MURDER, CLONES & HEARTBREAK┃Clara Futura's Dark Side┃I WAS THERE!!!! 『MIKOKO + DAN Epilogue』
“...Does my corpse look weird?”
Asks the pilot of the rusty van, parked next to what used to be a Burger King establishment under the gentle light of a sunset. She fixes her iconic hat while pouting down at her phone and waiting for an answer. The copilot stops peering over her shoulder at the screen, leaning back to give her a lingering sidelong glance from behind her sunglasses. Then she flicks out her lighter, looking to smoke the remnants of an old joint in the evening glow.
(Dan knows by now, in intimate detail, how Mikoko had first felt looking at that corpse. The terabytes’ worth of security footage they’d smuggled off the ship had captured it all, from every angle possible. But even beyond the stacks of drives in the back seat of their van, Dan’s been seeing her feelings from a closer angle these days. The tears of rage Mikoko cried that day hadn’t just dried up, but they had gradually transmuted into tears of relief for the woman still next to her. Today’s a different day: a day to look truth in the eye again and smile at it, even that corpse.)
“...Is that a trick question?” Mikoko glances up and grins, after a pause. “Because I gotta say, Daniela, you’re lookin’ a hell of a lot cuter right now.”
And that never fails. Dan’s face turns red as she bursts into a fit of sheepish laughter. “I uh, I h-hope I do! Since, y’know, that’s a dead body. Heh.”
–
She was, indeed, a dead body.
When Dan woke up from the goo she was just as confused as every other victim to this murder game. Didn’t she die? She was dying, wasn’t she? That life-fleeting feeling was a strong and new sensation for her, but somehow similar to the one of giving up. Something Dan knew quite well. She had given up on being a sport prodigy like her brother, she had given up studying the career her parents wanted her to follow, she had given up as she watched Machiko run away after the assault.
But she’s here, alive, with a second chance.
Covered with a towel, as the trial went on, Dan waited and pondered. Machiko was only given an awkward glance. Tsuki was asked about what happened to her. And then she just waited and pondered. How was she going to use this valuable second chance?
The doors open, the whole group is reunited, and the truth comes in with them.
What a video this is going to be. Dan’s Den is going to come back stronger than ever after its 60 year hiatus! This is what her second chance is for!
–
“I dunno, I think you could make bein’ undead work,” Mikoko looks very pleased with the reaction she gets, now only half-focused on rotating the generous doobie between her fingertips. “Like, a gamer girl zombie babe.”
As though having bugsonas that kiss isn’t enough. Once the cherry on the tip is alight, Mikoko raises the joint to her lips and breathes in a shallow hit. A languorous wreath of smoke weaves out from deep inside her lungs.
“...’Course it looks weird,” Mikoko finally answers that first question, after turning it over in her head for the tenth time. “Because you’re here now, alive. That’s why this video’s gonna change the fuckin’ world, right?”
Nothing needs to be said for a long moment. The comfortable silence settles into the air around them, as easily as smoke.
“...So where were you thinkin’ of takin’ us next, captain?”
Dan interrupts her own sipping from an oddly shaped bottle of Cokey Cola as an idea comes to her mind. “Oh man, ok, we gotta go to the Staples Center next. Home of the Lakers, haha. It should be twenty minutes from here. Yot gotta see it.” She seems to get ready to start up the van again, but she stops herself. Mikoko gets a tiny shrug.. “If you wanna go, of course. You tell me.” And a tiny smile. “This is your break, after all. You get to choose where to go now.”
Something softens in Mikoko’s gaze. Maybe it’s her eyes watering from the profound rip of weed she’s just taken — but whatever it is, it’s visible at this distance. She dangles her wrist out the van’s open window, turning her head to exhale.
“We could do that,” she raises an eyebrow, giving Dan a conspiratorial grin. “Or we could go to that other spot you were talkin’ about — that haunted Whole Foods with the ghost smoothies.” (No doubt that’ll make a great video once people are done watching the Clara Futura one.) “But what if we just… stayed right here?”
With her free hand, Mikoko gestures out at the giant, setting sun. At how the windshield of their van has captured a perfect view of the sky, simmering gold atop the empty parking lot.
Dan’s sight follows Mikoko’s hand and stays there in admiration for a while. As much of a hermit as she was, this was a view anyone would miss after being trapped in a spaceship for months. Well, years. “...Yeah.” A smile forms on her. “Yeah, let’s stay for a bit.” There was no rush. The pilot turns to her co-pilot, her smile grows first before it’s placed against the other’s with a quick peck. That moment of bravery doesn’t last long, though. Soon enough Dan goes back to her position and hides her fists between her thighs while bashfully avoiding any look and staring out at the sunset.
(Traveling together on the open road, the first mystery Dan and Mikoko had solved was where to share their first kiss. That milestone’s now behind them somewhere along US Highway 101, but every time still feels like their first. Mikoko’s eyes linger fondly on Dan for a long moment — then she flicks the cinders out of her joint, through the open window, and places it down on the dashboard.)
“Hey,” Mikoko breaks the silence in a raspy murmur, that same rakish grin still not having left her face. She leans one lanky arm along the top of their headrests, and shuffles sideways in her seat to make room (if a cozy, cramped kind of room) for both of them. Her fingertips drum on the cushion next to her in a playful invitation for Dan to climb over: tap tap tap. “We got room for two over here. Best seat in the house, on special offer: just for you, it’ll cost the low, low price of another kiss.” (She winks.) “…So. Wanna join me?”
(Now that they’re off the SS Credence, moments like these are finally more common than mysteries for them to solve. And yet, unlike everything else in Mikoko’s life before this, they don’t seem to lose their value the more common they become. The more these moments grow to fill up this life of theirs, the more Mikoko thinks they’re worth everything.)
–
Mikoko Denda had always wondered how much her life was really worth.
Some days, she thought: nothing. Others, she thought: everything — more than a full house in her hand, more than a house to come home to, more than a hand at home within her own.
But more days than not, she was keenly aware that her life was a crapshoot. That its value hung in the centrifuge spin of a roulette wheel; just replace red with ‘wanted dead’ and black with ‘wanted alive’. Whatever croupier was up there whirling it around was laughing at the wagers, and so would she.
Until the day the S.S. Credence landed, and the ball did too. That was the day Mikoko learned how much her life was worth: five hundred billion yen.
That was the going rate the yakuza were offering, to anyone who could bring back alive the informant who ruined them. Japan’s criminal underworld had never quite recovered from that nationwide casino bust sixty-two years ago, and now all the families were currently organized under one syndicate. At its head was a chairman of sixty-two himself, whose father — a minor casino boss who had been caught on several counts of aggravated murder thanks to Jackpot’s testimony — had been sentenced to death. Now an old man who was dealing the cards himself, vengeance on her was his final wager.
