more brilliant mind than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Gotta disagree with you there.” Aoi’s gaze trailed along the east wall, which was adorned with various awards and certificates in matching frames. Science award, third grade. Most likely to succeed, high school. His sister was mortified at the new additions, though Aoi always claimed it was his god-given right as her older brother to embarrass her as much as humanly possible. He said that, though in reality he couldn’t help but take pride in his baby sister’s accomplishments. “Sorry, but Akane’s the biggest know-it-all on the planet. No contest.”

Sigma chuckled as he wiped the dirt from his palm. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Luna does live on the moon, to be technical.”

“You know, I’m really startin’ to get really tired of your technicalities.”

Sigma toyed with the frayed logo on his pajama shirt. “Yes. Most do. Takes a meow-ntain of patience to hold a con-purr-sation with me, or so I’ve been told.”

Aoi was beginning to understand why. Best not to encourage him. “So. You said this robot girl of yours made the same tea as my sister,” he observed. “What’s in it?” 

Akane would never tell him. Something cryptic about it not being the right time or place, and blah blah blah. He always thought it was just normal sibling banter, but he really should have known better. Akane didn’t mess around when it came to prophesies.

“Well. There’s tea leaves, of course,” Sigma listed, tapping at his fingers. “Harvested as a green tea, I suspect, by the flavor. There’s certainly ginger, though she also once admitted to cloves and tomato. There are other ingredients that even I don’t know about, I’m sure.”

“Tomato, huh?” Aoi peered into his empty mug, eyeing the last dregs of tea leaves lingering at the bottom. “I don’t hate many foods, but tomato’s one of ‘em. It’s got the texture of a fruit, but the taste of a vegetable.” Even so, he hadn’t lost his taste for the concoction. Something about it was like home, abstract though the sentiment was.

“I’ve never had a taste for ginger myself,” Sigma agreed. He turned over his mug, revealing not even a single drop left in the container. “But here I am, having downed the entire mug like my life depended upon it!”

Aoi nodded appreciatively. Perhaps he was biased, having received his own stash as a cherished gift from his younger sister; and yet even still, even if he had plucked it from some barren department store shelf, he knew that it would still be his favorite blend.

The companionable atmosphere was at once shattered by a shrill, unforgiving tone. Aoi startled, eyes darting towards the offending device on the coffee table which seemed to shake the entire apartment like a small earthquake in the early calm of dawn. Within seconds, Sigma dove for his cell phone, eyes flicking intently over the screen. Aoi couldn’t help but read the offending message over his large shoulders.

Sigma u big dumb, if ur reading this ur screwed lmao.

“Ahh, why did I have to be so cryptic!” Sigma bemoaned. He massaged his palms over his eyes, his large brow drawing into a scowl.

“Cryptic? Really?” Aoi deadpanned. He reached across the sofa, tapping at the snooze button on the touch screen. “Seems pretty to the point, if you ask me.”

Sigma peeked between his fingers. “To the point, yes. But the context? That’s another matter entirely!”

The context? Aoi stared, turning the words over in his mind. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re tellin’ me you set an alarm for four in the fuckin’ morning and can’t even remember why?”

“You could say that,” Sigma sighed. Despite his youthful appearance, he seemed to age at least 20 years with his solemn expression alone. “I consider myself a bit of a prodigy when it comes to memory, but this sort of thing is pushing it. I am getting up there in age, you know.”

All at once, the pieces clicked. Aoi whistled appreciatively. “Right. Forgot you’re a geezer at heart. Your memory startin’ to go?”

“First of all: Ow!” Sigma bristled, clutching melodramatically at his chest. “Second of all, not what I meant! You try remembering something that happened fifty years ago!”

“Right,” Aoi drawled. He crossed his arms, leaning back on the couch. “I’ll get right on that. How could I ever forget my negative 30th birthday party? Was a real banger. Someone spiked the punch.”

Sigma eyed him warily. “You know, I get the feeling you aren’t taking this seriously. It is the reason I came to your apartment, after all. I don’t pay many people a housecall at this hour.”

Aoi frowned. Oh, right. He’d almost forgotten the circumstances behind their meeting. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” he marveled. Sigma shook his head sadly. “You’re tellin’ me you broke into my apartment to help you decipher a random fuckin’ phone alarm from your youth?”

