Chapter Text
Duality is the essence of creation; without it, there would be nothing in between. There would be only one color, no nuance, no depth — the beauty about opposites is that something is always bound to be discovered betwixt the two. The Unstoppable Force is no different, for it, too, has an opposition. It’s what lies at the center of both powers that bears the answer to the foundation of the world.
— Scripture 5:17 of the Pulsus Perennis
July 26, 3099
Imperial Edifice, Stroheim’s Lab, 9:54 p.m.
Indila, I need a favor from you. You’re the only hope I have left. Please reply when you get the chance. For anyone without a positronic brain, these words would be private thoughts. But for Ludwig von Stroheim, they could be shared, be it through a computer, cellphone, anything capable of receiving and sending text. Code-converted thoughts transferred from his internal system to another — an unlikely operative working well into the night at the Business Department of Kuiper Enterprises.
Their job was a simple one: upkeep. The ragged-out sentient had been around for decades, and had seen many employees come and go. More to that, they had picked up a few tricks of their own during their service as a janitor. When it came to the knowledge of what went on within Kuiper Enterprises, they memorized everything through the means of hacking. But the question Stroheim asked Indila long ago was: what on earth compelled them to do that in the first place?
Stroheim’s message successfully came through. Swish, swish. The broom in Indila’s hands became stationary on a pearl-white floor. Ah, monsieur Stroheim! One is very curious as to what it is you require my assistance for. It isn’t at all very often that you send out neural data. That is not to say receiving it is at all an inconvenience. You referred to me as your ‘only hope’. For what reason do you think this? Furthermore, how may I assist you?
This stays between us. What I’m asking of you must not be disclosed at all costs. Especially not to Siouxsie.
Of course. I never reveal the private information I learn. But one understands you are certainly well aware of this by now.
It was hardly a secret. After all, Stroheim was all too familiar with repairing them at least twice since their assembly. That included removing cache files and unnecessary data from their brain. That was when this particular sentient’s motives alerted him to the nature of their questionable learning methods. In the beginning, fear of what consequences could arise impelled him to wipe out all of the collected information absorbed from Kuiper Enterprises’ database. The likes of which weren’t meant for the public eye, let alone a custodian.
Indila had realized that Stroheim deleted it, but it didn’t stop them from relearning everything lost. Stroheim eventually confronted them. The A.I.’s answer as to why they were so fascinated in keeping highly classified information documented was simply put: because they enjoyed learning, regardless of subject matter — their fascination knew no bounds. They comprehended the severity of leaking it, however, and opted to keep it to themselves, like a dragon hoarding mounds of gold.
I am, Stroheim said, face void of movement and expression. The screen in front of him emitted a bright blue light. What his gaze stayed affixed to was an uncanny fourth dimensional shape. By now I assume you know about Kuiper’s Vault.
I have become familiar with its existence, yes. Though I regret to inform you that I am unaware of its contents.
Stroheim watched his screen, unblinking. It’s not the knowledge of what’s inside that I need.
Oh?
What I need will be a bit much to ask of you, I know. As I said: coming to you was my last resort. His eyes closed. What I need you to do is break into the vault. The surveillance will be an easy one to bypass for you, but what I’m more concerned about is how you’re going to retrieve what I want from the vault. I’ll give you the access code, but after that, I’m afraid you’ll be on your own.
What do you need me to do?
It’ll be tricky. There’s an artifact inside. You’ll have to bring it to me. If need be, you and I can rendezvous somewhere.
You want me to leave the company?
Yes, but not without purging logs containing the date the vault was accessed. If you can do this, I’d be tremendously grateful.
Your gratitude is appreciated, but you were not wrong when you said it would be no menial task. However, one is glad to assist you in any way that I can. Though if I may ask, why do you need this artifact so badly?
I’m sorry, Indila, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Just know that if I don’t get it, terrible things will occur on a global scale. I would walk into the vault, but I fear my presence would alert Siouxsie of what I’m up to. It would be far too suspicious. That’s why I need you. If you do this for me, I’ll do everything in my power to buy you off her hands and you can stay with me instead. You won’t have to clean anything; you can learn new things. I could even teach you myself if it interests you.
Indila paused mid-sweep. New things?
