"Greetings, listeners of Somnium Diem. This is the ASSISTANT speaking."
"Due to some concerns in regards of the rating system, I am here tonight to explain how each of these shows are rated according to our... DIRECTOR's words. Please know that each rating does not equal to the show and it's popularity, it is just to serve as a form of warning for those who cannot handle heavier episodes or series."
"To begin, each of these programs are sorted in their rating. You may refer to the example of the citrus scale for reference."
β ββββ - β β βββ (1 to 2 stars)
Mild category
"This is the category for most programs rated for General Audiences. This means that anyone of any age can consume it, and there are little to no triggers to be found in that episode or program."
"In that regard, you may expect the programs there to be tame. After all, it is not something that anyone can look and get easily triggered. We make sure that in this category, programs listed in it are especially cleaned... And for episodes, too. We want it to remain as is."
β β β ββ (3 stars)
Moderate category
"This is the category for some programs that are rated for Young Adults. This means those under 18 are advised to not consume this, as there may be themes that are not appropriate for them. In some cases, some episodes may tackle a bit more on its themes, which may make it... Especially susceptible for younger minds."
"Please expect the programs there to be your standard when it comes to dark content. Sometimes, there may be triggers that are not for the faint of heart, while others are tame. Refer to this as the middle of both extreme and tame, and you will be fine."
β β β β β - β β β β β (4 to 5 stars)
Extreme/Severe category
"This is the final category, where it is expected that there will be heavy themes and is strictly for adult consumption. Programs listed with these categories have triggers that are explicit and borders into dead dove, do not eat. Some of them may even be direct and 'on the nose', and even be in explicit detail that it can make someone triggered from reading it alone."
"Those that are found to be consuming this and are below age will not be tolerated. If you are of below age and complain if a program with this rating is 'too much', I'm afraid that our HOSTS and those working behind the scenes will not answer your inquiry. Please be advised to consume these in moderation, as watching these too much can cause unsavory and dangerous side effects of the mind."
"With this in mind, that brings the discussion about the rating system to a close. If you have any questions, refer to the messages section or send us an ask. We will be more than happy to answer any questions in regards to the ratings and down to our programs."
"Thank you for tuning in to Somnium Diem, dear listener. We are looking forward to your visit soon."
how does one join the series listeners? love your work!!
"Hello, this is HOST Malleus speaking. I'll be answering this for you, listener."
"First of all, we'd like to thank you for your support. I'm sure that there will be more to come, especially with who we are narrating about... If they are willing."
"To answer your question, you may inquire to us about it by messaging or commenting that you'd like to join. Being our series listener, we'd like to know what series caught your interest, and what name you'd like to go if you choose to remain anonymous."
"However, we will not stop you if you don't wish to remain in anonymity. Please send us an ask without anon on so we will know your username, and what series you'd like for us to mention you. This will make our job easier, and for you to get the latest updates related to it."
"To clarify, however: we do not take any symbols for names for our anonymous listeners. Please give us your first name or even a nickname. That way, we may know who is who. It also helps us in the process, as one of our HOST is... A trickster. I'm sure you understand, Child of Man."
"Now, if there are any queries, you may ask the DIRECTOR or ASSISTANT for help. They'll always be around. Until then, thank you for listening to Somnium Diem, listener. We are looking forward for your return."
"How... Annoying. There's something wrong with this system."
The DIRECTOR seem to huff at the sight in front of him. Although it should have gone as normal, it would seem that he is unable to see his dear listeners and their comments. Perhaps it was a new case that some Aeon has decided, or maybe that silly OWNER forgot. But...
He could only sigh. What a pain, indeed.
"Alright... Let's see what's the matter with you."
All it took was one invitation for the rest to be unraveled.
Unfortunately, the one to receive it was the last thing anyone expected.
EPISODE RATING: β ββββ | MATURITY: ALL AUDIENCES
DISCLAIMER:
Clocktower's Little Lies is an original series that takes place
before the events of Master Detective Archives: Rain Code.
Thus, expect small/minimal spoilers for the episodes in the series.
IF YOU ARE CURIOUS OF WHAT THE SERIES IS,
YOU MAY CHECK IT OUT BELOW.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
In October, people would usually be preparing to celebrate the only holiday that can be done in that month: Halloween.
For many, Halloween is one of the holidays that people can go all out: costumes are brought out of the closet, candy stalls are being prepped, and some of the stores began to show their festive side as they began to set up shop.
No matter how young or old someone can be, it wasn't like it'll stop them from being who they want to be, and what they want to be. And in such a month, that is where the irony happens.
A puff of smoke leaves the detective, his eyes wandering off to the stores that seemingly set up their shop for the once in a year festival of sorts. Fairy lights of orange, white, black, and purple adorned their area, and he could see a few pumpkins and skeletons hung around. Sure, he may spot the occasional ghost, but other than the staples, there wasn't much that caught his eye.
Twisting the cigarette stick in his fingers, he placed the butt down onto the ashtray. His glasses simply glint from the reflection of the light, his purple eyes wandering down to his desk.
A scowl seemed to rest on his face as he saw the parchment rest, the handwriting seemingly mocking him with a few blotches of black ink.
He remembered so vividly how he came to such a letter; after all, he received it at least one month ago... September 15, he recalls. Although he had sworn that there were no letters addressed to his name, the postwoman was quite insistent that it was his.
Of course, like any other detective, he kept it. However, he ran it through a few tests to check if it had been laced with anything. Call him paranoid, yes, but it was almost routine for the man to do. After all, that was what he was taught in his time at the agency.
His right hand reached over to it once more, tracing the blotches on its face. For a moment, Ethan could only remain quiet, almost lost in his thoughts.
Well, at least... Until a voice pierced through the silence.