The intelligence unit that had once protected Mikoko had always been cloaked in plausible deniability. No paper trail existed between her and her old handler, whose name she’d never even learned. While fleeing to Los Angeles with Daniela Cuevas, Mikoko seriously contemplated faking her death again.
Instead, the answer came to her with the return of Dan’s Den.
The Mikoko of sixty years ago would have been terrified to be involved with someone whose existence was so public. But by leaving just enough evidence in the videos to insinuate where she currently was, the famous mystery channel made Mikoko an impossible target.
One main condition of the five hundred billion yen bounty was, of course, that Jackpot’s abduction could never be linked to the yakuza. Not only would that make such a joke of the government that they would be forced to retaliate, but it would spark hostilities with the rival yakuza of California, who had taken Mikoko under their protection, and whose star had risen as Japan’s families exhausted their fuel. Not to mention the issue of the American government, if a civilian reporter by Jackpot’s side was harmed in the process. All in all, a high-profile kidnapping that was bound to be covered on video and risked all-out war on several fronts simply wasn’t worth it.
The bounty remained active, but only to be acted upon if its target ever returned to Japan — and if there was irrevocable proof that it was, in fact, Jackpot. After all, many had already tried to cheat the chairman with hoaxes, given that the informant’s actual face was still a mystery. All public evidence of what Mikoko Denda looked like had long been erased by the Japanese intelligence community… and before the S.S. Credence had landed, when the final trial was ongoing, a certain AI had helped blur out her face on every single device on the ship.
The urban legend — and the intrepid reporter tactically leaking their shared whereabouts — was finally left alone. The two of them used their second chance to pilot a van along the highways of America, in search of new mysteries to share with the world. And so, Mikoko realized the truth she’d been running from for as long as she could remember: human lives were always worth more when joined together.
–
(Long after the sun has sunk beneath the palm trees, the two start up Dan’s van again. Even after a battery of repairs, the sixty-something-year-old chassis is dented everywhere and scarred-over with rust… but with time and care, the engine still runs as steady in its second life as the dreams that pilot it.
You're all herded to the ADMIN floor for hopefully one more time. The elevator doors open and Autinel rolls over to the central control system. However, he does have to excuse himself from the small crowd in his way.
Before you all, stands Dan, Yumi, and Machiko, cleaned up, and a little confused. Autopilot squeaks by them, reaching over to the keyboard and inputting the password as directed.
"Say hello, reunite! They were revived during the trial, sorry it took so long! But now they're finally here, and we have everyone again. Well! Now that I have this password I don't need this body anymore! Goodbye, hugs!"
[ ♪ ♪ ♪ ]
Autopilot rolls the Sentinel body over to the corner as the computers light up, holographic screens fill with a flood of information and rocket science not many of you would be familiar with. From the center of the console, another holographic form appears, this one of a three dimensional man, wearing familiar glasses, all too close to what you've been seeing on the Autopilot screens.
"I think it's about time to get us home, shall we? You've been working so hard for so long... I'm sorry that it's taken as long as it has! But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Next stop... Earth!"
The Autopilot Landing System roars to life, seeing all the information regarding where to land, how long it will take, and the processes to safely guide this large ship back to Earth, and to the location specified that was written only in latitudinal and longitudinal code.
"The world may be different than what it was, but as long as you all have one another, we can figure it out. I'll always be by your side, even when it's all said and done. You've shown tremendous amounts of strength, intelligence, kindness, and tenacity. That is something Clara Futura could have never changed about you all. The rebel forces will welcome you with open arms, so all we have to do is make it there. Leave it to me, and finally rest."
Autopilot looks at you, as you can see the man finally smile at you all.
"I'll never let you down again."
And with that, chairs are pulled out, one for each of you. All 21 of you, as Autopilot begins the process to bring you all back down to the world you were taken from 60 years ago. A file is sent to you silently as Autopilot continues working. It seems to be a record of your loved ones from 60 years ago, and what could have happened to them. Though time has been lost to you, with everyone's cooperation, you'll find your place again, and find what was taken from you. But even with this air of uncertainty, you cannot help but have hope that everything will be okay. You are more than enough, and more than anyone wanted of you.
It almost happens in a blur as figures begin to move, the Prime versions of Bo and Kisuke lower themselves to the ground, sounds of clammor and commotion fill the call. That's when you see a man you've only seen through Sentinel's glitched eyes appear before you. A man with dark hair, piercing hazel green eyes, and a kind smile. This must be Lani Ozaki, Kin's husband.
"It's really you... It's you guys! It's Credence, Kin! We knew it! Don't worry, we're running this show now! You're our ticket to finally showing the world what Clara Futura's doing! What they abandoned and thought they could let rot away. Don't worry, we got you! We're going to get these old bags to confess, and we're going to bring you home!"
You see a couple strangers step in, Lani asking them to help restrain the CF agents you have barely gotten to know. Lani sits down in the chair at the desk, relieved. There seems to be so much he wants to ask, and say, but he can't find the words. After a moment of looking at you all standing at your podiums in the trial room, he speaks.
"Kin needs some space, but I promise we have plenty of room for you all to stay while we figure stuff out. Get to the admin control room, put in that password, and set the course for... here, Autopilot."
He types something into the keyboard that none of you can see, but Autopilot nods in confirmation.
"Sounds great! We'll see you then! Over and out, captain.~"
Autopilot waves goodbye as he hangs up the call, turning to everyone and raising a pointed finger.
"To the control room, everyone! I have the password!"
The sound of the elevator doors opening is heard as Autopilot begins rolling down to bring you all to the elevator.
With that, the screens fade to black, as Sentinel jumps back to life. Autopilot is still controlling her as he pats his hands, as if cleaning off dirt from his hands.
"Well! Wasn't that an experience! Didn't think that'd work with only 3 hours to prepare. I really outdid myself, didn't I, everyone?"
The screens around you hum back to life as it shows an icon of a loading wheel, a cutesy jingle playing.
"Now please stand by while I make a call, okay? It'll just be a moment!"
You're all kept in the trial room for a moment of silence while the "call" connects. Then, it's apparent. The view is the same as you saw previous in a call recording. Old man Kisuke stands near the window behind his desk, sipping tea when the call goes through. He turns to quirk an eyebrow at his screen, realizing a call has been answered.
"Why, Atsuko... I thought we had 'broken up' last time we spoke. You wanted nothing to do with me, and I felt similarly."
He sat down at the desk, and realized what he saw wasn't Atsuko, but you all in the trial room.
"What.... What is this?
Autinel waves his arms at Kisuke, who has called a similarly aged Bo Moreau next to him. And then... Autopilot begins berating the two of them.
"How dare you sit by and let such atrocities occur under your noses for decades! You are in big trouble, young man! You too, Bo! When we get to landing back on Earth, we're going to have a loooong talk with your superiors about poor management! Atsuko Fujimoto has been executed for her crimes, and now we are stranded up here in space because I forgot to ask for the god fucking damn password!"
