MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER

[ximilian]

● ● ● M I S S I O N   1 4 . 0

SOMEWHEN • PRESENT DAY • FYI

// SOMEWHEN  

The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.

You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.

Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:

// 0-L1V-14

Oh, hello. You are not the team I know. Yet you are here for the orb … Good.

The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.

// 0-L1V-14

I've located one within the station, but it seems to have fractured. The air around them appears to have some sort of temporal disturbance that I can't quite pin down. Be cautious, but bring them to me before anything happens.

Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.

1.0   The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.

There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.

Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.

2.0   Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.

You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.

3.0   The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.

Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?

If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.

4.0   Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.

If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.

5.0   You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.

By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.

6.0   The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.

The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.

Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.

● ● ●

Present Day.

The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.

Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.

// VIVECA

“I don’t know how it happened… they should have arrived here. Everything seemed normal! But I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

// DEGAR

“They could be anywhere, right? Except we can’t even help them if we don’t know where that might be.”

// VIVECA

“I know. The strange thing is that it seems that we’ve located another orb… only, it states that it’s here. On the station. So even if the platform sent them straight to it… why aren’t they here?”

The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.

// DEGAR

“Keep working at it. I’m going to see what I can figure out in the station’s systems. Maybe we can trace back to the team somewhere. Or somewhen.”

Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.

// VIVECA

“Yeah. We’ll find them.”

TOP

F Y I

• The events in this log take place during the first two weeks of June.

• For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.

• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

• Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.

• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪

TOP

▶ NAV

Comments

[dispassioned]

[He still feels a little like he said the wrong thing. Maybe there is no right way to respond to these things. He thought giving her space was the better option, but maybe she really had wanted him to ask questions and his hesitancy had felt like rejection.

It's honestly impressive how often she manages to puzzle him.]

Alina, wait--

[He moves to follow her, as she leaves the room, hurrying to catch up.]

[peasant]

[ it doesn't take much effort, on his part. her small size makes for equally small strides, incapable of calmly hastening at a pace beyond a trot. she slows her steps, if only to appear marginally less like she's fleeing from a strained conversation — and the strange churn of emotions it's stirred, in response.

what's more impressive, perhaps, is the careful arrangement of her expression. it's convincingly innocuous, as if she hadn't just tried to subtly scurry from the room. ]

What is it?

[dispassioned]

[He catches up with her near the door of the sunlight room and reaches for her hand.]

Do you honestly want me to ask you questions? I'm not...indifferent. [That's the word she'd used before.] That's not what this is.

[peasant]

[ it's that singular gesture that halts her in her steps, finally. she allows him to scoop her hand into his, absent of any resistance. ]

Then what is it?

[ on a surface level, without diving deeper — that's how it appears. but she isn't unaware that there is always more, with him. always more to him than just the placid stillness of his expressions, the measured calm in his inflections.

she drags in a breath, bulldozes past that incessant need for an answer, even as it hangs in the air between them. ]

You know how difficult this is for me. I — opened myself to you.

[ or made the attempt, at any rate. offered to bridge a gap her secrecy has wedged between them. and here she is, now, feeling as though he'd simply left her to dangle. ]

[dispassioned]

[In spite of how quickly she moves on from her first question, he still takes the time to answer it.]

Respect. An attempt at being gentle.

[Which, he'll admit, isn't always something he's good at.]

The situation forced you into this position, it's not something you chose to share with me yourself. I wanted to give you space to take some of your privacy back.

[It's because he knows it's difficult that he tried to give her that space.]

And you seemed to be braced for the worst. For insults or demands, maybe, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn't take a position like that out of selfishness or greed.

On the last mission, you had a choice. You could have lived off the radar on a planet you enjoyed. A place you were comfortable. Instead, you chose to register with a corrupt government that hated people like you, and live in an over crowded polluted city you clearly didn't like much. Just so you could help those children in the orphanage.