"Raith, how long are you going to stare at that?"
His eyes didn't move from what he was focused on as he answered quietly, "I was just looking at it for a minute, Avery. It's almost as if you think I've focused on it for too long."
His coworker walked over, their booted heels clicking under the wooden floorboards. "You've been looking back at it and outside for the 10th time, Raith," they told him, and he felt their hand placed onto his shoulder. "It's not going to vanish if you let your eyes wander a bit, you know."
The detective sighed, and finally, finally raised his head to face them. Adjusting his glasses, he comments, "It isn't as though you weren't the one invited to this party, Avery. You needn't worry about anything since you aren't being requested."
The first thing he sees is the sight of green. It reminded Ethan of the forest, only that it is more lush and vibrant. A complete irony writing itself, sure, but heβs always liked it that way. After all, it had only kept the oddities from being seen right away, especially concerning the symbol of their eye.
As if on cue, their eyes narrowed at the man, their frown evident as their cherry-colored lips pursed in dissatisfaction. "That doesn't mean I won't worry anyway. After all, you're not exactly... The most present at the moment."
The individual in front of him was Theia Avery, a detective that specializes in interrogation and identification. Originally, they worked as a journalist, which makes them experienced in the matter of gathering information and speaking to various people. However, that changed when they chose to pursue being a detective, and the WDO was the first they decided to look into.
Ethan didnβt know what pushed them to choose that line of work, but heβs kept his mouth shut. After all, journalists and detectives work hand in hand, right?
βThatβs a bold claim for you to say,β Ethan quipped, taking off his glasses to wipe the lens. βRelax, Avery. Even if Iβm not as present as many assumed, Iβll try for this βpartyβ thatβs being hosted. I just needed time alone to gather my bearings, since itβll happen in a few days.β
He could hear his coworker walk towards him, this time standing beside him. Tilting his head to face her, Theia pursed her lips, crossing their arms and speaking, βAnd those past few days arenβt the same, right? You gather your thoughts after tryingβand failing, may I addβin deciphering the letter?β
Ethan grimaced.
β... Itβs not easy to decipher that voice, Theia.β
Theia huffed, βItβs never easy, Ethan. But if you asked me, I donβt think they want you to use that onto the letter. After all, those ink blotches cover just enough that it would push people to go to the venue. You know, to see whatβs so hidden in it that they canβt read.β
The man seemed to pause at this, his brows furrowed in thought. That was a valid point. After all, anyone who would receive such an invitation would be curious to see what itβs about: unnamed messenger, blocked out parts, and a vague location? Anyone dying for a mystery wouldβve jumped on the gun immediately.
β¦ Anyone except the detectives working under the WDO, of course.
βAnyway, since itβs happening soon, why donβt I come with you?β he heard them ask, and his focus was set onto Theia once more. βWe donβt have any pressing cases, and two detectives are better than one, right?β
Ethan paused before stating, βPerhaps. However, I think Iβll be fine investigating this on my own. The last time that we worked on a case together, you wounded up getting too close to the suspect, andββ
He felt them flick his forehead, making him wince at the pain. His green-eyed coworker scoffed, speaking, βThatβs because I was a rookie back then. Sheesh, you have no faith in me, you know that?β
Rubbing the spot where they flicked him, he sighed, but he did nod afterwards. They had a point, as much as he didnβt want them involved in this for their safety. After all, he didnβt exactly know what could happen from howβ¦ Strange the events were. Getting a letter addressed to you, talking about some form of celebration and it being hosted in a clocktowerβ¦
βIβ¦ Suppose not,β he murmured, adding, βWell, weβll be heading out in a day from now. Make sure youβre prepared for anything, Avery.β
Theia chuckles at this, and Ethan watches as they walk away. Raising their hand, they waved it off, speaking, βIβll be fine, Ethan. I think you should say that to yourself more, if you ask me.β
Despite their demeanor, he felt his eyes drift back to the letter, sighing once more.
Thereβs too much he doesnβt know yet, and he didnβt know if he liked the idea of staying put until then.
As the chimes echo from the tower,
Celebrants host their first wishes for success.
But success came from bloodied hands,
Born from past lineages consumed with jealousy.
Those tailored by time are made to be enslaved,
And those that werenβt are sought to be erased.
Time is running out, little detective.
Solve the mystery before it solves you.
SERIES LISTENER/S: "None for now... How dull. Would you like to join?"
CROSSPOSTED?: No. I will repost it when I have the chance.
SERIES LINK: You may find it here!
IF YOU WISH TO TUNE OUT OF THE SERIES,
YOU MAY BLOCK THE TAG.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
CLOCKTOWER'S LITTLE LIES is an original series that takes place before the events of Master Detective Archives: Rain Code. This happens before the detectives of WDO are called in to investigate Kanai Ward, and focuses on two original characters, Ethan Raith and Theia Avery, as they investigate a serial case of missing individuals.
It was 20XX when, by sheer coincidence, the agency received a letter from the owner of the clocktower. The owner, Vivian Schroeder, wishes to celebrate with various people that made it possible, and to give grace to the people behind its legacy.
However, what should have been a normal celebration turned to a day of horror, as it took one momentβone chimeβ for the owner to have their time run out.
5 guests. 3 outsiders. 1 truth.
Solve the case, lest you be erased.
"... DIRECTOR," the quiet musings of the angel echoed in the empty office, his gloved hand going through the newest records with a sigh. "Are you sure that this will catch our listener's interests?"
He looked up at the other man, who seems to be drafting something up onto the whiteboard. His back was turned, of course, but he knew he heard him. Otherwise, he was sure that he wouldn't answer him with such bold confidence in his voice.