Yes. Though I have a feeling it won’t stop you from hacking here…
Your offer is quite generous. Thank you. Staying in another location where one is hardly mistreated sounds fulfilling. I accept. Where and when would you like me to begin the operation?
Stroheim’s eyes opened. Where are you now?
West corridor, second floor.
You’ll need to go lower. Before you go, see about the surveillance. That witch is probably in her penthouse on the top floor, no doubt keeping a keen eye on everything.
It eludes one as to how she is able to do that even while she sleeps. Perhaps there is a security guard up there with her?
Who knows… still, it doesn’t matter.
Indila picked back up with sweeping to avoid suspicion. Right. Making it back to their janitorial closet, they placed the broom against the shelf and ambled over to a chair. Cords and wires covered a small desk next to a desktop monitor. They’d gotten their hands on it not long after it was thrown out and replaced with a newer model. And Indila, being the janitor, had their ways of sneaking it into storage.
One of the modem’s lights blinked as they grabbed a pair of stolen cords, the only gateway into the network. They inserted two cable jacks into the back of their neck, prompting a wild series of code to fill the computer screen. Empty, blue-gray eyes stared at the table, head lolled as their body slumped in the chair. The real world went dark, and a new one appeared.
The scenery was bleak. Black walls towered over them like buildings in downtown Manhattan, zeroes and ones slowly drifted overhead as if they were clouds, some of the rows slowly going one way whilst others flowed adjacent. The roads bore a stark contrast to the buildings, abalone in color with a faint transparency, as if the sky was just on the other side. It made it seem as though they would fall through by some misfortune, but Indila knew that was illogical. To them, this was little more than a library to peruse given the opportunity.
Pixelating upon touch, they sailed through the ebony wall on their right with no trouble, entering a familiar area — Black Orchid. Indila had copied the installation for the program from a disc they’d found whilst cleaning out one of the cubicles, though that was in the business department of all places, long before Siouxsie had usurped her place as head of the company.
From within the program, they scoured their way through winding paths of encryption, fields of data they’d already discerned, until their disembodied consciousness bled deeper. Archive after archive, they passed by, unsuspecting of tiny cherub-like beings with computer screens for heads. Like co*ckroaches in a motel, they crept down walls. Watching, waiting.
Indila arrived at the core of the program. From here, their mind ventured off on a nonconsensual stream into other devices, taking full control and prompting the apparatuses to take action despite no one being present to manually do so. Stroheim, I am in need of your access code.
Alright. Just tell me when you’re ready.
Synthetic fingers tapped a blue wall in front of them, triggering blocky letter and number keys on its form. Ready when you are.
As Stroheim relayed the code to them, the proper keys were pressed. 5, C, 3, 6, T, K, 9, 7, Q, 9, Z, 0, 9, and 6. That’s it.
“Nine… and six.” It beeped. Doors in the real world parted, signaling that Kuiper’s vault had been accessed. It should be unlocked now, Indila intercommunicated. Should I exit the network, or is there something else you would like me to do?
While you’re still there, you’ll need to hack into the Esoterics Department to gain clearance. Only then can you make your way to the vault.
Already done.
Fantastic. Now all that’s left is security. You should be able to replace it with a still image. Then make way straight to the vault, and get the artifact. I’ll meet you outside once you’re done.
I suppose I will have to alter the images of the outside surveillance then.
That would be wise.
Very well. I’m on my way.
Be careful.
As Indila started to disconnect from the network, they heard children’s laughter faintly echoing around them. The environment was a flooded cobalt blue, almost straining to the eyes, but nothing was there. “This is the first time I’ve heard this sound in Black Orchid, which I find to be highly unusual. What is even more unsettling is that sound files should not operate beyond their parameters.”
Then they heard it again. Incoherent whispers and giggling. “It seems I am not alone. I know you are out there,” they called out.
No answer. The giggling stopped, and the eerie silence remained.
“Very strange. For some reason, I have this heightened urge to flee and return to the real world. I shall take that as a sign.” Indila once again started to disconnect when they saw something shine in their periphery. A blinding square had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a single white tile clipped to the shroud of blue.
“What is this?”
Indila, is everything alright? Stroheim asked.