What I saw seemed similar, but on a grander scale. You put yourself in the position where you could do the most good, likely at a cost. How could I do anything but respect that?

[peasant]

[ it's cutting, in its insightfulness. like he'd taken a scalpel to her chest, dissected her sternum to have a glimpse inside. stupidly, she hadn't thought she would be the subject of his study — a mistake she should have known better than to make. very few observations slip past the perception of lonely children, too invisible to the plain eye to go noticed by those that might otherwise put on a facade.

her eyes drift to the fall of her hand cupped in his. he's been more precise in his aim than he could possibly know. what had it cost? mal. her light. and she would trade it all again, worst of all, for that pyrrhic victory.

dimly, all she manages past the wrenching in her chest is, ]

Oh. I thought ... Never mind. You know what I thought.

[ she feels foolish, in spite of it all, for turning tail. for mistaking it as casual disinterest. for a moment, she stews in that silence, absorbing the density of it. then: ]

You're allowed to want to know things, Shuntaro. I'm not so delicate that I can't handle your curiosity.

[dispassioned]

[He huffs softly, a faint smile pulling at his lips, rueful.]

I appreciate that, but...I think I'd rather it be on our own terms. Not because we're forced into it when the orbs are messing with us.

[The situation makes it feel more stressful than a natural extension of trust should be. Like they were both put on the spot. He squeezes her hand gently.]

Is that fair?

[peasant]

[ her smile stretches thin, taut with discomfort. is it fair? perhaps more so than her impulse to rush through what's been exposed, before the orbs can disrobe her further, layer by layer. what feels less fair is the impetuous thought that he's simply better at what he's proposed — dredging up secrets, sharing pieces of himself, seemingly without struggle.

every piece of herself feels precarious, by comparison. like a tower that might wobble, if she pries anything free, brick-by-brick. ]

It's fair enough.

[ she concedes it quietly, peering at the threshold of the sunlight room. it's not an escape this time, in function, but — ]

I still have more searching ahead of me, anyway.

[ the orbs are, after all, a convenient excuse to channel their focus elsewhere. ]

[dispassioned]

[He wouldn't say he's better at it. He shared what he had with her because it felt right and relevant at the time. There are things he hasn't shared. How deep his apathy really went while he was in Borderland isn't really something he knows how to put into words.

He can tell she's still uncomfortable, but maybe there's no way to be comfortable with this situation. But it feels like a good place to let it go for now, at least.

He hums in acknowledgement, following her gaze to the sunlight room.]

So do I. Have you been in there yet? The plants are real.

[peasant]

[ she shakes her head, slow. in truth, she's gone to great lengths to avoid it up until now. of any room on this ship, the sunlight room is a mockery by name alone — a diorama of everything her sacrifice has cost her.

but she can't continue to tiptoe around it like a child fearful of the dark, if they intend to fix what's ruptured. her eyes drift back to him, the tilt of her head nearly bird-like. ]

That might be the only thing here that isn't disappointing. [ she smiles, faint with wistfulness. ] I'd never imagined there was a time when it might have been anything other than an illusion.

[ which only draws forward a deeper concern: ]

But I suppose Degar and Viveca must've had much bigger worries than trying to keep an old garden alive.

1/3

[dispassioned]

And they found another source of oxygen.

[He says as he heads into the Sunlight Room, her hand still clasped loosely in his.]

I’m pretty sure those plants are the reason we can breathe.

[He's maybe two steps into the room when he hears the whisper of a voice and he runs face first into a shimmering green light, triggering a memory, and the Ximilia falls away.]

CW for suicidal behavior, allusions to child deaths and child trafficking and…death by acid

[dispassioned]

[The memory opens with the sound of screaming and the stench of flesh and blood burning and melting. They’re in the center of a modern day Japanese court room with five tables arranged in a pentagon. In front of each person on their table, is a digital tablet with a chart of numbers from 1 to 100. Above their heads are giant justice scales filled with sulfuric acid. There are two freshly dead bodies and three living participants still in the game.