"Oh, I'm more than sure, little ASSISTANT," he says, his eyes twinkling as he placed the marker down. "After all, our first episode has gotten out without any hiccups, no? And I figured that the owner wouldn't let our program be a one-time deal."
"The masses have yet to see it," his ASSISTANT pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "But I won't lie... Our first episode is quite a shocker. To think that someone like that could drag another to damnation..."
The DIRECTOR seems to laugh at this, finding such amusement to the query he proposed. "Right? I wonder what they will think of it. It would be such a sight, especially since the story behind it is darker than many assume. Why, it can border into more than 5 stars if we aren't careful."
"Wouldn't you want it to reach that point?" asked the ASSISTANT, sighing. "Those HOSTS of ours thinks so, but I think they are... Less attuned to the life of entertainment. They aren't aware of where we were."
"The devil is in the details, ASSISTANT," the DIRECTOR says with a gleam in his eye. "Nonetheless, we can only ask the OWNER for their... Thoughts. If they ever have the chance to come about. Although, speaking of our next release..."
He walked over to one of the files and scooped it up, and against the complaints of his feathery friend, his eyes seem to glint at it.
"Oh... A series, hm?" he hummed, chuckling. "How fascinating... These individuals will do nicely."
IF YOU WISH TO TUNE OUT OF THIS EPISODE,
YOU MAY STOP HERE OR BLOCK THE TAG.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
For all your life, you were simply regarded as a joke.
It was ironic, because you know people can see each other in a better light than that. But when you ask others what they see you, the most you'd get is that you were like a joker with them.
Someone who brings a smile to their face, someone who stands out, someone who is so wildly... Different. Perhaps outside of the normal they're used to. Someone that is weird.
Abnormal.
In this world, people like them are scrutinized. Segregated. Even treated like some form of trash. And although some hoped that people wouldn't treat each other like unwanted pests, they knew better than to let those thoughts slip.
You were oblivious to it. A perfect target for those to put you in place.
The comments you often hear vary. From those who you consider 'friends', they would often joke about how you act. Sometimes, it was mutual; you would tease and jeer when they screw up, and they would do the same to you.
But to them, it becomes more than simple jeers when they point out your flaws.
You still remember them. The way they'd joke at how you'd leave them, how you simply forget when they were better, how they would say you're more emotional than the others...
The way they smiled and joked, whereas you would simply feel hurt but try to laugh it off, thinking it was only a simple tease like any other.
You used to point out by joking about their own flaws, but when you do, it was like they were offended. They never took it well, which is why you try to shut it down, but it was like it fell on deaf ears.
No matter what you did, it would only point to your sensitivity. You were different, after all.
Unlike your peers, you were considered as one of the 'abnormal ones'βor, in technical terms, one of the 'maskless'. Those who you can read like an open book, and those that are often jeered because they were simply lower than those with it.
It was sickening, with how they would sometimes address you as such without knowing.
"You only say that because you're one of the maskless," one of your friends said. "I thought you wouldn't be so sensitive."
Yes. Sensitivity is something that those with their agenda are able to differentiate, but those who are different cannot. It becomes a running gag of sorts, simply because they almost feel attached to them so easily.
It, ironically, shows weakness whenever someone does. A flaw in the otherwise perfect system, so to speak.
It was a normal day when you met with your companions again, laughing and joking as you usually do. They had their masks up and fitted on their face, but the discussion simply turned itself into one of emotion.
"I don't usually overreact like that," you told your friends, but one simply adjusted their attire and hummed, seemingly amused that you denied it.
"Really?" they asked, turning their head akin to a child who seems to wish to listen to an adult tell them what's wrong. "But you're like her. You two are very open about your emotions, it's obvious when you two found something so upsetting. Unlike us, who have enough poise to act like we aren't hurt when we do."
Usually, you shrug those comments off. To you, they are usually blank and general statements, not worthy of the time to give it a second thought if you could help it. But today, it feels somewhat harder to shrug them off, especially with the way they made it sound.
They made it sound like a personal jab to you. A backstab, digging the knife further the longer you let the silence go on.
"I'm not, though," you said, diffusing the situation. "She's more open than I am."
But you simply heard them laugh.
The knife is digging deeper into your flesh.
"Yeah, yeah, and I'm suddenly emotionally aware of everything," they joke, but you can tell there was an edge to that statement. "Anyway, you know that..."
And as swift as that jab came, it went away. Still, it didn't mean that their words didn't leave a bleeding mark on you, judging by how you simply turned your head, ignoring the giggles and whispers from your supposed companions.
This was the normal youβre used to: a life of jokes and jeers, and one where you are the subject of said βteasingβ. The ones youβre with all your life all have different masks and faces, but they all look at you like a party animal, befitting a circus thatβs falling apart out of misery.
You tried to be like them, to wear a mask and act like youβre not one of the maskless. You refused to act like the minority, who sheds tears of delusion and smiles that taste like bitter joy.
And yet, as you hung with them, you were simply proven that you were isolated. That you didnβt belong, both maskless and masked.
You hardly remembered the times you were accepted as one of the minority. Even amongst those you considered like you, they made it clear that they werenβt welcome, so they would also partake in the things your friends did.
Their scowls and glares would eat at your skin, while the ones who are blessed to have masks can hide the look of disgust as you simply dealt with the bleeding wounds from their words.
There is no such thing as happiness in this bitter world.
A world that decides you, alone, must not exist.
Despite living a life worthy of its misery, it wasnβt all that bad.
Back then, it was like the others: positive, full of life, and animated. In a way, it made you feel like you were at homeβlike you truly belonged in a world as such, even if it had cruelty hidden in its seams.
As a child, you were unaware of what goes on behind the scenes. To your perspective, all of that was for the adults to worry about, and it wasnβt as though they needed the children to concern themselves with the misery hidden in those smiles.