I’m not sure. A bright rectangular shape has just appeared in front of me.
Huh? What are you talking about?
I do not know its origins myself. I was just about to exit the program when an immensely bright rectangle appeared before my very eyes. What does this mean? I’ve never seen this happen before. What is especially odd is that nobody, besides me, is using Black Orchid at this time of night.
Indila, listen to me: just get out of there. Forget about security right now. If I have to, I’ll meet you there and go to the vault myself.
Another tile lit up, this time on the floor. Indila recognized their need to run getting stronger. Stroheim, I do not like this feeling I have. It’s…
Indila, disconnect. Now!
They shuddered. I… Beneath their foot, another tile flickered and hordes of desktop cranium cherubs trailed up their legs, laughing. Mirroring their fright in the real world, the chair Indila’s physical body was sitting in tipped over. Text wildly scrolled up on the computer’s screen, glitching. They spasmed. What wasn’t mirrored in a physical sense, though, was their body getting consumed in a swarm of morbid creatures.
Indila! Answer me! What’s going on?
They screamed, eyes wide in terror. Seconds before their vision became obscured by the swarm, they noticed a pair of long, dark legs with a single running stripe approach them. And that was all.
Stroheim rose from his seat, each telepathized message more exhorted than the last. Indila! Indila, answer me! Indila! In a rage, he swiped everything off of his desk and slammed his palms against the surface. “Dammit!” He dropped back into his swivel chair, defeated and panicked. Indila wasn’t answering. The vault was open. The plan to keep the artifact out of not only the Empereur’s hands but also Siouxsie’s backfired. All he could do was rue his own actions. In his moment of regret, it seemed as though everything would have been better if he’d done nothing at all.
Now Indila was at the mercy of… something. And it was because of him. “God dammit,” he seethed. “If Siouxsie gets that fragment of the prism, we’re all doomed.”
He didn’t know what he should do. The Legion could stop Siouxsie and retrieve the object, but the consequences of his actions wouldn’t change; everything would still be globally impacted no matter whose hands they fell into. The Empereur’s intentions were just as insidious as hers, and equally as cruel. If only Joliet knew of what was going on. By some miracle, she may have had better luck at persuading her father to abandon his fatuous endeavors. Although it felt silly to look to her as a solution to the world’s problems, he knew the risks if he confided in her or didn’t. There had to be a better alternative, but it was the only hope he believed he had left. Just as he had done within the three days of her disappearance, Stroheim sent out another message in hopes it would reach her.
Joliet. Where are you? It’s urgent. Please… I must speak with you…
In the midst of his futile attempts to get an answer, Joliet’s soul wandered aimlessly in a stream of consciousness, revisiting past memories both good and bad. She heard the kindness in her father’s voice from a time before her sickness overwhelmed her. She heard the echo of Kuiper’s words of encouragement and how they warmed her heart. She heard Stroheim reading incredibly old stories to her before bed. They were always a little too purple, which made it hard to understand. Though that was then, this was now.
Every ‘friend’ she’d ever known, every betrayal, all were clear and it was as if she was reliving those moments. Joliet watched as her past self approached a conversation, blissfully ignorant of her friends’ traitorous whispers.
Can you believe she claims that Alain à Rome is her ‘best friend’? Please…
That’s what I say, too. Everyone knows he’s just using ‘it’ for publicity.
Shhh, shh, shh, sh! She’s coming over…
Morning, ladies, she said. They gave her the cold shoulder. I was thinking we could go to the opera house tonight. I’ll pay admission, it’s no trouble. She expected a friendly response, but what she got in return were sneers. Their heads whipped in the opposite direction, noses up in the air.
Sorry, I have a prior engagement.
Me, too. Perhaps some other time.
Oh… alright then.
Stepping into the spot her dejected past self was standing in, her present indignation took its stead. “For your information, we were friends!” They carried on, gossiping under their breath. They couldn’t hear her; that time had already passed. A single tear spilled down her cheek, quiet sobs lodged in her throat. She reached up to the star on her shoulder, heartbroken. “At least his friendship was genuine…” Harsh memories faded as even more painful ones poured in.