Chishiya sits to the right of one of the men who have just died, strapped in so he can’t leave. The ruined corpse is still smoking from the acid burns as it collapses against the table.]

Now this is more like a face card game. [The Chishiya in the memory speaks with an air of bitter resignation and then addresses the man with glasses sitting across from him.] Is this your idea of fairness?

[The man with the glasses—Kuzuryu, the King of Diamonds—doesn’t reply. Instead an alarm blares through the room and a computerized voice rings out, sounding strangely cheerful in the bleak atmosphere of the game. "Since two participants have lost, two new rules will be added."

On the large monitor behind Kuzuryu there are avatars of each surviving participant. Chishiya, Kuzuryu and a woman named Daimon. The points are arranged thus: Daimon, -7; Kuzuryu, -4; Chishiya, -8.

The computerized voice continues, "Rule 1, if two or more people choose the same number, their choices will be invalidated and they will lose 1 point. Rule 2, if the answer is guessed exactly, the losers will lose 2 points."

The new round begins and the three of them each choose a number on their tablets. Chishiya chooses zero.

As the round ends the computerized voice speaks again, "Here are the results for round 11."

On the screen it’s revealed that all three of them selected zero.

The woman, Daimon, finally speaks, sounding chilled by this turn of events, "Everyone chose zero."

"Since everyone chose the same number, their choices are invalidated. Everyone loses one point," the computer continues to explain.]

In the end, everyone chooses zero. [Chishiya sounds unsurprised and unconcerned as he speaks in the memory, but he knows that if that happens again, it’s game over. He'll die.]

[The next round starts and each player makes their choice, Chishiya, after a moment of thought, chooses the number 23.

"Here are the results for round 12," the computer speaks once again and the results appear on the large screen like so:

Daimon: 62
Kuzuryu: 1
Chishiya: 23

The average result x 0.8=22.93

Chishiya's avatar lights up as the winner. "We have an exact winner, so the losers lose 2 points." the computer announces as Kuzuryu and Daimon's point totals both drop by two points on the screen.

Daimon, who has now dropped to -10 points begins to panic. "No way. No way! Impossible! How come?" she looks at Chishiya accusingly, yelling at him, "You saw my choice, didn't you? That's against the rules! How else would you know what the hell I chose?"

Chishiya chooses to oblige her with an explanation.]

When round 12 began, you were at -8 points. I was at -9 points. Even if you messed up, you'd still have another chance. So, instead of going for the win, you bet that he and I would invalidate each other. So, I figured you would choose a random number.

["But what are the chances you'd get it right? Are you a psychic?" Daimon demands, angry and panicked.

Chishiya continues, helpfully. Calm and rational like he’s explaining a chess strategy:]

If he and I invalidated each other, you thought we'd choose from the first 50. So you avoided choosing from the first 50. [Daimon looks increasingly troubled and anxious, too terrified to yell at him as he continues to explain.] If you're going to run away, then it's only natural to want to run far. But even so, 90 to 100 is too extreme and doesn't feel right. So you avoided those too. Any doubles are too obvious so you avoided those, as well. The same goes for 60 and 70 and any easy numbers like that. The numbers that people often choose on a whim…that is 3, 5 and 8 were also out. All prime numbers are also out.

It became easy after that. Lastly any numbers you often see in life that can be easily imagined were out. A game console. A movie title. A brand logo. Then what we have left is 62 or 74.

[All of his talents of observation and insight sharpened to a fine point and weaponized to keep himself alive at the expense of another.]

That's as far as I could get. [He finishes with a sigh and offers a half-shrug.] After that, it was just luck.

[Daimon, still terrified but resigned to her fate seems to realize she was out played, "I should have chosen 74."

The computers voice rings out, once again oddly cheerful in the tense atmosphere, "There is a participant who has -10 points."