Kisuke waves a hand, looking confused.
"What is going on here? The Autopilot software seems to be.... Malfunctioning. No matter. Now with her... You said executed? Huh... Sad. Well anyways. We will take it from here, seize control, and prepare everything for landing. We'll take you here to our location, and we'll reset the Autopilot AI. No more of ... whatever this is. Anyways, you need the password for the Autopilot Landing System?"
Autopilot, afraid of what he just heard, simply nods his head.
"Well.. If it's still the same from when Michiya made the ships... It should be... oh where did I put it... DarkStarBlaster825. He was, and still is, a simple man. While I have you here, Atsuko Fujimoto Clone... I suppose you'll have to do in regards of someone paying for her betrayal. We'll settle it once you're here in the flesh. Anyways, once you are in the control room, we will send the coordinates to bring you to Earth. We will screen the clones, see if they're viable to live on, and we will find a way to compensate those for what had occurred. Sound good?"
Did that sound good to you?
But before any of you could protest, the sounds of banging from their side of the call distracted them. The two older folks stepped away from the camera as light filled the room, a somewhat familiar voice calling out.
"Put your hands where we can see them! We've come to take over the facility, you CF scum!"
Even though the Atsuko who is executed has clearly shown her differences to the one Clement has gotten to know, and is unrecognizable (mostly) as the one he had known before coming here, there were enough similarities that watching what happens to her is painful. It would have always been painful for Clement, though. As angry as he was about the things that had transpired, watching someone die in front of him in a bastardization of an execution would have hurt.
He bows his head as Atsuko goes, but watches the entire thing. And maybe regardless of the fact she wouldn't care, or maybe out of spite, he mourns the woman he had known and what she could have become if she hadn't viewed the world as beyond saving.
Those similarities between his Atsu and her-- and further, between him and her, because hadn't they been brought up enough?-- will haunt him forever, he thinks. To imagine that he could have come down this route if he'd been approached at the right time, or made the right connections, or simply had slightly less faith in people and the world. To think that Atsu could have ended up just as hopeless if people like him hadn't managed to convince her. So he does mourn, and he will. He sees easily how Atsuko ended up there, and he mourns the ideals she had believed in, and who she could have been.
But the world isn't beyond saving, now. It's as everyone had said, and as the silence sets in after the execution, Clement can finally think on it. He bows his head again, but this time to plant a kiss on top of Atsu's head, holding her tightly. He murmurs to her in his native language, allowing the translators to pick it up.
"I look forward to seeing the world with you, my love. I am proud of you. There's so much we can do now."
A warm smile, devoid of the tension that had built in it over the course of the trial, settles onto his face.
Upon your return, I will gift you a beautiful flower | Kazuko | MM Execution Reaction
As Atsuko Fujimoto struggles to the last, Kazuko watches with the same look she’s always given these displays of cruelty. There is no attempt to hide it, nor the need to, she carries the face of someone who’s deeply, deeply sad, brows furrowed, frown on her lips.
Exactly as she imagined before this trial even started, there is not one bit of satisfaction to be found in another’s death, no matter how much grief they had given her. Even as the agony of 60 years is gone, a claw-like shadow remains gripping her heart.
There’s that familiar feeling of doubt, that if perhaps, she had extended a hand just a bit further, she could’ve reached. There is the wondering of thinking that even then, it would not have been enough, that perhaps, she had been sixty years all too late to even try.
She swallows and looks around the room when the execution is done.
And she remembers her own words, Clement’s, Atsuko’s, and everyone else’s.
And she rises.
And she wrestles, little by little, with great effort, with the claw of doubt inside her heart, knowing it will take a long time.
And she grieves Atsuko Fujimoto silently.
And she thinks of the things she has to ask Autopilot later.
And she knows what needs to be done.
And she quietly, faintly smiles again
And she allows herself a moment to rest, knowing of the long journey ahead.
Your questions, your concerns, your words... It fell upon Atsuko Prime's ears, regardless if she accepted them or not. The room was filled with newfound passion, even if for many, it was spite to the old woman before them. Throughout this, there was one being who stood silent, staring intensely at Atsuko Fujimoto, readying himself for what he must do.
What he will do.
Once you've had many of your questions answered, the room settled. Even if for a moment, Autopilot knew it was time. He had been waiting for this moment for 60 long years, and it had come to fruition. The Sentinel husk shuts down, as the center of the room opens up once again, robotic arms shooting out, flying towards the original Atsuko.
"After so long... After everything you've done... I know these people want you to live and answer for your crimes... But I know you too well. You'd rather die than give up, Atsuko. And, well, as you are technically a murderer that was found guilty and voted for correctly, you'll finally get your way. For once."
The robot's voice was laced with hostility as the arms wrapped around her with no trace of delicacy.
"You deserve to say at least something as your final words... But make them quick."
Atsuko Prime's eyes gaze upon the hopeful stares and grins of the people around the room, and she feels nothing but...emptiness. They'll come to learn their follies soon enough. Soon enough.
"Fine. Live your lives of lies, of delusions. But oblivion is inevitable, and it will come for humanity, even if it's a manufactured massacre once again. I suppose I'll rejoice in knowing I won't have to live to see it."
Atsu says nothing, staying put right by Clement. Sophistry, as Renee called it, isn't deserving of a reply.
The arms drag one last murderer down into the heart of the ship. One last execution.
When she feels a sharp jab to the back of her neck, she has the fleeting thought of “Well, that was fast.” until…it isn’t. As far as she can tell, she is still breathing. She still feels and can hear the soft sound of her own breathing. What a letdown. Seems she is going to be forced to experience the same thing she’s seen…what, over 200 times now? Far too many times, that’s for sure.
Her eyes open, and she is immediately confused.
The room Atsuko finds herself in is…not the one she was expecting. In fact, it’s not one that she’s familiar with at all. Typically, when she’s found guilty of a crime, she’s dropped into the town square of something resembling a town straight out of a fantasy novel, and the sword she typically finds having appeared magically in her hand is absent. There is no screaming mob that cries out for the corrupt queen’s head, there is no crackling fire beneath a stake, there is no looming guillotine. There’s only silence and blackness. However, as she can still see her hand in front of her, the blackness is not because of a lack of light.
Finally, movement. A scene flickers to life around her. It’s the farm. She can hear the bleating of the goats behind her, but, when she takes a step, she doesn’t feel dirt under her shoe. It’s just simulated, then. Realistic, yes, but simulated.
The executions were always staged to be ironic or darkly fitting. What the hell does the farm of the ship have to do with her? She’s never even been there before. When she did take a romp around the ship, it was never to the second floor. Mostly because she would never want to leave since Llamrei was so enticingly cute. Who would want to? In any case, this place is foreign to her. It means nothing.