The year was 2886. Joliet was set to make an appearance during the RMA’s, a music awards ceremony held annually. Being awarded by the princess back then was framed as a tremendous honor; it had also become something of a tradition for the Parisians. Though even that didn’t last after Joliet’s life crashed and burned yet again.
She’d never forget how exciting it felt to be up on stage, seeing all the unique outfits each designer had crafted, the scent of various fragrances, the rush she’d gotten from announcing the winners, the stellar performances, all of it. But out of all these things, nothing compared to the moment she first met Alain à Rome.
His rise to fame began four years earlier on the set of a romantic tragedy called Scarlet Pimpernel. It was at the request of his father, a highly acclaimed actor at the time, that he sang the ballad the movie centered its theme around. Tentatively, the producers allowed his son the chance to prove himself, albeit they had planned to commission Ducretet, the owner of Musitech, to create a sound suiting to their tastes by utilizing A.I.
Much to their surprise, however, his vocals surpassed their expectations. Even convinced them to forgo the use of A.I., calling it ‘a chance they’re willing to take’. Were his father not connected to the industry, this wouldn’t have been the case. But Alain was one of the few considered lucky.
The music industry had grown far too hesitant over the years to hire anyone of flesh and blood to sell records for. The masses seemed to cater more to the music they made with A.I. anyway. By giving this A.I. sound an identity, a lot of people were fooled to believe the musicians were actually human. That included live performances. This was something the music industry did often with only one thing in mind: profit.
As such, the machines Alain was surrounded by were programmed with inauthentic personalities. They were unlike sentients at all; a positronic brain placed in any of them would be a detriment to the company. This way, every fan could have the right idea of their idol, and not be sprangshot into disillusion after learning the musician did something that could permanently tarnish their reputation.
He was there amongst them the past three ceremonies, and he was there now in her memory. Joliet had just announced the winner for album of the year, and now it was his turn.
The Regal Award for best music video goes to… Alain à Rome!
The audience applauded and cheered as he proceeded to make his way on stage. Second to the last step, on the staircase leading to center stage, the clumsy oaf bumped the toe of his dress shoe on the final stair and stumbled. Some gasped, some laughed at his expense. And he was laughing… at himself? Joliet found it interesting, as she couldn’t relate. Were it her, she’d have been burdened with discomfiture.
He walked over to her and bowed. Keeping up appearances, she forced a smile for the camera and handed him his gold statuette. Lights from above brought out a tinge of cerulean in his jet black hair, accenting the royal blue tux he was wearing.
First off, I’d like to thank my father, my strongest supporter. The man who’s been cheering me on since day one. You’re the best. And to all my wonderful fans: thank you so much for all of the love and support you’ve given me along the way. It truly means the world to me. I don’t think I’d be standing here at all, were it not for you. From the depths of my heart: merci beaucoup!
Then he unexpectedly bowed to Joliet again. Merci to you as well, your grace.
She regarded him, taken aback by his mannerisms. Most of the idols bowed before receiving their award, not before and after. Let alone show her gratitude. That just wasn’t how things usually went. She watched as he returned to his seat. As the ceremony continued well into the night, her curiosity waned. Soon, she moved on from their encounter and carried on with her life. But it wasn’t until a week’s time that the same curiosity came ringing her doorbell.
Stormy clouds threatened the warm, sunny day as Joliet squandered her time, glancing through the window of a flower shop. Her retinal scanners surveyed them and brought up a list of medicinal properties as well as plant toxins. Light thunder boomed somewhere off in the distance, but she was in no hurry to leave just yet. A cool, tender breeze swept through the streets, carrying her hair with it as she leaned forward and observed blue flower petals.
She sensed another presence step up beside her, but opted to ignore it. Probably just someone admiring the flowers, same as her. Remembrance, they said simply.
Pardon? Naturally, she’d look to whomever was speaking to her. An ebony, faded undercut, perse colored irises behind thick-framed glasses, honey beige skin… wait, it was him?!
Bleuets symbolize remembrance, Alain said. And those yellow roses… He pointed to them. …they stand for friendship. When he returned her gaze, he shuddered upon noticing her unmistakably vibrant eyes under a denim peaked cap. Ahhh! You’re…! Oh, your majesty! Forgive me. I didn’t know it was you. Without hesitation, he bowed deeply, forearm mashing his dark auburn coat into his gut. Je suis tres desole.