Daimon begins screaming incoherently as the acid bath in the scale above her head fills up and begins to tip. Chishiya watches impassively as the consequences of what he set in motion play out. The scales tip, the acid spills, the woman dies screaming as the acid eats away at her flesh.

After the body collapses Chishiya finally speaks again.]

You know, [He says slowly, sounding tired and a little fed up] she said the value of everyone's life isn't equal. I wonder if she still thought that just before she died.

[Kuzuryu doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, it’s not in direct response to Chishiya's observation.

"Have you seen the underside of this world with your own eyes?" The King if Diamonds asks, "Infants die because they can't get antidiarrheics that cost mete pennies. Little girls are sold to pay off their parents debts. All the people who can't escape the never ending cycle of poverty."

Chishiya turns his attention more fully to Kuzuryu then, looking intrigued. But before he can reply, the computer speaks again, "A new rule will be added. When someone chooses 0, whoever chooses 100 will be the winner."]

I see. [Chishiya says, focusing for now on the new rule and not what Kuzuryu said before.] Since the result is always the average multiplied by 0.8, as long as there are just two of us, whoever chooses the lower number will win. In other words, if you keep choosing 0, you'll win for sure. But thanks to this new rule, everything is fair now. If one of us chooses 0, the other will win if they choose 100. But if a person predicts that will happen and chooses 100, then the other person will choose 1. Those are the only three choices if you want to win this game. Now it's a fair and simple game that's a toss up between 0, 1 and 100.

[Then he adds, somehow sounding both amused and entirely apathetic at once:]

But I can't choose the same number as you even once if I want to win. I'm still in a difficult bind.

[Kuzuryu doesn’t respond to any of this, instead choosing to remain quiet. And so Chishiya speaks again.]

You know, you seem desperate to make things fair. What's making you do that?

[To this, Kuzuryu does respond, but with another question, "Tell me, if you had one million doses of a life saving vaccine, which one million people would you save?"

In spite of how indirect it seems to be, Chishiya seems to accept it as an answer, of sorts.]

I see. Now I understand. It's not that you're trying to measure the value of life. You don't want to have to measure the value of a life.

[At this observation Kuzuryu concedes Chishiya's point. "Yes. I don't know what makes one life more valuable than another. A life that's worth saving and a life that's not…what is the difference between the two?" he asks seeming honestly perplexed by this question. With a sigh he continues, "So, how would you answer my question? I'd very much like to hear the answer from someone like you."]

I'd give them to children without parents or money.

[Chishiya gives his answer without hesitation or another attempt to redirect this time. Kuzuryu seems surprised, "How unexpected, he says quietly. But Chishiya continues:]

That's what I would try to do. But ultimately it's money that talks. If you've got money, it's very easy to end the lives of poor children. I know you've seen that world with your own eyes, haven't you?

["Yes, I have," Kuzuryu confirms easily, "Since a certain company wouldn't pay a settlement, people died because they couldn't receive proper treatment."]

Then you know, [Chishiya interjects with clear bitterness.] there's no such thing as fairness or equality in this world.

["Because there isn’t," Kuzuryu counters immediately, emphatically, "Isn’t that why we should fight?"

And that gives Chishiya pause. It’s struck a nerve, a raw and open wound. Because he never fought. He accepted the ugliness of the world, hating it and hating himself for his own powerlessness, his inability to change anything. His refusal to even try.

He’s quiet for a long moment before taking a deep breath and responding.]

Very Interesting. I think I may have come to this land just so I could play this game with you.

[Kuzuryu once again doesn’t respond. An unfortunate and annoying habit of his.

After a pause Chishiya seems to come to a conclusion and adds:]

I’m choosing 100.

[This gets a reaction. Kuzuryu shocked and immediately suspicious, demands, "What are you up to?"

And there is something very close to madness in Chishiya's eyes when he replies:]

A little assistance.

["Are you insane?" Kuzuryu asks.

Yes, he might be. He’s tired. He’s done. He doesn’t care any more.