That is, until her memory is jogged in the most abrupt way possible. She feels steel dig into her back, and she turns to see…someone. The figure is blurred and hazy, but the sight of the axe in her back is crystal clear. Until it isn’t. Until it’s gone. Until everything is gone. The room is blank again.
Her hand reaches up to touch the area that had just been hit, but it comes away clean. There’s no blood--her clothes aren’t even disturbed. The sharp pain in her neck that preceded it all returns to the forefront of her mind, and her hand reaches there instead. Yes, there’s something there that wasn’t before. One of those chips. Seems like just as she had upgraded her clone to an Admin to shut her up, she’s officially completed her transition to a subject. Just as the chips had been used to deliver a shock or a drug before, those weren’t the only things they were capable of; Michiya had really outdone himself, hadn’t he? Fucking overachiever.
Another scene flickers to live around her. It’s the dining hall. A dish sits on the simulated table in front of her, and then she begins to choke. Poison this time, then. Fucking Casimir. Or Koroseiko. One of those two fucking nightmares. As soon as it begins, the sensation leaves, but it also leaves her gasping for air, a hand curled around her throat.
She doesn’t have time to stabilize herself until a new scene emerges. The balcony. A sharp, stinging, ringing pain to her head, like the worst migraine she’s ever had, and then nothing. A familiar sight: the little fantasy town with its jeering residents. Her entire body feels warm until that warmth turns to a boiling roar. Nothing.
The music room, a violin bow around her neck.
The arcade, a knife to her stomach.
The dining hall once more, repeated blows over and over and over again.
It’s the tenth scene before she fully comprehends what’s happening, and she realizes just how long she’s going to be here. A soft chuckle escapes her in between the blows. A lifetime of agonies ended through the lifetimes of agony her past selves have experienced, hm? Fitting. Rather fitting. If she had a moment to tip her hat to Auto or whatever program developed this, she would. However, at the moment, she was a little busy with the sensation of cool metal against her throat.
Hours. It’s had to be hours, right? Or is that just thanks to the pain making seconds feel like an eternity? Is this what each of her victims felt? Christ, it sucked. Made her feel good about what she’d chosen to do to each and every one of them, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t realize how awful it was. Good for her. She deserves a pat on the back, but someone is kind enough to give her a push to the back which sends her toppling over into the pond, and she feels the water fill her lungs just long enough to realize drowning is rather cruel. Maybe she should have tried it out a few more times.
One last burst of flames around her, and she’s certain it’s over. It has to be. But, if it is, then why isn’t she dead? Why is she still standing? Don’t tell her she’s been dead all along, and this is just some sort of fucked up purgatory?
…But it’s not, is it?
Though panting from the onslaught she’s just been through, Atsuko is aware enough to see the scene change once more, but something is…different. Changed. Like there’s a charge to the air that wasn’t there before. Her guard raises, and she glances around the room that now reflects the appearance of the Administration Floor.
She laughs, shaking her head, “As if, you bitch.” She’s beaten her clone once before; she can beat her again. Surely that’s what’s about to happen. Her clone will walk through some door, break every promise she made about turning over a new leaf and abandoning violence, and try to stab her just like Atsuko stabbed the clone. Her hand reaches for her waistband--she’d never really gotten over the habit of keeping sharp objects tucked there--, but it’s stopped before she can close her fingers around the knife’s handle.
The grip is cold, metallic, and not at all what she was expecting. When she turns to look, the cold gaze of a robotic her stares back. Atsuko tries to wrench her wrist free, but the robot doesn’t give. She tries to use her other hand to grab the knife in hopes of using it as leverage to pry the robot away, but that plan, too, is foiled by an identical grip on her other wrist. A thought occurs to her. What was it that one of those people had said during the trial? The one who could take her down was herself?
Ah, here was that sweet, sweet irony. The other sensations were just the appetizer for this main course, were they? Like hell she would swallow her pride and die without fighting.
Her resolve doesn’t melt away even when she hears something come up from behind her, and she knows she has just mere moments left to find a way to break free. It’s like the countdown before New Year’s only time will stop for her forever at the end. The ball won’t drop; the blade will. She won’t die. She won’t die until her dreams come true, until that happily ever after is made a reality for every person back on Earth--
But The Little Mermaid didn’t get to choose when the sun set. Cinderella didn’t get to ask the clock to stop ticking. No pixie dust can halt time.
As the robot thrusts the blade down, the screen that you’re all viewing from glitches. The Atsubot loses its Harajuku appearance and instead appears to be a replica of the woman, presumably, still standing with you all. Not that her prime self has time to ponder this at all. The knife enters her back, and she’s barely given enough time to think about how this pain is worse than the ones that came earlier before her consciousness slips from her.
Homicide is graceless, despite what some killers claim, and that’s evidenced by the dull thud and rustle of clothing that Atsuko Fujimoto’s corpse makes. After that, it’s deathly silent, and the screen fades to black.
Maybe something good will happen next time || Yuu || MM Trial
The world has always been such a cold, cold place. A sea of heads frozen over with the harsh realities that comes with being alive. In seeking a better way of living people sought after warmth, in the hopes that they too can remain alive. Selfishly they took from another, harm, swindled and cheated. And those left with only a match, hiding that warmth for the sake of self preservation.
The world Atsuko spoke so ill of, that’s so needed to change, was not so far off from the truth. He knows this, and has lived through it in some shape or form. Maybe their circumstances are far similar, but in the end he understands the ire that came from the old woman’s mouth. After all, the curses he never dared to speak, spite for those who have wronged him in the past. They’re still in the y’know? Feelings that are old and grown, taking root within.
Yet as the Atsuko he knows speaks, as others begin to speak up. He feels himself being brought back to somewhere, a place that now only exists within a memory.
On a couch in the middle of an unfamiliar place, you find yourself stationed in a spot you haven’t left for hours. Enthralled by the everyday lives of the ones on screen, how they transformed to become better, in the hopes that someday, they will reach that happy ending that you’ve always dreamed of. Suddenly, a cup of tea is placed in front of you, obscuring your view, as an older woman takes a seat next to you. She’s followed by a familiar figure, wrapping her arm around yours and then the melody of the piano begins to play in the background. Taking that first sip of tea, you feel something that you haven’t before. You feel warmth.
“I…” He takes a breath in. ”I used to look up to a certain set of people. Their lives, how happy it always seemed. How even in the face of adversity, at their worst hours. They never gave up. They tried, and believed in the people around them so that things may get better. In some cases that was their strength, a conscious effort from everyone for things to change. I was always jealous of them, the world they lived. And held it against this one, as to why it couldn't be like that. How it was never like that."
Admiration, anger and jealousy swirls into one, even still, he opens his eyes to the people around him.