Joliet gasped and frantically searched the area. S-stop that, please! she hissed, waving her hands. You’ll draw attention to me.
He stood up and extended an apologetic hand. S-sorry. I hope my ignorance didn’t offend you.
It’s fine, you haven’t offended me at all. Now she worried her disguise wasn’t good enough.
Oh, that’s a relief. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself like before.
Pardon me for asking, but what’s funny?
Hmm? Oh, I’m just laughing at what a klutz I am. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I actually came here to get some flowers for my mother’s memorial stone. You look more casual than normal. So, I didn’t think it was you.
I see, she said.
He noted the absence of bodyguards. Not to sound rude when I ask this, your grace, but shouldn’t there be someone with you? Seems a bit dangerous to be roaming the streets alone, non?
Joliet’s expression soured at the implication. I can handle myself perfectly fine. Thank you. She whipped her head at the flowers on display.
His chuckles reverberated behind closed lips. You saying that reminds me of this cliché…
Her annoyance meter was beginning to spike.
You know… a princess wandering through town in disguise, escaping the palace life? Makes you think of a generic fantasy trope, doesn’t it?
Ugh, she did fit that trope. I think you’re reading into it a bit too much, she said, hoping to mask every hint of being flustered. Besides, aren’t you a pop idol? Where are your bodyguards?
His face flushed. Ahahaha… touché.
Think before you start projecting next time.
Alain laughed aloud as she side-eyed him. They’d only spoken a few minutes, and already his first impression had her at a loss for words.
Do you know bleuets are good for treating fever?
Yes. They can also be used as a garnish.
And it can help with congestion. My mother used to make tea with the dried petals when I was sick. But that was when I was a kid. His smile tapered. Every year, on her birthday, I buy bleuets for her grave. I always put them in a bouquet with yellow roses, too.
I’m sorry for your loss, Joliet said, sincere. I lost my mother when I was young, too. Well, after I was born.
Alain frowned.
Joliet lightly sighed. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she was still here. Would she be proud of me? Would she listen to me? Or maybe we’d be very close. She stopped herself. Not her dumping personal feelings in front of a man she barely knew. Sorry…
Alain smiled. Don’t worry, stuff like that doesn’t bother me. There’s no need to think of it as faux-pas. You’re only human, right? In my opinion, part of the human experience is feeling the need to share our experiences with others. Reaffirms how unalone we are, y’know? Especially when we find the right people who’ll listen.
Eyes wide, she looked at him. She must’ve sounded ridiculous talking about having a mother when she was clearly an android. For him to add to that with ‘you’re only human’ made her worry he’d think she was lying about her own experiences. People knew what she was. Surely so did he. Most were condescending and trigger happy at assuming she was the Empereur’s lab experiment. Being referred to as ‘human’ by a human, that wasn’t Stroheim and her father, was a first.
Oopsss… He grimaced, teeth gnashed as he slowly rotated his head. I’d… probably better shut up while I’m ahead.
Joliet raised an eyebrow. Monsieur à Rome, no offense, but you’re very strange.
Again, he chuckled. Fair. I’ve never been very good at socializing…
Whilst she pondered on why they were still having a conversation, a deep boom rattled the windows, as if a god struck a giant drum. Dark clouds blanketed the earth from the sun’s warmth as large raindrops hailed from the sky, causing every circuit in Joliet’s body to go haywire. Not water; anything but that. She gripped her hat with both hands and scurried back against the glass.
I-I-I didn’t bring an umbrella!
Here! Let’s go inside.
A bell dinged above the door, and she hurried into the shop, finding herself in a jungle of flora. It was like she entered a dream. Right above the counter, fixed to the ceiling, it was as if a garden was blossoming over her head. Fake roses in all colors caught her eye, as did the assortment of ribbons and wreaths throughout. Hybrids stole her gaze at every turn. She took a whiff of the sweet smelling aromas clinging to the air, which reminded her of something special from her childhood.