“Well. Not quite,” Sigma admitted. He stared intently at his phone, as if willing it telepathically to reveal its secrets. “There was an alarm prior to this one alerting me of a math exam in the morning. However… to be frank, I can’t even remember which course I’m enrolled in, let alone feel confident enough to take a final exam.” He had begun to pace by the window, where the beginnings of dawn were beginning to whittle away at the darkness. “Unfortunately, I was never one to take notes in class. My mind was like a steel trap. I had no need to have notes, if I could recall any content at a moment’s notice. ‘Any content’ meaning in the near future, of course. Not several decades across time and space. The only clue I’ve found as to my exam’s content was a crumpled sheet of paper in my coat pocket. The one still lying on the couch, in fact. It is in the leftmost pocket, if you’d like to see it.”

Of course Aoi was a little curious, but that didn’t outweigh his other inclinations. “Gonna be real with you here. I think advanced college math is the last thing I wanna do on two hours of sleep.”

Sigma stopped in his tracks. He peered at Aoi with something reminiscent of a kicked puppy. “I guess that’s fair. It’s just, Akane told me that you were quite good with numbers. I tried contacting her first, but she shut me out almost immediately and sent me here instead. I thought that meant you’d agreed, but it seems there was a misunderstanding.”

Aoi should have guessed. He really should have. Still, if someone had to miss out on sleep, he would much rather it be him than his overworked little sister. She had enough on her plate already. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Whatever. Sure. If it keeps you off Akane’s back, I’ll look at your goddamn math homework. But you owe me.”

Sigma perked up, rushing enthusiastically to his side. He shuffled around in his coat for a moment before producing a small, crumpled paper. He smoothed it on the table. Against Aoi’s better judgment, he leaned forward for a better look.

…And promptly laughed in Sigma’s face.

“Ohhh man. You really are screwed, aren’t ya?” he snickered. There were so many equations on the page that they seemed to swim together into an unidentifiable blob. “Not to brag, but math is kinda my thing as a stockbroker. But this?” Even on a more reasonable sleep schedule, Aoi was confident he would be stumped by the cramped jumble of black text. He squinted, convinced for a moment that he must have grown nearsighted spontaneously. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen so much fine print in a single fuckin’ equation. If it is an equation. Last time I checked, there were supposed to be numbers in math. You sure this isn’t from literature class?”

Sigma groaned, his arms stretching rather pathetically across the table. “That’s what I said! But Diana wasn’t interested in discussing the nuances of theoretical mathematics. In fact, she banished me to the couch!”

“Wow. Wonder why.” Aoi plucked the page from underneath Sigma’s hands, flipping it over in hopes of finding an answer key. As with most aspects of his life, it wasn’t quite that simple. It wasn’t necessarily that he couldn’t identify the symbols in the equation. The sigma implied a sum, of course, and taking a natural log of anything is pretty straightforward. Still, it’s quite difficult to plug the derivative of p into an equation if you don’t have even a single idea what the letter represents. “Seriously, though. I dunno what the fuck this is,” he mumbled. “If that was your only reason for wakin’ me up, then you’re better off waiting until… Akane…”

Until Akane wakes up. That’s what he was going to say. But Akane didn’t operate by the usual rules of time, now did she? In fact, she’d already provided him with everything he needed.

He never did find out what she meant by it’s on the nightstand table.

Grinning, Aoi let the offending page flutter to the floor. He walked the small distance to his sister’s room, pushing open the door which was already slightly ajar. Her room was just as she left it: prim, orderly, and not a speck of dust in sight. The walls were the color of sugarplums, and the bed was made so perfectly that it looked like it was plucked from a home improvement magazine. He always wondered how she kept it so clean in there despite being so outlandishly busy. Though Aoi was a bit of a neat freak himself, even his room had a few loose items of clothing strewn about.

It didn’t take long to find the small notepad propped on her bedside table. It was small, and unassuming, with a single post-it note adorning its surface. Her neat, ornate handwriting was unmistakable: For my dearest Sigma. Good luck—you’ll need it!

“Have I mentioned how much I love your sister?” Sigma peered over his shoulder, practically salivating over the small tome. Aoi raised an eyebrow, and the man recoiled, hands raised defensively. “Not like that! I’m engaged now, you know. Happened just two days ago. My lovely fiancé beat me to the punch.” 

He said it so proudly that Aoi couldn’t help but wonder what he found so special about the girl. He had met Diana once, a few days ago, at Akane’s request. Something about getting along with the new hires. He hadn’t been introduced to all of them yet, though the leader of D Team was first on the list. 