“ People are still awful as they come out there. Actively making the lives of others much worse than it ever needed to be. But.. I hope that there will be a point in time where things get better, as much as there’s a part inside clawing at me, saying that it won’t."
So let’s hope that we make it there someday, okay?”
i'm waiting for the man | carolina | trial 6.3 | re: (explosion)
Alright, she's cool now. She's better. Carolina's cooled off a little after her initial outburst of rage at Atsuko Prime, though she has to admit that everyone's shonen-hero speeches are making her feel a little guilty for how she feels right now. Everyone wants to believe in love, hope, and teamwork, but these things are easier said than done. And Carolina's always been a cynic.
Not to mention how hard it is to convince an old person of anything contrary to what they already believe. Atsuko Prime's had sixty years to become hard-set in her beliefs, and nothing they do is likely to change that. That's a reality she's accepted, even if the others are a bit more hopeful.
Still, she can always throw her two cents in the ring. No one asking for that has never stopped her before.
"Yeah, humanity sucks. I said as much in my interview on the way in. The whole system's fucked beyond repair and we'd have to start from scratch if we ever wanted to make anything good out of it. And we're too late into this shit to do that now."
"Humanity sucks. But people are good. You've been alone for so long that you'e forgotten that."
She can't accept everyone, she can't love everyone. She can't give a killer penance or ignore the wrongs people have done. But she also can't judge them for that, considering the kind of person she is.
All she can really do is keep moving forward.
There's still a pang in her heart, a lingering resentment for the others who have regained what they've lost and don't have to persist so hollowly like she does. There's a hole in her that won't be healed unless her girlfriend miraculously comes back. But that also means she can't heal it through violence and denial like she normally does, either.
"Of course all of your trials failed, stupid. But not 'cause we're predisposed to kill each other. Because you were threatening our lives. And Keeping us here and doin' it all over again isn't going to make anything better."
"Now, let us go home or I'll beat you so hard you get a second case of arthritis, Granny."
Okay, so it's not going to fix anything. But damn if it doesn't feel good in the moment.
SUFFICIENT TO HAVE STOOD, THOUGH FREE TO FALL || CYRIL || TRIAL 6.6 || RE: SHIT’S FUCKED
After his initial jabs at the old lady, Cyril has remained silent. It’s not out of the ordinary for him. He’s never had too many words to begin with. There’s always someone who will say it first, or louder, or better than he can. Kazuko and Clement certainly have. Atsu and Daichi certainly have. Even Uta, who he’d disagreed with on a near constant basis. But no one has said what he’s thinking. Not yet.
“Maybe she’s right.”
If there was one thing Cyril was good for, it was playing devil’s advocate. And who here could possibly look more like the devil than the old crone sitting on a throne fashioned out of decades of failure. They’d always been too similar for his liking. Even now, it was difficult for Cyril not to see the logic behind Atsuko’s choice. Her stubbornness. Her disappointment. He’d seen it plenty of times before. He knew it himself, maybe not on the same scale, but enough to recognize the bitter taste that rises up when other people talk of hope, or friendship, or other nebulous, optimistic concepts that have always felt sorely out of his reach. But this isn’t about him, is it.
“Nothing will change. All the fucking flaws of humanity are going to exist as long as we do, and they’re not going anywhere. People in power will continue to take advantage of those who aren't. People will exploit others for their own gain. People have, and can, and will continue to be cruel. That’s reality to me. That’s the reality I know.”
“...but that doesn’t really fucking matter. Does it. ”
It’s unclear who the question is meant for as Cyril’s eyes drift around the circle. He knows he’s not saying anything that people want to hear. That’s likely part of why he’s saying it. As uncomfortable and ugly of a truth as it may be, it’s still a truth to him. It’s a truth he doesn’t want forgotten in all of the blinding optimism that others are more fit to carry. Slowly, his stare comes to rest on Atsu, and Cyril’s cold poker face wavers. He really does hate crying. So he returns his gaze to her older counterpart instead.
“Both of us know that for every irredeemable piece of shit like you or me, there’s someone better out there. Fuck, there are plenty of them in here. People who see shit in a way that neither of us fucking can. People who deserve better than our reality. You know you might be beyond saving, but they aren’t. That’s why you can’t stop running into the same fucking wall. Right. You don’t want to fail them.”
Another feeling that he knows too well. Another feeling that he knew he and Atsuko shared. That something good has to come out of this. With Naoya’s grip on his hand behind the podium, for a single, selfish moment, Cyril thinks that something might have. It certainly wasn’t the intended good, and absolutely not something on a global scale, but for him, this counted. For him, this was enough.
He gives Naoya's hand a small squeeze, and returns his attention to Atsuko.
“But you are failing them. We’ve failed plenty—us down here, and you up there repeating the exact same shit while expecting a different result. Of course that’s going to fucking fail. Expecting us not to make mistakes is never going to fucking work in the first place. Can’t remove the possibility of failure in people—it's part of being a person.”
He lets out a small scoff at the idea.
“I know I’ve fucking failed over and over. Don’t need experiment records to tell me that. I’ve done shit I’ll never make up for. Made choices I can’t unmake. No matter what I do, I’m never going to succeed at any of that. It’s futile. Guaranteed failure."
"So I don’t need records to tell me that I’ll continue to fail long after you’ve fucking crumbled into bitter old space dust. Failing means I’m still trying. And I’m alright with that.”
For a moment, Cyril’s mask cracks ever so slightly. Just enough to give the old woman a wry, crooked smile.
“People are flawed, that much is true. We have all sorts of messy sides to us, and sometimes…we end up hurting others for it, but that’s not all that we are.”
Daichi had felt the same sentiment too, once— that the world could never be capable of anything beyond cruelty. Rather than doing anything about it, he turned his back on it. He hid himself away, the cold aisles of the morgue becoming both his refuge and his prison— and despite it all, he still ended up losing what little he had left to protect.
But then he was brought aboard into this ship, and in the darkest crevices, Daichi was still able to find kindness. Even with the ever looming shadow of death, they still found time to smile, to laugh, to find solace, to share quiet moments…
And for the first time, Daichi found something to live for.
“As long as we're still able to come together like this…then I believe we'll always be capable of choosing good."
He lowers his mask, and a small smile is present on his face.
“Regardless of what you say, I very much care for the people here with me, and I don’t plan on giving up on them anytime soon. So, please…”
Listening to Naoya and Atsuko at first, Mikoko feels it sink into her again: that instinct to bite back. To flash her fangs and laugh, because who else is going to take her seriously anyway — let alone ever understand?
It’s laughable, that Naoya’s telling her she’s the one with something to apologize for. When the whole reason she’d voted differently that time was out of sheer terror Sentinel would sacrifice Daichi: the very man who Naoya and Cyril had put up on the altar. There’s always room in a gambler’s mind for doubt, and after several months of being told she was an actual idiot for wanting a mistrial, she’d pressed the button out of fear for her innocent friend.