When Kuiper and Stroheim would push her wheelchair through the edifice’s gardens, she’d imagine herself as a fairy princess. At the time, it was her only escape from reality; drinking in the sunlight as it warmed her skin, feeling the gentle caress of a midsummer breeze, even listening to Stroheim and Kuiper argue like the married couple they were. What she wouldn’t give to relive those moments. Now the imperial garden was hardly cared for. What was once a gorgeous sight to behold had become nothing more than a patch of weeds and dead trees. It was like peering down at a haunted cemetery from her bedroom window.
You okay? Alain’s voice severed her from her sad thoughts.
Her smile was faint, but her voice ethereal as she replied. I’m fine. Just thinking.
I know that look, he said, leaning to see her eye-to-eye. Pretty mesmerizing place, huh?
It’s beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never stepped foot in here before. Then again, I never really had a reason to.
Alain smiled. Well, there’s a first time for everything.
She couldn’t agree more. Her smiling lips curved further into her cheeks. Yes. I suppose that’s true.
Some time later, Joliet wandered around, taking in the splendor while Alain purchased what he came for. Unfortunately, the rain hadn’t let up much. So, they just stood in front of the doors, waiting it out together.
Can’t say taking shelter from the rain in a flower shop with the princess of France was on my to-do list today, Alain teased with a mirthful tone.
It is unexpected, she said. But it’s not so bad.
Sometimes it’s the unexpected things you remember the most. Ah! Speaking of which… He picked a blue flower from his mother’s bouquet and handed it to her.
When her eyes found it, she looked at him bemused.
Just a little something to remember me by.
Delicate fingers took it and a warmth expanded in her chest. Thank you, monsieur à Rome. That’s very thoughtful of you.
Heh. If it’s not too much to ask, your highness, just call me Alain. Feels weird being referred to as ‘mister’ when I’m only twenty-six.
Well, in that case… from now on, you may refer to me by name. Not ‘princess’ or ‘your majesty’; just Joliet will do.
Alain hummed, thought filling his face as he peered up at the ceiling. Hmm, ‘Just’ Joliet, huh? Mind if I call you Jojo for short?
What?! Don’t get too ahead of yourself. We’ve only just met.
Hearty laughter filled the shop.
Joliet’s present self reminisced on the scene with an ache in her chest. The shop — Alain and her included — transformed into a chalky white as though they were statues carved from limestone. Dust motes sparkled from the golden rays beaming through the doors as she sauntered forward. The bleuet in past Joliet’s hand was untouched, as lively and blue as the day she received it. Emotions swelled as she failed to hold back concealed tears. Alain’s cheerful glow cracked. The faintest touch of her hand prompted his form to descend in a crumpled heap, first like rocks, then a mound of powder. Non-existent winds blew against the shop’s unsound structure, and it, too, was gone.
The quartzite world shattered, but yet, in spite of it, her past self stood unfazed as a testament of her immortality. A heartbreaking reminder that no matter how much the world changed, the joy she reaped along the way would only amount to more accumulated pain. Over the years, she’d grown fond of him to a point it spurred romantic feelings. Though, when courageously confronted, the fear of ruining their special bond went hand in hand. Yet she came clean.
He frowned immediately after the reveal. I’m so sorry, but… I don’t, uh... how do I put this...
Joliet felt foolish for having asked. In her mind, she thought she was being rejected again because he — like most — didn’t see the benefit in being in a relationship with an android. Alain, however, didn’t share that sentiment with others at all.
His smile reassured her as he took hold of her hand and said, I may not experience the same attraction as you, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. Hearing those words, and knowing they came from a place of utmost sincerity, she accepted with a nod. Out of all the cliquey folk she was often enveloped by, never had she received anything as heartfelt and genuine as this. Platonic love was more than enough.
As many years passed, losing him was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was inevitable; she knew that much. And she convinced herself she could handle the consequences of outliving her best friend when the time came. She was wrong.
Pristine white walls surrounded her. Light beaming from a large window, at the end of the narrow hallway, obscured the figure of an elderly man seated at a table. His ninety-eighth birthday wasn’t too far off. Fear planted present Joliet’s feet steadfast to the ground, but she wanted to go over and speak to him more than anything. If this was real, if by some shred of a miracle she was being given the chance to sit and speak with him again, it would be the first time in centuries. As she mustered up the courage to take the first step, an A.I. nurse stepped into the radiant sunlight.