She was pretty enough, Aoi supposed. Flaming red hair. Baby blue eyes. A rather cute splattering of freckles across her nose, and her cheeks dimpled readily when she smiled. Her demeanor was sunny, though she maintained an aura of staunch professionalism which remained steely and unbreakable even under the rigorous interrogations of Crash Keys. He wouldn’t necessarily call her a knock-out, nor a stand-out personality by any means. Still, he supposed he didn’t dislike her. Already, her work ethic left little to be desired. 

“Don’t worry. We don’t plan to marry until the terrorist is apprehended,” Sigma reassured. Aoi wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself; he had never seen marriage as much of an issue, all things considered. In fact, he thought it might be better to expedite such plans, given the current transient state of the world. Akane, however, would argue the contrary. She herself had postponed her wedding to Junpei until the unforeseeable future. Our duty to humanity comes first, she argued. Our duty to ourselves can come later.

“We won’t, um, plan for anything else, either,” Sigma added. “So, you don’t have to worry about that. The last thing we want is to bring even more children into a world that could explode at any second. Even the two we already—or, wait, or maybe four would be more accurate. Five…? Seven…?!”

Sigma threw a desperate, confused glance Aoi’s way, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Don’t look at me. Even just thinkin’ about your family tree gives me a headache.” Aoi thought his family’s history was complicated. It paled in comparison to D Team. Everyone’s did.

“Ah, well, I guess that makes two of us,” Sigma chuckled. He reached for the journal in Aoi’s hand, placing his hand lightly on the cover. “May I?”

Though he couldn’t help but be curious about its contents, Aoi relinquished the book to its rightful owner. Sigma opened the small tome, thumbing swiftly through its pages. Aoi caught a glance of one of them. It wasn’t pretty—not that he expected Akane’s insane propensity for mathematics to be anything less than entirely incomprehensible.

“Dunno what any of those symbols mean,” Aoi observed, “but as long as you do, guess that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, I don’t either!” Sigma enthused. He at last reached the last page, closing the book with a flourish. “But I don’t need to understand them to have a fighting chance, now do I?”

“What kinda classes are you takin’ where you don’t have to understand the equations?”

“If only I knew!” Sigma tucked the book underneath his broad shoulder, patting it affectionately with his free hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to go home and take a power nap before my apparently very important exam.” He plucked his cell phone from his pocket, paling instantly as the screen flashed to life. “A very, very brief one.”

The man rushed back to the living room, hurriedly gathering his trenchcoat from the sofa. He cursed as his journal toppled from his arms in his haste. It floundered to the floor, bouncing off the rim of the discarded gas mask before rolling a small distance away. Sigma plucked both items from the carpet, securing the straps of the mask easily around his ears before tugging it up and around his face.

“Wait,” Aoi said, a key realization finally dawning. “Why were you wearin’ Akane’s mask in the first place? She lend it to you or somethin’?” She wouldn’t have, was the thing. It was far from a treasured possession, though it was a very important relic of their past. And if she didn’t lend it, then…

“I… might have borrowed it. Briefly. Without asking.” Aoi was reminded suddenly of an old cartoon character whistling innocently as they tried to feign innocence. He crossed his arms, and Sigma toyed nervously with the cuff of his sleeve. “Truth be told, I was planning to return it at work tomorrow. And it’s not as if she wouldn’t know it was gone. This is Akane we’re talking about.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Aoi conceded. If his sister didn’t want the item to be taken, Sigma likely would have been met with a scenario straight out of Home Alone. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, though. Thought you were just here for your stupid math homework, not to rob me blind.”

Aoi paused, briefly regretting his choice of idioms as he waited for the snarky retort. He was spending too much time with Light, lately. He could already see Akane’s smug expression; the suggestive waggle of her eyebrows when no one else was looking. For the first time that evening, Aoi was suddenly glad she couldn’t hear his thoughts. 

“It’s not like I wanted to, uh… borrow it,” Sigma rushed to explain. “It’s just, the doorman, you know?” He nodded to himself, as if solidifying his own logic. If you could call it logic.

“That supposed to be English?” Aoi deadpanned. “Thought I was fluent. Guess I need to go back to the fuckin’ first grade.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Sigma amended sheepishly. He rubbed at the back of his head, tugging up his coat where it had dropped below his neckline. “I get ahead of myself, sometimes. I suppose I forgot to mention I SHIFTed here this evening. You see, there was a rather unfortunate encounter with the apartment building’s security. I didn’t realize that doormen were generally, ah. Armed. Heavily. With machine guns. And also nunchucks. Dual wielding, really. Quite an unfortunate combination.”