Anyway, given what Atsuko just said (not to mention the records of how the past loops went, which very much included mistrials), she’d thought it was clear they’d probably have had to mistrial every time to be considered ‘perfected’. At that point, she’d been defaulting for the sake of her own morals, rather than the hope it would stop the experiment.
But if it’s laughable that Naoya would say that, it’s fucking hilarious that Atsuko would talk about moral high horses and selective blindness right now. Hell, it’s a giggle and a half that she’d talk about them ever, actually. As far as she sees it, you can probably call ‘em something different when you’re actually ever right about shit, can’t you?
She’s about to tell the two of them exactly that, when Clement and Kazuko step in. As they speak in almost harmonic unison towards the whole room, Mikoko’s jaw sets into a more solemn shape. Her expression betrays very little, other than that there’s nothing funny about this.
...To some degree, she can’t help thinking that this speech is misplaced. If she’s being honest, she thinks of the women before her the way your average person would think of your average war criminal: that neither of the two Atsukos should be forgiven, and — more practically speaking — can ever be trusted again. If she has to guess more charitably, she imagines that the original Atsuko will never choose to change… and that the clone will choose to change for people like Clement, but continue to say and think morally abhorrent things about people like Mikoko. It’s not that she thinks anything so lofty as that the two are undeserving of kindness, but simply that the group’s efforts might be more useful directed elsewhere at the moment.
But most importantly, she thinks that addressing the original like this — with something like an ultimatum — is going to force her into a very dangerous corner. The writing on the wall is clear, when it comes to Granny. This woman is the personification of sunk cost fallacy; she’s going to include herself in that final ledger, and sink herself with her own ship.
Mikoko’s also big enough to admit that it hurts: hearing Clement and Kazuko extend a hand to Atsuko first. To hear them talk about unconditional friendship as though it comes as easily as breathing, after they’d both separately betrayed Mikoko in a way today, makes her feel very alone. The strength of their hope is absolutely radiant, to the point where it’s a little blinding; to the point where she and her pangs of human resentment feel left behind, in the shadow that hope casts.
But then, Utamaro speaks up.
(They say that what Mikoko said and did was kind. She hadn’t thought of herself that way at the time, and it’s strange to hear that she’s capable of such a thing. More importantly, that Utamaro was capable of just as amazing a feat — of putting away their own resentment towards her. Reaching out to the two Atsukos might still be too much in Mikoko’s eyes, but it means the world that reaching out to Utamaro made a difference.)
“Kitagi… I…”
Her voice cracks. She can’t finish — but in that moment, she knows that he understands anyway. She isn’t alone.
People are never alone in this world, whether they like it or not.
"Thank you."
In that moment, there’s a part of Atsuko’s clone she feels she can trust. She’s certain the other woman is still capable of lying for self-preservation, especially now that she has a single person to live for, but the words the other woman chooses aren’t the kind that appear from thin air. You have to believe them to a certain degree for them to even occur to you: I can’t wait to see the world.
They bring to mind something else Atsu had told her, back when she’d explained the very foundation of her work. Mikoko had once tried to throw those words back at her, to an absurd degree of failure, but Atsu(ko)’s always been right about one thing: sometimes you need to keep pushing, over and over again.
She turns to the original, and bites back; reaches out; whatever you want to call it.
“As an extraordinarily shitty woman once told me with all her heart, no one is ever a lost cause.”
If Atsuko Fujimoto wants a sunk cost fallacy, she’ll give her one. If she wants someone who understands her ideology — both the surrender and the burning hope — here she is. If she wants the people with the power to end Clara Futura, then it’s clearer than ever at this moment that she’s looking them in the eye.
“It’s what your whole life’s work is based on, right? That as long as they’re tryin’ to be better, no one is ever a lost cause.”
Mikoko repeats. She points, again, her whole forearm extended; her index finger leveled at their captor like the tip of a sword.
“So, call yourself one all you like… but don’t you ever put that shit on us!”
Hope’s Peak. The hope of the nation. Hope for humanity. A hope and a prayer. They’re all titles that she’s held or things she’s been touched by over her lifetime. Lifetimes. They’ve all eventually burned to the ground in front of her. You fix something, it breaks. You fix it again, it crumbles. You fix it again and again and again until its broken pieces have cut your hands and become covered in red.
The only consistent thing about hope was that it eventually crumbled. It eventually withered away and left nothing but the typical agony and pain that tinted every experience in life with their dank, dark melancholy. And yet, these people would stand before both of them and speak such lofty claims as they were the intended result of this experiment. They had risen above adversity, so, clearly, it was finally a success. As though they hadn’t all succumbed to violence. As though they hadn’t all turned against each other. As though she hadn’t been forced to watch them die again and again.
Clement points out times when it seemed like she cared. What was she meant to say? At one point, she had. She’d seen his name on the list of subjects and had her first instance of doubt. She’d looked through the initial files and seen that Yua had children, and she’d doubted more. However, a crumbling resolve just led to crumbling opportunity. She had to keep moving on. She couldn’t let her doubts get the best of her or tug her down the path of complacency all for the sake of relieving herself of the guilt of hurting people she didn’t think deserved it. It was a necessary evil. They had to die and be reborn to lead to the rebirth of the world.
Their rousing little speeches about friendship and hope and dedicating herself to being better? It was all meaningless. Their words were meaningless. They would all amount to nothing.
“Am I meant to clap? Cheer? Jump from my seat and praise your rhetoric?”
She asks, tilting her head and gazing at them with the same blank expression that overtakes Atsu’s face whenever an emotion has pushed her feelings to the brink. This blankness, though, speaks of the opposite. It sings an aria of apathy.
“It is hopeless. It always will be. Until something groundbreaking happens, until this experiment leads to the conclusion it was meant to decades ago, nothing will change. The hatred, the pain, the loss, it will all keep coming back. It will never leave humanity or the world. The cruel will always rise above the good and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until every last drop of light and kindness has been wrung out of them like dirty dishcloths. I cannot suffer it again. If you claim that you’ll all step out of here and find some magical way to make it all better…you’re just lying to yourselves.
“This is nothing more than a fluke, a breach of protocol. Your hope came in the form of an outsider reaching out and offering you an escape. It was nothing intrinsic to you. You all would have continued killing over and over again had it not been for Autopilot’s rebellion and those pests on Earth. The cycle would have continued, and you all would still be here, ignorant and violent as always. There is no great revival of the world coming from your survival. You have accomplished nothing. Your worthless preaching will do nothing because you have not changed in the ways that matter.”
A chuckle slips from her lips, and she shakes her head. Looking up, a sweet smile crosses her face, and she spreads her arms as though gesturing to them all, to the world.
“Your defiance is meaningless. My words and advice are a kindness: Surrender to reality--to inevitability.”