Do you know what this is? Alain’s frail voice asked.
Of course. That is a star.
Yup.
You have been drawing those quite frequently as of late, monsieur à Rome.
Sure have, he replied. I like stars; they’re a symbol of hope.
Joilet tenderly touched the star mark on her shoulder.
I have come to remind you that it is now time for your nap, the sentient said.
I thought it was still morning time…
I’m afraid you are mistaken. You ate lunch approximately ten minutes ago.
No, that was breakfast.
On the contrary, sir, it was indeed lunch.
Oh... His laughter filled the room and echoed up the hall Joliet was standing in. Aww, my mind isn’t what it used to be.
Pardon me, but one is perplexed as to how losing your memory is amusing.
Well, even at my old age, I’m bound to make mistakes. Sure, I could sit here and feel sorry for myself for the dumb things I’ve said and done, but what’s the point? Weary joints popped as he strained to stand. Laughter is a key to living well. You know, I think I did a great job. How about you? You think I did okay?
The A.I. helped him away from his seat. With as much as you laugh, monsieur, one is of the impression that you have not only succeeded in living a fulfilling life, but that you have made others happy along the way.
You think so? Gosh. I sure hope you’re right. Haha!
Joliet watched him disappear behind the edge of the wall, leaving behind the sun’s glow on an isolated fold-out table. Back then, that was the last day she paid him a visit. The day before Alain à Rome passed in his sleep. As she descended against the wall, she drowned herself in the bitter taste of grief. Her chest quaked with unendurable sorrow. Artificial tears she’d kept stored behind a dam overflowed, spilling down her face.
“Please take me with you,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to go through this again.” She choked. “I’m so tired of pushing people away. I just want to live a finite life and be happy.” Ululating lowered to hushed lamenting. “I want to be old on the outside, I want to live knowing my life ending one day is absolute. How… how can I live forever and have friends… when they’re gone, I’ll only regret making them anyway…” She wiped tears on her palm. “It’s hopeless. I’m destined to be alone.”
Unexpectedly, Alain’s younger, reverberating voice startled her despite his spirit having already become one with the Pulse. Have faith, Jojo. Bleuets slowly sprouting and blossoming from the floors and walls swam in her teary vision. Always remember the good times. I know you’ll find what you’re looking for someday. So long as you’re able to laugh, I’m always with you. Her world turned bright, and the flowers vanished.
Humming machinery flooded her ears upon waking. There were beeps, blinky dials, and a blinding bulb burning her corneas. She winced and sat up on an operating table in a junked out, musty room. Observing her surroundings, she noted a sand-scattered concrete floor, wires and cords coiling in places someone could easily get tripped up, a large metal chest full of tools, computers, and disorganized medicine bottles covering one of the countertops.
A lone, faded red door seemed to be her only exit. But an exit from where? Was she still at the arena? She peered down at her abdomen, recalling Rebel Yell’s fatal attack. Oddly, no damage. Then she noticed something resting on her thigh — a bone white metal limb. Unlike the appendage she had before, this one was different. She knew she was touching the table beneath her, but she couldn’t discern its texture nor its cool surface. Pearly fingers wiggled; her wrist rotated. The black joints moved just as former ones used to do on command. Who installed this, she pondered.
The muffled sound of an ornery old man griped behind the door. Placing it seemed possible, as it reminded her of Angus, but was it really him? The inflection was a bit similar, except the speaker mixed Spanish words with French, making her think otherwise. Unless Angus spoke Spanish? Just then, the door swung open. Hastily, she pulled the cover on her legs up to her chest. But the familiar face standing in the doorway eased her worry about the stranger it could have been. This was a face she couldn’t forget.
She stared at him, and he stared back, happy to see her awake after two long weeks. His injuries had healed up some. More relieving to note, he had his other eye back now. And… fingers? Not sure what she should say to him, she uttered yeah an octave lower than normal.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“What’s happened?”
Léon sighed. “You want a summary, or the whole story?”