Aoi couldn’t help but laugh. “Pfft. Yeah, most places don’t have that,” he acknowledged. “But the building where most of the Crash Keys higher ups live? Yeah, we’re gonna have good fuckin’ security. Good to know it’s worth shelling out the extra cash, at least.”

“Iiiiiis it though?” Sigma’s teasing lilt was somehow even more irritating through the layer of voice morphing software. “I did make it through your bedroom window, after all. You can’t exactly have a

To:@plor-e

From:@karmasocieties

———

「it didn’t really sink in until we were well past the facility — that it was finally over.

“we did it,” you said, once the air had settled and a comfortable silence filled the car at last.

after nine years spent teetering on the edge between realities, wondering if we could actually pull it off once time caught up to you,

if we would even be lucky enough to be the versions of ourselves to reap the rewards,

you’re safe.

“yeah, we did it.”」

———

I was so obsessed with this prompt actually—I had this whole elaborate comic planned out before I’d even officially claimed it, but as it turns out, art is hard and takes a long time, so I ended up writing a little something with the general Idea I was going for as a supplement to a smaller piece instead.

I hope you like it !!

FIC: Heads or Tails?

To: @wildernessfarm

From:@windsorgirllove

Happy Holidays! I can’t believe that this is the second year in a row where I wrote an Eric and Mira fic that got wildly out of hand and will require a second chapter. Except yes I can. So, I guess you’ll be getting a New Years present from me as well!

I hope you enjoy!

AO3

Heads

“This is stupid.”

“Shhhh,” Mira peered from around the bushes. “This was the spot, I’m sure of it.”

“You must be remembering wrong.” Eric glanced behind them, into the dark, early morning forest, lit only by their flashlight. “Come on, we’ve been walking around the woods for hours now. We’re completely lost. Let’s just go.”

“Where would we even go?” Mira asked with some amusement. “This is the future. We don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Eric didn’t have anything to say to that. Mira narrowed his eyes and held up her hand. “Shh.”

“I wasn’t talking-”

“She’s here.” Mira smiled. “I mean, I’m here.”

“Really?” Eric tried to push past her. “Let me see.”

“Stop it. You’ll scare her.” Mira peered through the bushes. “There she is. So young and innocent.“

Eric finally maneuvered into position to see past Mira. Through the twists of the branches, there she was - young Mira, maybe about ten years old. She was sitting on the ground in a clearing, her legs spread akimbo, and was pouting, poking at the dirt with the tip of a large knife. From the amount of scratches and scrawls in the dirt it seemed like she had been there all night. She hadn’t seemed to notice the two adults looming in the bushes yet.

“Wow,” Eric breathed. “You were right.”

“No, I was joking. I’ve never been innocent.”

“Not that, I just-” Eric shook his head. “Never mind. What’s the plan here?”

“I don’t know,” Mira said, shrugging. “I figured that I would just wing it.”

“What?” Eric nearly shouted. Just as quickly he clamped his hands over his mouth and hunkered down, curling in on himself. The young Mira glanced up, brandishing her knife, but when no one appeared she huffed and flopped back down.

“What do you mean you don’t have a plan?” Eric hissed. “This was your idea!”

“Technically it was Sean’s idea,” Mira pointed out. “I just went along with it. So did you.”

“Well I- I thought that you wanted to, so… of course. If it will make you happy, or give you some kind of closure, then I’ll do whatever you need.”

Mira smirked. “Well, time travel is definitely more fun than prison.”

"That was also your idea,” Eric gently reminded her.

“And now I have a better one. Just don’t kill anyone to begin with.”

“And again, how exactly do you plan on doing this? We can’t just kidnap her or swoop out of the woods, you’ll probably scar yourself for life!”

“I know. Think about what Zero said.” Mira crouched down next to him on the ground. She sunk her fingers into the damp earth beneath them as she stared unwavering at herself, a small smile playing on her lips. “A single snail caused this to happen. Something so small completely changed both our lives. That means something else tiny could change it again. Just one small action, right?”

“What… the hell are you talking about?” Eric whispered back.

"Shh…” Mira whispered. “Just a little bit longer…”

As they had been waiting the tiniest sliver of light had slipped over the horizon. Young Mira looked up, then crouched, just the way that older Mira was, and faced the road. In the silence of the early morning, Eric could just barely make out the sound of sneakers slapping against the pavement.