Though, sometimes, you find yourself acutely aware of how cruel other children like you can be.
It was when you were 14 that you noticed how everyone started to treat you differently. Some were less open to you about how they feel, speaking that they themselves didnβt see the point in being friendly to one of the βmasklessβ.
Maskless. What an ugly term.
You never liked that term.
Even when you told the others you werenβt like those measly maskless children, they would simply sneer and say you were a liar. You had their face, one told you so boldly. You had the curse of the maskless, the other screamed.
You were all taught of what masked and maskless were, but you never remembered that the maskless were considered a curse. Alas, you can only steel yourself as you try to insist that they werenβt, that you werenβt a curse.
Despite being young, you already felt that they were accusing you of what you arenβt. Maybe it was a delusion of sorts, but you always felt that the label itself never fit you.
Alas, the others didnβt agree. They didnβt even listen to your pleas. All they wanted to hear was the sound of their own voice, and the majority of the chanting of your supposed, cursed label of the maskless.
It was that day when your eyes were open to the cruelty of the world, and the misery within it. And when it did, the days you used to frolic and enjoy with a smile had long since ended, becoming twisted and tainted with tears and loneliness.
You can only lament as you remembered how lonely it felt as a child back then. Maybe it was the times changing, or maybe it was because all of you were βgrowing upβ. But to you, you never felt that stageβthe stage of βgrowing upβ, just like the other masked children you used to be friends with.
Alas, since then, the times have remained the same as they were. It was due to being labeled a βmasklessβ that youβve learned to disguise yourself, keep the imperfections at bay with a βmaskβ of your own. It may be crooked, yes, but it wasnβt enough to break apart with one gust of wind.
It was the thing you wore for years. You made it with your hands, now dirtied with the truth and pain from being teased and mocked. Though it had endured changes the older you got, it remained the same as you remembered it to be.
That was, until you decided to take on a new hobby. One that would still stick by your side, like another lonely companion in need of a friend.
People watching.
It was the simplest hobby you took, ever since society decided to regard you as an outcast. Sure, it hurts sometimes, but you were one of the minorityβand the few things that can bring you some kind of kinship was watching others live their lives as they are, their masks pristine and absent of blemishes.
It was your only way to grasp how to act in society, as cruel as it may be sometimes. Even if they act robotic or look superficial, you found it fascinating to watch them.
After all, it was the only thing that doesnβt feel like needles on skin. Especially from those who would discriminate against you and regard your identity as nothing but a mistake personified.
Watching others bond for years shaped how you should behave. It made you a recluse, but it also made you keenly aware of human behavior. Even if you detest those that arenβt like you, you find them intriguingβtheir masks act more like a giveaway to what they are, unlike the minority who had nothing to hide.
Yes, youβre aware that you couldnβt attain the same things they could. You donβt have the same rights that they do, and the privileges they get seem like paradise on Earth. Though, despite the curse and bad hand that life itself gave you, it did give you an ace that no masked individual can get.
Unlike you, those who had masks as their face had no heart to speak of.
Emotions to those with masks are foreign. Although they harp and preach over having control, they do not have control of how they can feel things easier. Hence, the comments that maskless, flawed as they are, were able to excel in that job.
It was something you still believed was your ace, even to this very moment. Even as you did your usual habit and watched others go about their lives, the comments of your βfriendsβ in the past and present, and the misery you felt in your life, you couldnβt tell if it was a disadvantage or not.
It was the only thing that held you together. Without it, you are nothing.
βHave you heard of the memory thief recently?β
βOh? Ah, you must mean him, do you?β
Memory thief?
βIndeed! Thereβs been a surge of his activity, Iβm surprised that the government has yet to deal with the issue.β
That certainly wasnβt in your list to hear from others today.
To many, memory thieves are known to live by their titleβthey were a group of vigilantes, tasked to go after those they think that sinned with the right price. When a personβs mask is stolen (or even their badge, if they were of higher priority), it is usually marked as the work of the memory thief, stealing their identity to enact their mischievous ways.
Each memory thief acts differently, but the only thing thatβs common is how they have an agenda. And with the current one they speak of, itβs a gander with whatever they had in mind that speaks to the public.
So to see that they were talking about the recent one, you can only hum and contemplate on it while the discussion switched from the new and famous memory thief.
If there's one thing you know when it comes to memory thieves, they are aware of the struggles of the maskless. Although they wouldn't dare to hurt one that is lesser in the hierarchy, they arenβt as kind when one of the maskless is targeted, or maybe even done something as immoral. Morality matters to the bunch, after all.
But back to the topic at handβtheyβre talking about one of the bigger memory thieves. From what youβve seen and heard around town, this memory thief likes to lie low and excels extremely well in his duties, even going so far as to surpass the former memory thief in his prime.
Some even say that he hides in the shadows, only coming out when one dared to ever say his name, or knows the means to be able to find him. And even then, you would be better to find someone decent, as he doesnβt take anything unless you truly had nothing to lose.
Hah. Nothing to lose. What a farce. It wasnβt like you had any semblance of care, considering that one has been checked out since the start.
Watching them leave, you simply glanced at your phone. A few articles flashed by as you scrolled to see what was made on the topic, some of them making zero sense and are even blasphemous with how much misinformation is spread in them.
[ MEMORY THIEF SIGHTED AT ββββββββ, RUMORED TO BE AFTER THE GOVERNOR OF THE OAK FAMILY! ]
[ CELEBRITY ββββββββββ BREAKS SILENCE BY A MEMORY THIEF?! ]
[ MEMORY THIEFβS HIDEOUT FOUND AT βββββββββ ββββββββ! ]
All of them spoke of him. Of the one you knew so well, considering how you had hisβ¦ contacts. Itβs all for the sake of βkeeping tabsβ, as he puts it, but maybe it was you excusing his actions.