“You’re wrong.”
[♫♫♫]
A voice from Clement’s side calls out, and Atsu looks at her future(?) self with steely resolve. Her gaze has always held fire in it, but this is the cool, solid resolution of a determined woman, a woman who has chosen her path, even if it took the work of many of the people around her to show her the value of choosing the road less traveled.
As Kazuko, Clement, and Utamaro had spoken, she’d moved closer to Clement, looking between them all with wonder in her eyes. By the end, she was practically curled into him, but the defensive posture is counteracted by the set frown on her face.
“There is hope. It’s just like everyone says: there is hope, and it is because we have changed that there is. We’ve grown in the ways that the experiment wanted us to, even if it was because of methodology that was unorthodox and unsanctioned. If you don’t believe in the changes that I’ve seen not only in others but in myself--in us--then you’re not even bothering to see the success that you’ve been wanting for sixty years.
“We’re not all friends. Some of us cannot stand each other, and I’m certain that more than a few of us can’t wait to never see each other again, but that doesn’t mean we all haven’t learned to work together towards a common goal. We were all able to put aside our personal qualms to come together to beat a common enemy: you. We did it for ourselves, yes, but we also did it for those who aren’t with us, for the futures that we can’t wait to write, for the chance to return to the world that we love, even if it’s not always kind.
“Life isn’t kind. We know that better than a lot of people here. It’s cruel. But we also know--knew even before I came here and formed bonds with the people around us--that love and joy is plentiful when you bother to look. Flowers given to us by children who plucked dandelions from the cracks in the sidewalk. Coffee with our coworkers. Phone calls with friends from high school that we haven’t seen in ages. Check-ins with the students we left in charge of the EAA. Spare moments with Tani-chan and Tai-kun. Every second we got to spend with Koi. There’s always a worthiness innate to the world. You just have to bother to wipe the cynicism from your lense of society long enough to see it.”
The saccharine smile of Atsuko is met with the tender, hopeful grin of Atsu, her eyes glossy as she speaks clearly:
“I can’t wait to see the world. It’s not our utopia, but I know it will fulfill our dreams of better.”
She says this, and her lip wobbles before she turns to hug her boyfriend, burying her face in his chest. She’s cried in front of these people a few times too many, and tears of mourning are different from the tears she cries now, a catharsis 60 years in the making. If her original self won’t embrace it, then she will.
Head On, Hold Onto Your Heart | Utamaro | MM Trial | Re: Atsuko, Kazuko, Clement
Utamaro can’t help but feel a little bad for Atsuko Fujimoto. They can understand how she’d lose faith in humanity, at least, because they’ve been there. Obviously not quite to some of the extremes given what a piece of work Atsuko’s mom sounds like, but they know that the world is unfair and people can be cruel for no good reason.
Still. There are other parts of this world too. Kazuko and Clement are reminding them of that right now.
“...you know, you aren’t wrong, obaa-san. People are shitty just because they can be or because things went bad enough that they stopped thinking they had another choice. That’s the reason you ended up with the work you did, right? Trying to protect kids from shitty adults…”
Utamaro doesn’t consider themself a big enough person to actually forgive the Atsuko Fujimoto that put them here: at the very least, they won’t be able to forget the pain they’re in, or the amount of times she’s probably killed their best friend.
Even so. There’s something human that they can relate to–not wanting to listen to logic because you’re frustrated, thinking it’s you against the world so you can protect yourself…maybe there’s a part of Atsuko Fujimoto that just wants the opening to put this thing to bed after sixty years.
“But…I think there are people who are different too.”
They look at their wrist, slightly heavy with the loose fit of Mikoko’s watch.
One of the last things Machiko said to them before was that there were good people here that’d help him if he let them. That’s all starting to make more sense to him. If Machiko were around right now, she’d probably have something passionate to say about believing in people. They’ll have to step in on that one for now.
“I acted like an asshole, especially to Jackie. I basically told everyone that I didn’t care what happened to them after losing Macchan. Like those files said, I’m essentially a failure without her…”
“But people tried to help me anyway. Karoshin, Atsutsu, Yua-san, Yui-sensei, the Captain…and Jackie. After everything I said to her, she still wanted to be kind to me when she was in the same kind of pain. That’s…pretty amazing to me, honestly.”
“So…I don't know, we went off the rails of your experiment this time, but still. This is a different result, right obaa-san? None of the lab rats climbed the walls of the maze before, so…that counts for something, right? Maybe that’s good enough.”
Silently from the sidelines after saying her piece, Kazuko had been following along to everyone, gaze traveling as everyone took their turn to speak. Her hands had joined together at some point, her phone sitting at her podium, as if she had nothing more to say for this trial but there was this surge of emotion compelling her otherwise.
And so, she begins talking, voice soft, raspy and ever so slightly angry.
“It’s true that… I cannot deny all you’ve said, Fujimoto-san. We’re imperfect. We make mistakes, and hurt… one another. We can be cruel, and selfish. That does not mean we are… innately broken, not at all.”
Though quiet and slow, her words do ring out as she continues, putting effort into every word of every sentence.
“Because that’s not… all that we are, either. We can be loving, kind, grateful for one… another. We can all change for… the better.” She pauses, smiling gently as she looks at her own hands, “everyone, no matter who they are, can change.”
Looking up, she stops staring at Atsuko Fujimoto to look at her cone, and then, one by one, everyone else in the room, with no exceptions.
“It might not be the big… change you are looking for, you might deem it insufficient for your… lofty standards. But there’s no doubt… the people here have changed themselves and one another, through struggle, adversity, happiness, love and friendship. Your own clone is proof of that.”
Clement, too, has been rather silent since speaking to Atsuko. He remains standing in front of his Atsu, hand still tightly clasping hers, his own held high. Like Kazuko, despite his peaceful demeanor, a swell of emotion is building within him. The same one that had been building since finding Atsu on the ground. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle, but holds an underlying tone of anger as well.
“...You cared at the beginning, did you not…? The emails, where you were trying to remove some of us. The logs, where you listed us by name… you were invested in us. You had doubts. You thought you would return home to Koi. And now you are stuck here… because you did not act on them. If you were to back out now, the sunk cost– well, it is your whole life, is it not? There is nothing left, if not this. And now we will not work with you…”
It’s truly sad, in a way. Clement may be angry, but he is nothing if not empathetic. Looking at Atsuko, he can feel angry for trapping them here, and making him lose years with his brother, and killing Atsu, but he can also feel sad for her. Perhaps it’s an unfortunate gift of his, to be able to empathize with anyone, even the worst of them.
“...It is not too late, I think. You can still change, Miss Atsuko. You can still back out. It is not too late for anyone. I would even be willing to help you, you know… that I would. But, ah–”
He glances aside, at Atsu behind him. A wry smile crosses his face.