Mira crept out from under the bush. “What are you doing?” Eric whispered frantically, but Mira ignored him. Her younger self didn’t notice either, completely engrossed by the road. Her grip on the knife tightened. Eric stayed hidden in the shadows, holding his breath. Mira got closer, and closer, until she was just behind her younger self. She paused, waiting. The footsteps got closer. And then…

“Ah!” Mira shoved her younger self right into the dirt, making her yell out and lose her grip on the knife. It went spinning into the undergrowth. Just as quickly, she darted back into the bush, almost tripping over Eric in her rush. He hissed when she stepped on his hand.

“Shh!” she shushed him.

“What was that?” he hissed back.

“Shut up! What was your idea, then?”

“I don’t know, but-”

“Excuse me?” someone else asked. Eric and Mira immediately froze, but the voice wasn’t talking to them. Young Mira also froze. Standing in front of her was the woman who had been out jogging. She didn’t usually come this way, but this morning she had changed her route. Because of a snail.

Eric’s breath caught in his throat. “Mom,” he breathed.

“What are you doing out here so early?” Eric’s mom asked young Mira, amusement in her voice masking worry. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” young Mira said petulantly. “I’m just… hanging out.”

“In the woods? At five in the morning?”

“Well, you’re out here too.”

Eric’s mom laughed. “I’m out jogging. Just trying to get a little exercise.”

“Well, then so am I,” young Mira said petulantly.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, all right, then,” Eric’s mom said. “But you still should be getting home soon. I’m sure that your parents will be worried about you being out so late. Or, early.”

“Why?” young Mira asked.

“Because they love you, of course! And when you love someone, you worry about them. You want them to always be happy and safe.”

“Do you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love someone?”

“Of course! I love my husband, and my kids. I have two sons, one’s just about your age. I love them very much.”

“How do you know?”

Eric’s mother blinked. “Excuse me?”

“How do you know that you love them?” young Mira stared at her, owlishly, never blinking.

“Huh.” Eric’s mother stopped, considering. “Well, I’m their mother, of course. Of course I love them. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“Is that it?” young Mira asked.

“Well, I guess I’ve never really thought about it before,” Eric’s mother admitted. “I just always have. But if you ask me how I know, well… I suppose it’s just like I said about your parents. I worry about them, and I want them to always be happy. And I would do anything to make sure that they keep smiling. When you find someone like that, someone who you would do anything for, whether it’s a grand gesture or something small, like making them soup, that’s when you know you love someone. When you want them to be happy.”

“Hmm,” young Mira said. “And do they love you back?”

Eric’s mother laughed. “Well, I certainly hope so!”

“But how do you know?” young Mira insisted. She stood and walked over to Eric’s mother, peering up into her eyes. Eric held his breath, and instinctively grabbed tightly to Mira’s hand. He could feel his nails digging into her flesh, but she didn’t say anything.

Eric’s mother cocked her head, her eyes soft, completely unaware of the danger that she was in. “Well, you just have to trust that they do. That’s part of love as well, trust. But you can tell they love you if they do the same kinds of things that you do for them. If they help you the way that you help them, then that means they love you.”

“Huh,” young Mira said. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with touching someone’s heart?”

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Eric’s mother said. “You touch their heart by helping them, by showing them how much they’re loved. And hopefully, they’ll do the same to you.”

Young Mira nodded, looking thoughtful. She spared a glance over to the underbrush where the knife had landed. Eric’s mother, of course, didn’t know that. She knelt down in front of her and took her hands, which made young Mira look back at her. “But whatever you’re worried about, you don’t need to worry about it, alright? I’m sure that your mommy and daddy love you very much.”

“How do you know?” young Mira asked. She didn’t sound sad or anything, she sounded as though she was actually asking.

“Because I do,” Eric’s mom said. “A mother always knows.” She stood, and extended her hand. “Why don’t I take you home? You must be getting cold out here.”

“That’s okay,” young Mira said. “I know how to get home. I live right by here.”

“Well, alright then. But I need to finish my run. I was already going this way, why don’t we go together?”

Young Mira considered this, then nodded. “Okay,” she said, and reached up and took Eric’s mother’s hand. The two of them turned down the road.