You two are each otherβs βmasksβ, as much as you two detest it.
Glancing up at the sound of a ping, you skimmed at the name of the contactβsomeone messaged you, it seems, and it isnβt even a question as to who when you saw the name.
β¦
Heβs asking if you were free. For a talk, you could only think, but from the way it was phrased in riddle-like fashion, you could only assume that he wanted you for something. A job? An inquiry? Or just a simple βtalkβ, just like old friends with empty hearts?
Friends, huhβ¦
Were you two ever that close? Who knows. Not you, anyway.
Swiping your screen to answer it, you began to type the following.
You needed him for something, and he did the same to you. If you were right and this personβthis man you knew to be a memory thief, one rumored to be able to overthrow the former in his prime and moreβhas no capacity in his heart to judge, maybe he can be the one to help you.
All of them are, but he was a special case, upholding the lack of judgment and the abundance of. To him, what is good and wrong is decided upon a scale, judged by the blind and dictated by the deaf.
Dysfunctional? Sure, one can say, but you found it functioning better than whatever was used before.
With one last tap, you sent the text to your friend, watching the icon turn greenβand the sent text being removed and changed to read. Your friend is swift when it comes to his contacts, including you, but you could only wonder how long he can uphold such a thing.
Had he known of your past, of your crimes and sins, would he consider you his associate? Or would he damn you, even if you were one of the maskless?
β¦
Ping!
[ Sure. Letβs meet at the cafe. Same time. ]
No time to debate now.
You need to go before the sun sets.
βHere,β a voice greets your ears, the sound of glass and ice clinking comes second as he slides you a drink that you enjoyed having. βFigured that you needed something to drink. You look tense.β
Leave it to the bartender to know whatβs wrong with you. Have you slacked off on that job, too?
Still, you thanked him and took a swig. The drink felt familiar and tasted familiar, but you could tell there was a hint of bitterness to itβsome that you were not soβ¦ Accustomed to, considering how you like them.
Ah, well. You canβt complain. Not when youβre here for a different reason entirely.
βIs there a reason why you asked for these services?β
Right. The services from him, who you know to be a part of that group.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was a heavy one, and you were sure that he may not be prepared for it. As much as he acts like heβs prepared, some subject matters can be upsetting for the normal person.
It doesnβt help that despite his hidden agenda, he was a masked individual. Unlike you, a maskless abomination in the eyes of society.
βI simply want to be erased from this world,β you answered him, ignoring the sound of metal greeting silver and pausing a bit too long for your liking. βSociety thinks that my existenceβand others like mineβare nothing but a mistake. And I want to correct it.β
The silence is almost deafening, but you paid no heed, opting to simply take another sip of your drink to quell your nerves.
βAnd you think that what youβre doing will correct it?β
βYes,β you answered, looking at your drink, now half-empty from you drinking its contents. βItβs not like I have anything to lose at this point, right?β
Raising your head, you faced your friend. Brown hair, messy to a belief you thought it wasnβt possible, eyebags as deep as your own sins could take you, and an attire that says the man could barely afford to iron his clothes.
It was his own charm, something to make him distinct, and by God, you can say he did that right.
This man before you was no counselor, and he refused to be seen as one. Granted, if he ever did, it was to people he knew that needed βguidanceβ, and you were one of those lost souls.
He sighed, swirling a drink of his own.
βYouβre starting to sound like him with how youβre acting,β he pointed out, raising the glass in his hands to sip before putting it away. βEspecially with that mindset of yours. Are you sure you want to do this?β
You laughed as you downed the drink, but he didnβt do the same. A pity, considering you had hoped that he would understand what youβre feeling at that moment.
You two are different, and yet the same. Both of you had nothing to lose, after everything you two endured in a cruel world.
If it were set in a different universe, you think you two wouldβve been more than temporary companions. Perhaps lovers, too. But you know that you were a dead person walking, and he had his sights on something else that didnβt need your baggage.
Once again, you two are using each other for your own benefit.
Such a shame that said benefit will only make itself known when one drops dead.
βYes, I am,β you confirmed, shoving the now empty drink that used to house PotaciΓ³n de Guaya in it. βAre you going to stop me, Gallagher?β
Gallagher sighed.
βNo. I doubt sheβll accept it if I stopped someone from embracing death.β
Ah. He must mean her. How fortunate she must be.
βBut Iβll help you see something thatβll make things easier,β he continues, catching your attention. βThink of this as my own parting gift. You wonβt be coming around anymore to keep these nights from dragging on for too long, so I think itβs only better if you get something nice from this existence.β
He reaches out, offering his hand to your direction.
βCβmon. Finish your drinkβwe need to get there before sunrise.β
Heading to your destination, you could only look onwards as he walked to a train station. Sure, it looked like it had seen better days,Β but it remained intact than the other old ones, especially in a city as fast-paced and bustling as the one youβre in.
You never told him that you enjoyed things like thisβrelics of the past that were once there, mechanical inventions once regarded as glorious by the people before the advancements of technology, and yet he knew.
Walking forward, you both stepped over the rusted metal, some of the pieces you can see are gears and even body parts of the cyborgs. You wish you could get them, but you knew better.
Rusty metal would do no good to your body. It would only tarnish whatβs left unblemished, and certainly what is left not ruined by your own doing.
You didnβt need your own idiocy to prove that to you. Not now. Not ever.
Before your mind could spiral deeper, you felt calloused fingers grasp on your wristβblemished, cut, and bandaged to hide the ugly scars that rots in your body to this day.
Ah, you were lagging behind. Of course you would delay him. What were you thinking?
βCβmon,β he tells you, urging you forward, much like a parent to a child before they go astray. βI canβt have you touching anything thatβd cut you.β
Hah, he says that he truly cared. He only saw you as an inconvenience, didnβt he?