"If I know you'll choose 100, the only way you can survive is if I choose zero!" Kuzuryu continues as though Chishiya didn’t already know that.

Chishiya takes another deep breath and meets Kuzuryu's gaze, unwavering.]

Mine is a life that is charging headlong toward death. Does this life have value or not? I'd like for you to decide.

[Kuzuryu looks positively flummoxed by this, and Chishiya…well, he looks vaguely unhinged. He offers The King of Diamonds a bland smile, but there’s a bitter edge to it.

He absolutely believes he’s going to die.

They make their choices. Chishiya chooses 100, just as he said he would. The computer's voice chimes through the room, "Time has expired. Here are the results for Round 13. The winner is Chishiya-sama."

This isn’t the outcome Chishiya was expecting. His surprise is outwardly subtle but it’s definitely there.]

Did you seriously choose zero?

[He sounds incredulous and little angry when he speaks.

The acid bath above Kuzuryu's head fills a little more and the computer announces the start of round 14.

Chishiya chooses 100 again, and again he’s announced as the winner.]

Each of us only has one point left. The next round will be the last.

[Chishiya points this out calmly. Reasonably. If Kuzuryu keeps this up he won’t survive.

The computer announces the start of round 15. The last round.]

How about it? Can you decide? If you won't decide for yourself, then just kill me. That's a fair rule, right?

[Again he speaks with calm detachment, as if this is all entirely reasonable and not kind of insane.

"You think I am unable to decide," Kuzuryu asks finally, "Was that the reason you lured me into this tie?"]

I simply want to know what the last number you choose will be.

[Chishiya makes his choice and picks up his tablet, turning it around to show to Kuzuryu.]

If you choose 1, you will win.

[It seems like it should be a simple choice. But Kuzuryu is contemplative, "I don't understand the value of life or its meaning," he says slowly, thoughtful, "I'm sure I won't be able to make that decision in the future either. But what I need to do now is…"

And as he trails off he makes his choice.

"Here are the results for round 15," the computer announces.]

I see you've decided that determining the value of a life isn't your decision.

["For my ideals," Kuzuryu confirms, resolute.

"The winner is Chishiya-sama," the computer announces, "There is a participant who has -10 points. The game is over for this participant."]

What happened to your usual wry look?

[Indeed, Kuzuryu seems content. At peace. "At last, I think I've been able to decide how I want to live. It's thanks to you," he says, smiling, genuinely, tears in his eyes. He takes a breath and accepts his fate.

And with that, the scales above Kuzuryu’s head tips and the acid bath pours down on him, killing him.

Chishiya watches it all, appearing numb. Disappointed. Tired.]

It feels a little unfair. It's like you won and quit on me. I envy you.

[There's a faint mechanical clicking sound as the belt that had him strapped to the chair unlocks. He unfastens it and stands, pausing to take one last look around before turning to leave. The memory fades as he walks out of the room.]

Done 🥲

[dispassioned]

[Okay, well, this isn’t exactly what he needed right now. Reliving the memory means reliving the emotions that come with it. The bitterness, the resentment, the frustration, the exhaustion all simmering under layers of apathy and detachment.

It takes him a minute to find himself in the present again. To reorient himself.

He runs a hand through his hair with a huff.]

Well, that feels a little on the nose.

[He mutters dryly. All that talk of fairness after asking Alina if it was fair to wait to satisfy his curiosity. His indifference, so steeped in apathy that it teetered toward insanity, after being accused of it here.