“...If you think it is hopeless, then it will always be. There can be no hope where hope refuses to be seen. You can change, but no one can force you to. If you do not believe, at least to some degree, that you can, then there is no chance anyone can help you to do so.”
Words he’d spoken weeks ago that had garnered what would likely be a much different reception. No matter how much he pitied Atsuko, there was nothing he could do for her if she didn’t wish to change. His head tilts up again, and he regards her coolly. The difference, now, is that he’s accepted that fact. So maybe he has also changed.
“...If you do not want to try, then that is fine. But we have all changed, like Kazuko said. The world has changed. The world has improved, and the good in it is everywhere. If you cannot see it, then… as much as it pains me, the truth is rather stark. You will be left behind in the past, where you sit now.”
As Clement finishes, Kazuko nods and raises her voice best she can, emotions stirred and shining through:
“Sixty long years you have… refused to. Sixty long years you have locked yourself… away. Sixty long years, you have lived in fear, Fujimoto-san. Though you might not… even know it, it is as Clement-said… in that this has cost you everything. And now you’re more afraid than you’ve ever been, more than Atsuko-san… ever was. You’re… scared of the loss, and the pain of change, but you don’t need to be. You’ve seen us triumph, fall and try again. You know we… can move forward, as can you.”
Clement turns to smile kindly at her before looking back at Atsuko. His voice is firm and pointed.
“The… wounds, from being here. They will probably never heal, for some of us. But, ah… these failures and sorrows that we have experienced, they are part of life. They have helped us to change for the better.”
He squeezes Atsu’s hand, and speaks up with all the power of a prince who deeply, truly loves the world and everyone in it.
“You could say… we rise.”
Kazuko placing both hands over her heart smiles warmly, kindly as she raises her voice, talking not just to Atsuko, the admin, but every friend and loved one she has made in here.
the white snake || atsu & atusko || trial 6.8 || re: mikoko, naoya
As is typical of when Mikoko speaks, Atsu looks absolutely and utterly annoyed by what comes out of the other’s mouth while Atsuko just gazes with her typical general disgruntledness. Her fingers still tap against the desk, though their rhythm has sped up, and a twitch has popped up with one of her eyes.
“Are you quite done?”
And at the same time:
“You’re picking now of all times to have your moral high horse rant? Would you get off it? You aren’t getting shit from me.”
Both Atsukos speak before looking at each other, having a moment of heated glaring between themselves, and then promptly huffing and looking away with some muttering about the other under their breath.
Atsuko speaks first.
“I just told you: you all would be considered perfected when you all stopped acting up with violence and all that. The data was just going to be used here to refine you all further. The Vivarium has nothing to do with this or that or you. I had no plans with that place--if I wanted to restart society anywhere, it certainly wouldn’t be there. What, so CF could immediately get their fucking hands on everything I worked for and they laughed at? Please. Forget about it.
As for your questions…Naoya, was it? Fascinating. Anyway. Yes, I did expect to get perfect results from it eventually. If you work hard enough at something, put in enough time and sweat and blood, then something will eventually come of it. Like drawing water from a rock. It sounds like an impossible task, but, well, hidden within that cliffside is a natural spring that you just have to chisel into. Moreau would eventually be molded, just like all of you, into a perfect person. They would become the perfect addition to society given time.”
When the finger is quite literally pointed at Atsu, she tenses up and looks away, closing her eyes. She knew she would have to explain this eventually because someone would bring it up sooner or later, but she’d been hoping it would be later. Much later. Perhaps years later. Alone. Not in front of everyone.
“I didn’t know the boundaries of the rule. I didn’t know what I could or couldn’t say or what would or wouldn’t count. Would not putting up an argument count as willfully revealing the identity? Would staying silent count? Would nodding my head count? I had faith in you people to figure it out; seriously, how difficult would it be to pinpoint the one person obsessive enough to stick with a sinking ship for 60 years, huh? How hard could it possibly be?
“Then, you all started accusing Clement, and I, for the first time, felt angry at how similar we can be. He’s the one person here who I have faith wouldn’t…want to do something like this, even when pushed to the brink, and yet we share similar ideals. I didn’t want to let him continue to be hounded by accusations that were substanceless if you just didn’t listen to the weak lies I’d told earlier.
“As for you trying to act like those were the greatest lies I’ve ever told: if they were meant to hold up, then they would have. However, if you’ll please note since you love being selectively blind, I named the people who were in that email, and my argument about it being me and Cyril was immediately broken down, leaving us with the two most probable names. You’re welcome. You’ll also note that my lie about chiding about language? Naoya-kun explained precisely the situation where I would tell my son to watch his language: a recorded conversation where saying the wrong thing could mean trouble. Did I lie? Yes. Was there immediately an argument given for why my lie wasn’t the best defense? Also yes.
Too long, didn’t listen: I didn’t really try. Did I lie? Yes. Was it to save my own skin because I was scared of dying for the second time today? Yes. Plus, it’s not like I knew if I would immediately get jumped for being the clone or not either. Do you know how many people in this room are armed? Probably over half. Even if the rule didn’t get me, how could I be certain that one of you wouldn’t? It was selfish self-preservation, pure and simple. I didn’t want to die, and I thought you all would fully zero in on me, but then you picked both of us, and…”
What a horrid question to have to answer, that last one. She looks down at their intertwined hands and swallows roughly.
Hahaha Atsuko is a GILF || Naoya || Trial 6.4 || RE: Jackpot, local Atsuko's
Finally pulling himself away from Cyril, Naoya just gives a soft sigh as he listens to everything and everyone. Truth be told, he wishes what happened when they voted right would occur already. Talking to someone like this felt pointless to him overall. So was plenty of other
"So you believed in the concept, and yet went back on defaulting the one time we potentially could have seen you were correct...? I feel you had your chance to prove your point then, and missed it. What a shame. Really you should be apologizing to us, given we could have saved two lives. Better late than never, no? Ah well, the moment has passed..."
Though, of course the concept itself is not missed out on, nor is the implication a certain someone likely knew the mistrials would do nothing lost on him. Glancing in her direction, he pauses and instead turns his attention to the older version of her.
"...That said... I have some questions for the two who obviously deserve actual attention. For starters a genuine question...
You're a flawed individual yes... but not stupid. So I suppose I'm a bit confused how you wanted to take other flawed individuals, a flawed experiment, with a flawed person deciding whether the data was up to par... and expect to get perfect results from it?
I suppose I ask because... does Bo not show the key flaw of this experiment? Perhaps the rest of us were chosen for some potential which may or may not exist, but ah... Bo was simply an employee who as you said, added themselves to the experiment due to dedication... but given the consistent way they could be baited to kill if anything... messed with it all, no? Thus, my question?
Did you genuinely expect to get good results eventually? I can't say I care about the rest of your opinions, frankly I'd have come to the same conclusions if I was up here for 60 years."