Still, you find nothing in your heart to tell him no. To stop and let you go, for you knew that you were going to touch it, that you were going to be stupid enough to get yourself cut, just like how you cut yourself so ofβ
βHey.β
Both hands were on your shoulders.
Heβs looking at you.
βYouβre listening to them again,β he tells you, his face stern but concerned. βFocus.β
You took a breath.
Itβs difficult to focus. He makes it so easy, but you find it so absurdly difficult. Itβs almost like the world is against you, but with a friend like him, you find the load slowly becoming easier, and you find in yourself to be able to let go.
When he lets go of you, you find yourself unknowingly reaching out to grab him⦠But hesitated. Perhaps it was unnatural to you, as you know that he wouldn't take your hand.
Much like the damned, you were never meant to have someone reach for you in return. So you let your hand down.
βI'm sorry,β you said to him, βI must be dead weight to you, aren't I?β
Gallagher raised an eyebrow at your direction. Maybe he wasn't expecting such a response, or maybe he was caught in something you knew.
β... You're putting words in my mouth,β he answered pointedly, but he didn't clarify as he began to walk down the road again.
Hah. So, you were right. You surely are dead weight to a man like him.
Following him, you could only look down at your hands. Dirtied, bandaged, and tainted with blood. Whose blood it was, you didn't know, but you always hid what was underneath those bandages you used.
In the past, you had a concrete identity. You always knew who you were, who you wanted to be, and who you used to be. That foundation was solid, and no one was able to rip it into shreds. No one was even able to pierce through your walls so easily.
That was, until that happened. Until everyone turned against you, regarding you as just another face that deserved to be mocked. People you used to know seem to distance themselves from you, spouting excuses and lies on why they can never be near you, why they couldn't help you, and why they don't want to even be seen with you.
It was subtle. It was gradual. And it hurts.
It hurt so much that you felt like you're making tallies on yourself. For every lie that was told, you marked it, and for every person that left, you left another.
Those were miniscule at first. They were easy to ignore, to pretend, but now it's become so big that excuses were more like those lies you were told.
You were just feeding a horrible addiction. That was what it felt like.
Now that you see how dirty they are, you were reminded of how it began. A simple coping mechanism became an addition, and it was something you couldnβt even break. It made you feel so weak, and it made you loathe what youβve done to yourself.
As those thoughts took a darker and twisted turn, you could hardly hear Gallagher stop in his tracks, causing you to bump into him. Grimacing, you could only turn to see why he had stopped, realizing that you were both standing at the end of the station, the fallen debris and absence of humankind making way to a sight you were unaware of.
The sun was rising in the horizon, the familiar rings of light shining from afar and causing the twilight sky to look like a painting coming to life. Sure, you could vaguely make out the buildings from afar, but they look more like miniscule details for how far you two went from the main attraction.
βBeautiful, huh?β you heard Gallagher ask, causing you to let out a sigh and nod.
βMhm,β you answered. βItβs gorgeous.β
The bartender nodded in approval, raising his hand to grab a cigar and lighter. Lighting up the butt of the cigar, he placed the stick in his mouth, took a whiff of smoke, and pulled away to exhale. You could faintly smell the scent of smoke, but today it didnβt feel like an unwelcome surprise.
βNow that weβre here,β you heard him begin, and the stare returnedβmost definitely from him, no doubtββLetβs talk about you. I know you have something more than just wanting to βcorrectβ your existence, so explain.β
You closed your eyes.
βIs someone pushing you to do this?β
βNo. No one pushed me to do this.β
βIs that so? Then why are you hesitating?β
βIβm not, Gallagher.β
βI know you well that youβre hiding something.β
βIβm not,β you insisted, yet when you looked at him, he remained composed.
βWhy are you grimacing, then?β
β¦ Grimacing?
βYouβve been avoiding the subject lately whenever I asked,β he pointed out, crossing his arms. βDonβt think that I havenβt seen you changing the subject when I asked you. Youβre doing it even now.β
You couldnβt even tell if he was lying, but you needed to prove him wrong. βIβm not, Gallagher. I justββ
βJust what? Trying to pretend in front of someone that knows you for 8 years in fear of being seen as a joke?β
β¦
You could only stare at Gallagher, his words hanging over your head with what he meant.
A joke. He said you were pretending in fear of being seen as a joke, and to him.
You let out the breath you were holding, your body tense as he continued to stare at you. Neither of you were going to stand down, but right now, it feels like you want the ground to sink so as to avoid the issue glaring at you.
He knows. He knows you and your quirks so well, it hurts to lie and pretend that he isnβt looking at the truth itself.
Lowering your head, you closed your eyes, body so tense, you felt like you might snap. βIβmβ¦ Itβs not like that,β you whispered, flinching when you felt his hand rest on your shoulder. βIt really isnβt like that, Gallagher. I wasnβtβ¦β
βI know,β you heard him say, gently interrupting you from your soon-to-be tangent. βIt may not be like that to you, but it is to me. Iβm your friend, after all.β
Friend. He says it so casually, but it feels like it was something else. Something you canβt discern.
βButβ¦ Youβre mad at me, right?β
He huffs.
βIβm only mad because you hid this from me, kid. Youβre as reckless as that gambler.β
You laughed at that.
βHahaβ¦ I guess he and I have that in common.β
Still, the tense atmosphere didnβt leave, judging by how Gallagher sighed and lowered his hand.
βAside from that, itβs about time you come clean, kid,β he told you. βLook at me. Iβm on your side, and Iβll make sure to get whatever you want done. Just tell me what youβve been hiding, or else Iβll charge you.β
You know that he wouldnβt, but it was difficult to tell if he was even joking.