The orbs are assholes, he’s certain of it.]

cw for all of the above but also for my folks who have emetophobia ... look away

[peasant]

[ there's no escape from it.

even in looking away, her senses find themselves drawn back to the acrid stench of burning flesh ripe in the air. it's not unfamiliar, now. kirigan's cluster of inferni hadn't been without the black stain of atrocities on their own names. her own hands have delivered worse, in the pits of sedorum. and yet —

it's pungent with the sickening smell of cruelty. mindless, it seems, beyond weighing the scales of one life against another.

chishiya's means little to him. it's an observation she makes readily, in forcing herself to lock her eyes onto him throughout the film of his memory, as though it might prevent her from watching steam rise from mangled bodies. no, that isn't true. it's an observation she had already made months ago, watching him barely blink at the storm pouring down upon his head, so indifferently passive to her worry.

this only solidifies it, in ways their time on ciraiwei hadn't. but he hadn't seemed so hopefully eager to give up, then.

she flinches, bodily, as the man slumps against the table, and turns away. the conclusion of the memory barely registers, as a result, though she notes chishiya — the real chishiya — in her peripherals, only vaguely. the majority of her is too busy pulling in lungfuls of fresh air to drive away the grotesque smell clinging in her nostrils, still.

hearing of the games had been one shock. witnessing them is something else altogether. her ribcage shudders around a dry-heaving retch she can't quite help, the wet sting of moisture crystallizing against the corners of her burning eyes.

( it's a minor blessing that he freeze-dried breakfast doesn't come up with it, as a result. ) ]

[dispassioned]

[Alina's retching snaps him fully back to the present, his mind no longer toeing a confused line between memory and the present reality.

She's not like him, desensitized to the horrors of Borderland. He steps in front of her, as though that could shield her from it. It's too little too late, obviously. Futile. The scene had already played out and she's already turned herself away. He'd been too lost in reliving it to spare from any of it.]

Sorry. [He mutters quietly.] I'm sorry you had to see that.

[peasant]

[ when all of her hacking produces nothing, she swipes her knuckles across the length of her mouth. another dragging inhale lodges itself past the nauseous spasms in her throat. it takes another heartbeat, then two, for alina to straighten from where she's crumpled over — grateful to be greeted, instead, by the aroma of pine and grass.

she could almost laugh at the stance he's taken. protective of her, like he isn't the one that's had to live through it. an incoherent noise of acknowledgment burbles up her esophagus in its stead as she loops her arms around his shoulders and pulls herself into him, hasty and adamant.

he hadn't seemed to care if he lived or died there, content to gamble with his own life. but there's a surge of grateful relief inside alina to remind herself that he's solid and tangible against her, even as her grip tightens in increments. overwrought, really, after watching with horrified breaths to see if he'd live next. ]

[dispassioned]

[He probably shouldn't be surprised but he is. A startled breath stutters from his chest as her arms slide around his shoulders.

He wraps his arms around her in response. Slowly, at first, still a little dazed and wrung out from the memory, before fully relaxing into her embrace.]

Alina?

[He'd like to say, it's okay, but he thinks she might disagree. And maybe it's not, really. That memory is a difficult one. Terrible in some ways, exhausting, but it was a turning point for him, too. Kuzuryu's choice had saved him in more ways than one.]

[peasant]

[ she doesn't immediately move to respond. the only evidence she's heard him at all is the cinching, python-squeeze of her arms. but after another breath shudders from her lungs, she mumbles, half-tucked away in the alcove of his shoulder: ]

Do you still feel that way?

[ he must know what she means. like his life is running on limited time, indifferent to the possibility of its end. like the value of it is questionable, at best, and worthless at worst. like — he envies that man's surrender, finding peace even in the midst of a grotesque death.

it doesn't feel fair to ask, as though she's breaching the compromise they'd just made, poking at what he might have never wanted her to witness. but she can't help it, all the same — underlined by an obvious tentativeness in her tone that worries he'll confirm his thoughts haven't changed, haven't faded at all, with time. ]

[dispassioned]

[He blinks slowly at the question. It doesn’t occur to him to object, based on the deal they had just made. Perhaps he’s momentarily forgotten it, or maybe he better understands her desire to let him ask questions once the door has been forced open.

He releases a sigh. He does wonder how much time he’d have once his time on the Ximilia is over. If he might not just return to bleed out and die on the street. But he feels less indifferent to that possibility than he once had. Less content with his resignation.]