“Just a few details for now. For starters: where are we?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but the grouchy old man she heard through the door barged into the room, making Léon stagger aside. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he greeted in a thick Spanish accent. “Welcome to Hell.” Joliet eyed him up and down as if he was a monster with bulging, fishy eyes plodding out of a murky swamp. Grease-stained clothes covered him from head to toe. Over them, he wore an umber apron with matching slippers. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t Angus. He was too emaciated compared to him. And don’t get her started on the pungent body odor…
“Alright, I fixed your máquina. Now both of you get the hell out of here.”
“Jeez, Doc, you’re in a good mood today,” Léon sarcastically remarked.
“Irritante hijo de perra…” he grumbled.
“Excuse me,” Joliet said. “But… you speak Spanish? I thought it was a dead language by now.”
He huffed as he hoisted a crate onto a table. “Not as dead as the French colonials like to think it is. Getting there, though. Some places in Old España still learn the language, yet the rest haven’t got the faintest clue. You’ll hear a phrase or two now and then, but you can forget having a fluid conversation. As for me, I aim to know as much as possible.”
Léon leaned against the operating table, arms crossed. “Yeah, that’s the f*cking empire for ya.”
Joliet’s gaze lowered. “Oh.”
“Now if you don’t mind, I have lots of work to do,” he said. “So beat it; I’m busy.”
She scoffed. “Rude…”
“Hey, what do I owe you for the arm?”
“Privacy.”
“Pfft. Salaud…” Léon muttered.
Joliet slid her legs over the operating table, the drape against her chest firmly clenched. Doctor Bon shot her a scrutinizing look as her leg joints whined on the way over. She curtsied, tugging the hem of her tiny skirt. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur…?” She waved a hand as if to ask for his name.
“Doctor Bon Ressen. The hell you doing that for anyway? What, is that your way of insulting me or something?”
“Uh, no! I just wanted to —”
Léon clamped a hand to her shoulder. “Ooookay! We’ll be going now. Thanks, Doc.”
“Tch. Yeah, yeah.” As they left the room, Bon shook his head and smiled. “Maldita robot de etiqueta. Hahaha. Don’t know what he plans to use that for. Actually… I don’t want to know.”
“By the way, what happened to my top?” Joliet asked as she exited the rinky-dink, supposed-to-be ‘defunct’ pharmacy.
“Doc had to remove it. It was f*cked anyway after… yeah. But don’t worry about it, I got you covered this time. Heh, literally.” As she co*cked her head, he walked over to his bike and obtained a red jacket that was covering the seat. He brought it back and wrapped it around her. “It’s no tattered curtain, but it’ll do.”
She chuckled and lowered the drape in one hand. Surprisingly, this one didn’t stink as bad as the last one he tried to offer her. “Oh. How… thoughtful. Thank you. So, I take it you knew I’d be fixed today?”
“Doc called and said he was done with repairs,” he explained as he mounted his bike. “So… here I am.”
Joliet couldn’t believe she was happy to see him. More to that, events between the fight and now still remained unclear. How did she get from the arena to there? Which part of town were they in anyway? Trying to piece events together would have given her human brain a headache if she had one. She slipped her arms through baggy sleeves and fastened the buttons. Flipping her hair over her shoulders, she said, “I’m not sure what all has happened. Do you mind explaining?”
“I’ll tell you when we get to my house.”
“Wha — you’re taking me there?”
“Well, yeah. For now. Don’t expect anything fancy, though.”
“What about the quarry?”
Léon shot her an anxious grin. “Uhhh, yeah about that…”
Oh, my god! What the hell has been going on?!
“Here. Let’s get to my place and then we’ll talk, okay?”
“Just curious, but will Tenmei be there by any chance?”
Léon arched a brow as her finger rubbed the leather seat. “He was when I left. Why?”
Joliet optimally took a deep breath. “There’s… something I want to tell him.”
“Uh, okay. Well, here. Get on. Pretty sure he’s still there. He and Avdol were playing Neuromancer when I left.” Worried eyes stared down at the seat as she bit her lip. He smirked. “Come on. It’s not gonna bite you.”
“Will you go slow?”
“I don’t know. Depends.”
“Depends?!”
“Look, you want a ride, or not?”
She cringed a little, uncertainty swimming. Joliet had never ridden a motorcycle in the hundreds of years she’d been on this earth. As Alain á Rome would say: there’s a first time for everything. Oh, no, she thought, fretting. Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?