βI doubt youβd do it, though,β you quipped, but you placed a hand on your chest with a smile. βBut maybe I shouldnβt jinx it. After all, like I told you before, I have nothing to lose. Not anymore.β
The memory thief shook his head, but he said nothing more to that. In his eyes, it would be akin to finding a needle in a haystack should he try to convince you to live long enough. Especially in a world whoβs lies are believed to be the truth.
βThat aside, you said that itβs time I should come clean, huh?β
Gallagher turned his head upwards, raising an eyebrow. He did say it, but he didnβt know if you would actually take his word for it. Knowing your behaviorβ¦
βI did,β he answered with a curt nod. βAre you planning to tell me the truth? Or are we going to dance around the issue, kid?β
Your eyes narrowed at those words, but once again, you didnβt dare comment on it. It was only right for you to finally tell him what youβre hiding. After all, heβs willing to go this far to honor your request, charged or not.
β... I am.β
All you can hope is that he wouldnβt take offense to it.
Gallagher was an interesting man.
If you asked anyone what he was, there were varying responses to it. Some say that he is an enigma, while others say he's not. One could say he is actually open to people, while another can say that he is an eerie being in a humanβs flesh.
But if you asked him directly, he'd have no answer. After all, why would he, when you question the existence of an entire being?
For the longest time, he felt that way. He felt that it was nonsensicalβto question who Gallagher is is to question what he really is. He knew that the man that existed once as Gallagher was but a myth, or more like a corpse feigning and pretending to be a human being. He knew that Gallagher was just some fool that died years before this impostor claimed his face, and rewrote destiny like it was in his fingers.
Gallagher, in and of itself, was someone else's existence prewritten. Before the tragedy, before the hierarchy, before the incident has even occurred. But that man is long gone. What is before people is now a shell of him, harboring it and its existence.
Maybe he shouldn't say it so pessimistically. That sounds like he was discrediting what the original man did, but what could he do? All he knows is to perform.
Perform, perform, perform, perform until he drops dead.
So to think that in this performance, he's a memory thief, is honestly laughable. He has done worse than steal βmemoriesββGod forbid that people dare askβbut he digressed. The one thing that he hadn't expected was the concept of being seen as a companion of sorts.
A person they can turn to. Someone they can talk to. It was so new to him, he couldn't even tell if it was to prove the original Gallagherβs existence was a joke or something else.
That was the case for him. At least, until he met someone⦠interesting.
Contradictory was the word he thinks that would fit you. You were like those he's seen before, but the difference is that you were a walking two-faced individual. You may not admit it yourself, but Gallagher knows that your words and actions lead on more than you wanted to.
The unfortunate thing, though, is that you'd rather not admit you're worth more than what life has given you. For a maskless, you were one of the most unique ones he's seenβblessed by the Abundance, you were simply bound to harbor the βgiftsβ THEY gave you. Alas, the fate THEY had you live through was one that the Hunt has damned from your birth.
But to Gallagher, he found it even more fascinating. Maybe he's biased, but he can tell you had potential, albeit it can be questionable at best. Maybe the Abundance chose you because THEY noticed it and wanted you as THEIR emanator, or maybe THEY simply found it funny to try.
Aeons are, simply put, abstract beings masquerading as Gods.
And emanators are simply THEIR puppets to play with.
Alas, that didn't matter. What mattered more is you, especially when, as time went on, he began to learn more about you and even what you're really like. From the worst quality you have to the one he found the most appealingβof course, not in a romantic sense, but more like a scientist to a test subject.
(He always found your way of communicating and even justifying other peopleβs thoughts fascinating. Though, that may be because of her behavior rubbing off on him, even if he refused to admit it.)
A jokester, a fool, an individual that is cursed by the Hunt and blessed by Abundance⦠He can go on and on about what you are. Maybe he can even compare you as Aha, but less of an actual masquerading, smiling fool.
What were they called? He couldnβt remember.
(He knows what theyβre called. Mourning Actors. But heβd rather delude himself into thinking they donβt exist, just like those Masked Fools.)
Anyway, he had things he needed to do. A fewβ¦ Errands, so to speak, and he knew that a dream thatβs bound to end like this, he had to finish them. Fast.
He could hear people panic as he weaved from crowd to crowd, seeing them disperse and grow smaller. Some were yelling, screaming as they were consumed, and the bartender could only continue pushing on, heading to the one building that is seen as βsalvationβ to these people.
Sure, some did try to stop him. Oh, he knew Siobhan and Misha didβbut others, like his wife (bless her, he didnβt regret marrying her, twisted as she is) and her companions? They let him. Actually, they didnβt bother. Brynn even told him that should he truly crave to torment the bird, heβd do it in a way that would hurt.
He had enough ammunition to end it. All he needed was his own smoking gun. What use are these bullets if he had nothing to shoot with?
Avoiding the panicking citizens and boarding up the elevator, Gallagher grabbed his lighter and cigarette stick. Lighting up one end, he placed it in his mouth, breathing in the smoke and soon blowing it out. The feeling of unbridled joy was bubbling in him as the jingling of the elevator echoed, letting him think of what he should say to the man behind everything.
Seeing him will be fun to witness, especially when Death is approaching. However, he thinks that it would be dreadful for him. After all, why wouldnβt he when he committed inhumane acts to torment the person he claimed he loved?
It was laughable to Gallagher⦠Even if he hates to admit it, (especially when, by the end of it, he will awaken from this dream.)
Before he could mull on the semantics, he could hear it.
The final jingle, and the automated voice echoing the floor heβs on.
12th floor.
And the doors open to let him out.
Hm, Gallagher could only hum in bemusement. About time, I suppose. Surely couldβve made them go faster, if they ever bothered to fix it.