After a few moments, Eric and Mira extracted themselves from the bush, with very little grace. Eric tumbled into the clearing, groaning from stiffness. Mira stood and shook out her legs, clearly also stiff but making much less of a big deal about it. She walked over to the undergrowth and pulled out the knife that had been left abandoned there. “Yep,” she said. “Same one I took. Right out of the kitchen drawer. I think I left it here last time, too - of course, then it was covered with blood.”

“Mira,” Eric said weakly, “Could we do without the details?”

“Alright, chicken,” she said, sliding the knife into the waistband of her pants. She said nothing for a moment, and then crouched down next to Eric, who was curled up in a ball on the ground. “Hey. Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” Eric said immediately. “Yeah, of course I am, why… why wouldn’t I be?”

“Eric, you know I’m terrible with facial clues and social cues. So I hope you know how bad it is when I say that you’re a really bad liar.”

“I just… I never thought I’d see her again. Mom, I mean. She’s just how I remembered her.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know, this was the worst day of my life. And now… it’s not.”

“Hey, that’s good,” Mira said. “That means we did it. No more Heart Ripper. No more sad Eric, then. Or any of the other things Zero mentioned. Six people, right? We just saved six people.”

“Seven,” Eric whispered, his eyes wide and staring at the ground, hugging his legs.

“Seven. Hey, that’s like, almost half my victims. That’s a pretty good start. Now we just need seven more.”

Eric nodded absently to himself, not really listening. Then he furrowed his brows. “What… what do we do now?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, we can’t exactly go back to the future, right? Sean said that the device would take at least ten months to recharge, and even then, there was something about, um Schrodinger’s Cat, or something? That it might now work. Are we… are we stuck here?”

“Huh,” Mira said. “I guess so. I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

“You didn’t- what are we going to do now!?”

Mira shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like I had anything really going on in the present, anyway, so…”

“I might’ve!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“…no. But I might have!”

“Sorry. I thought you knew the risks when you agreed to come.”

“I mean… I did. Mostly. But even so, I had to follow you. I… I know you don’t need protecting, not really, but still. If something horrible happened to you and I wasn’t around to help you… I would never be able to forgive myself.” Eric stood, shaking his arms out, and squared his shoulders. “Besides, it’s my life too. I wanted to fix it. I… I needed to. I owed it to myself.”

Mira nodded. “Alright, good. But if you’re going to keep following me into dangerous situations you’re going to need to stop complaining about it.”

“Right. Of course. That, um, still doesn’t solve the problem of what we’re going to do. Since we don’t legally exist in this time period. Or we do, but as children. So, um, now what?”

“Whatever we want, I guess,” Mira answered. “We don’t have jobs or mortgages or anything tying us down. We could go anywhere we want. Is there anywhere you always want to travel to?”

“Not really…” Eric said. He stared down the road to where young Mira and his mother had disappeared. “Do you… really think we did it?”

“Saved your mom? Yeah, duh. That was her, walking away.”

“I mean, yeah, but… do you think we really stopped you from killing?”

Mira cocked her head and thought. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “That speech your mom gave was pretty good. Last time it took me thirteen years and a death game to figure out that the heart was a metaphor. It’s probably going to be a lot less time now.”

“Are you worried about her?”

“Well, I don’t want this to be for nothing,” Mira replied. “Maybe it’s best to watch her for a while. Make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble, you know?”

“Stay here? In town?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s- yeah. It’s okay. Actually, I’m a little worried myself - about Mom. And Chris. Dad didn’t start getting bad until after Mom died, but what if… what if he was always going to end this way?”

“And you think that if he does, you can save them?”

Eric swallowed. “I’ll have to.”

“Alright, cool. So we’ll be like weird fairy godmothers to our younger selves.” Mira shrugged, smiling. “I didn’t really have anything else interesting planned for the rest of my life. This seems like it could be fun.”

“Is this really the rest of our life now? I mean, what are we going to do?”

“Well, first, we’re going to need new names, new identities. A house, establish credit, jobs, I guess.” Mira rolled her eyes at the thought. “See if there’s anyone in town who could have a “distant relative” appear and inherit their house after they have an… accident.”

“Wow. You, uh… you really have this planned out, huh Mira?”

“Eric, I’m a serial killer.” Mira gave him a withering look. “I have to have a back up plan.”

“Can we at least try a back up plan without murder first?”

“Fine.” Mira rolled her eyes again, but then she reached down and held her hand out to him. “Come on. We’ve got some work to do.”

“Right.” Eric reached up and took her hand, and at that moment the sun finally broke over the horizon. It was a new day.