No. Not really.

[peasant]

[ okay, she could say. leave it there, content with the affirmation he isn't another man with a death wish circulating through her life, and leave the rest of this baggage untouched. something for him to unpack at a later date, without her prying to move the process along.

that would be what's respectful, perhaps. what might be gentler treatment, as he'd called it.

it isn't what she does. she teeters back, holding fast to the wiry width of his biceps, to determine for herself if the look in his eye is sincere. he's never been one to sugarcoat things, just for the sake of sweetening a harsh and bitter dose of reality, and yet ...

no one ever outright states they long for the escape death could be. he has reason to handle her like a child to be kept in the dark, now. her gaze flickers between his, unsettled, like she's searching for something he isn't privy to. ]

What changed?

[ that's the million dollar question, isn't it? she can't begin to claim she understands what had triggered the switch in him, or the paths presented to him. but she wonders, idly, if it wasn't this very moment — one man's surrender infusing him with a need to move forward. ]

[dispassioned]

[What changed? A lot of things. Kuzuryu and Arisu had changed his worldview, reminding him that kindness did exist in the world and that it wasn’t just a pathetic exercise in futility. He paid Kuzuryu’s sacrifice forward by saving Usagi, and that might have been the end of it, but then the Ximilia happened, with its promise of second chances.

His time on Naephus. The children at the orphanage. Alina.

He sucks a thoughtful breath between his teeth as she searches his face, meeting her gaze.]

Well, it doesn’t all feel pointless now. There are things I want to do.

[peasant]

[ it doesn't take long to slot the pieces together, an easily solvable puzzle. she smiles, though it's faint, a tinge of green and blue around its edges. it's difficult to shake the nausea, and even more difficult to shed the melancholy that had pervaded that memory, but she's —

proud, she thinks. glad, moreso, to see he's found some purpose to fulfill him, now, the way a broken ravka has needed her to heal it. ]

— Because you're planning to practice medicine again.

[ no question tips the end of her question. there's a certain, revelatory confidence that tinges it, instead. what other choice could be so monumental and transformative? his emphasis on lost children has, if this memory is anything to go by, always been a sown seed in his heart. time on naephus must have only ripened that desire until it became a full bloom, impossible to ignore. ]

[dispassioned]

Mm. I'd like to.

[And he'd like to do it on his terms, find a way to do it that's fulfilling rather than disheartening, like it had been on Naephus.

He takes a breath, studying her.]

And I still need to cook something for you.

[This little detour into the past, this ximilia with its limited supplies, had put that plan on hold, but he hadn't forgotten it. Though he realizes she might not want to think about food at the moment.]

When your appetite is back. And we're back in the right time period.

[peasant]

[ predictably, her stomach roils in protest. that appetite isn't going to make its triumphant return any time in the near future, but that serves her well enough. the texture of pasty rations isn't an appealing meal, nutritionally balanced or otherwise.

the corners of her mouth still manage the dying spasms of a smile, regardless. it's such a small reason for anticipating the future, but when you're so certain of your inevitable death ... she understands how it's the minute comforts that keep them all pushing forward.

accepting her own martyrdom as an eventual end to her story had made everything seem brighter, itself.

her fingers drift down his forearms to his hands, snagging up his fingers. they offer a comforting squeeze before she threads them together, loosely laced. ]

You're not going to try to impress me with freeze-dried mystery meats?

[ the teasing in that joke falls half-way flat, with all that's been witnessed today. but — an attempt was made, all the same. ]

[dispassioned]

There's no saving the mystery meats.

[Especially not someone with his limited culinary experience.

But he wonders if she understood what he was trying to say. He realizes sometimes she misses his point when he's indirect about it.

He seems suddenly important that she understand, since she was forced to witness this particular moment of his life.]

Spending time with you makes a difference, too.

[Feeling a connection with someone who is present and alive. It's hard to deny the positive influence of something like that, especially when he's felt so few connections in his life.]