Stepping out, he walked down the carpeted flooring, the only thing echoing being the sound of his footsteps and the (un)familiar sound of what seemed to be SoulGlad dripping.
Dream and reality are merging as one, and with it came unwanted changes. Things that werenβt meant to happen, happen, and individuals that went missing previously now showed their face wherever they went. And those that were alive in the dream were being erased, either by their own doing or by that being running amok.
He could even see them now, just resting by the tables, chatting in the formerly empty bar, and even a few crawling out of the βbubblesβ from SoulGlad, screaming for the damned that led them to their death.
And oh, the name theyβre screaming for was one he knew so well.
5 steps forward.
He could hear the discord from the walls, the sheer anger of those voices begging for what sounded like mercy amidst the swallows of Death.
3 steps forward.
He can smell the faint scent of copper and alcohol going bad, and even the awful stench of blood that started to seep from the ceiling.
1 step forward.
He can feel the thundering vibrations of its heart beating, reminiscent of what could have been lurking in the creation of this sweet phony.
Raising both hands, he pushed the doors open, the darkness greeting him as the scenery grew still. Right in front of him were shattered glasses, melting paintings, dripping and bloodied alcoholβ¦
β¦ And a cage, whose bars were rusted and ripped, containing the now coveted and escaped bird he was seeking answers from.
He saw THEIR eyes look immediately at him, and for a sheer moment, Gallagher felt THEIR ire as he simply waltzed in. It was almost like he didnβt care, and he sure didnβtβhe was only visiting just to seek some final messages for the deceased.
βWe meet again, demon,β he bellows, pulling the cigarette and rubbing the butt on the desk. He could hear THEIR murmurs as the emanator simply stood in place, his attire all but disheveled and in disarray.
It made him look like a mess. A man who lost the grandeur and modesty that an emanator of Harmony should have. What a joke.
βI should be saying that to you,β he heard the latter answer, his eyes now finally facing him as he turned. βI assume you caused this, did you not?β
βCaused what, little bird?β he asked, crossing his arms with a nonchalant look on his face. βIf anything, shouldnβt I say that to you? You caused all of this to go down out of your desire to keep things the same.β
He heard the latter laugh, raising his arms as the walls unfolded around them. Gallagher wasnβt perturbed when he saw light shine all around, though it didnβt come from the Heavens, but from THEIR peering eyes and THEIR aura emanating, trying to influence him.
How unfortunate. (He was too far gone to follow an Aeon like THEM.)
βOh, please, it's as though you are trying to paint yourself like youβre blameless, dog,β the masked fool spoke, his many eyes peering even from his own halo. βWe all know what we did hereβand we both know what your goal is. Are you here to seek answers on their behalf?β
Gallagher huffed. Of course heβd know, he rules this dream, and he molded it to his liking.
βIβm not the one acting like Iβm a saint, Sunday, but yes. I am here on their behalf.β
Sunday hummed, his smile ever so still and unchanging on his mask. He only nodded as he quipped, βI see. That makes things easier for me, as I also have things I want to ask of you.β
The ground rumbled as the two could faintly hear the cries of innocent people, seemingly drowning in the agony that was the nightmare getting to them. However, both of their attention are focused on each other, for the time to get their closure is now.
Stepping forward, Gallagher watched as Sunday raised his hand, taking off the mask that sounded like flesh being ripped from his own face. βAnswer me,β he began, his melodious voice sounding more strained as he glared at the brunette before him.
βWere you the one who took my sister?β
β¦
βHah, about time you ask me that,β Gallagher can only answer, his lips curling to a smile. βYes, I was the one who took your sister. Or, rather, she asked me to.β
If those eyes looking down could kill, he was sure that his mere existence would be disintegrated to ash. Even THEIR gaze made his skin crawl, almost like THEY were judging his very soul.
A shame, really, for theyβre in a dream and not in reality. THEY canβt kill him even if THEY tried.
Nevertheless, he had other matters to focus on. And one being the same man thatβs standing before him, looking at him like he was the devil walking on the waking world.
βShe asked you?β Sunday repeats, his voice strained out of disbelief. βWhy would she? I havenβt had a thought of harming her, and yet she sought you out sooner than she could bother speaking to her own flesh and blood.β
βDonβt ask me that. You and I know I canβt read minds, little dove,β he called out, huffing. βBut if I were her, I would also seek someone else to find a way. With how youβre acting right now, Iβd be dead sooner than if I spoke to someone with half a brain spared from THEM.β
Sundayβs eyes narrowed. Ah, insulting the emanator of the Aeon was not in his agenda, but it is now.
βBesides, sheβs still safe. I made sure of that myself,β he adds, though the nonchalance he held twisted to a coy grin. βUnlike that lover of yours that you pushed to suicide.β
βShut your mouth, wicked dog!β the dove shouted, the angry whispers and screams from THEIR voice echoing around. βI had done nothing wrong to them, and we both know it. The maskless are simply bound for deathβI canβt save them no matter how much I try!β
βOh? But you promised them that you would,β interjected the dog, his shadow morphing to something less than human. Something that every angel feared. βYou told them over and over that youβd protect them. Youβd save them from their misery. But thatβs where you went wrong, no?β
You promised a life worth living, Gallagher wanted to add, but such words are left unspokenβfor it is implied in his own message alone. But that life you made them live, the torment they went through just to get a sliver of your affection? Just how twisted can you get for a kid like them?
How much βloveβ do you want from them until youβre satisfied?
Raising his gun, Sunday aimed it at Gallagherβs direction. Those piercing wails became his strength, his fuel to enact his urges.
This man has taken everything from him. He took them. He took his sister. And now, this dream will be taken because of his ideological and moronic plan.
If Sunday was going down, heβd take Gallagher with him.
BANG.
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