bounnostra
boun nostra .
oh my friend, where did you go?
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boun nostra: finale | to save my soul.
Months have passed, and they feel like a blur.
SUMMIT is good at damage control, you suppose -- if there was ever any damage to begin with. You woke up, you saw your class. The doctors fussed, the scientists fussed.
They all seemed anxious, but they didn’t tell you much.
Eventually, once you all were stable, the questions began -- but more importantly to you, the answers:
You’d only been “dead” for four days. Your families had been told little. The official word has always been a coma.
Some of you came back different -- it seems like GAMBIT’s mom spoke sense. The most troubling, of course, was Evie Whitehouse herself -- a medical anomaly that SUMMIT refused to take total credit for.
Though the world thought it within their power.
It was expected that you finished out the school year. It was expected that you told no one. Perhaps one or two of your class tried, but they ran up against the wall….
It turns out that most humans think you’re crazy, talking about an afterlife -- a mass hallucination, they say; maybe the work of fairies, or magic, or demons, or old ones, or-- populated by cartoon animals--
Cartoon animals that force you to act like you’re in a Battle Royale.
You remembered it all, of course. Some of you remembered even more than before -- the histories of past cycles flooding you at once, or coming in in drips and drabs….
(Which, of course, only fueled the theories--)
But there has never been any evidence -- even though one of you could now become a rabbit, and one could feel, and--
Well. You know the rest.
But….
In the lapse of all other evidence, all you have… that proves it all….
...Is the memories that you share with your fellow classmates -- some more beloved than others--
And…
The lingering thought that….
One day, when you pass for real -- for you know, now, that this inoculation will never be completed--
--that even if it could be, that you wouldn’t be affected--
That one day, in the future nearer than you thought before….
It’s not impossible for the first face you see….
To be that of an old adversary.
Or maybe, an old friend.
[BOUN ANIMA: NOSTRA END.]
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boun nostra: end | it’s where i go.
That’s the last thing you remember, before you wake up.
The light is harsh. Almost blinding.
But the bed you’re in is comfortable, the sheets warm. The steady beeping of the machines feels almost like a metronome, but it couldn’t have been lasting for too long.
You think that, mainly, because as soon as you register your awakening, as soon as you’re marveling at how different it feels -- real air in the lungs, the steady beat of your heart -- or is it? -- you hear a voice:
“Oh my god-- someone get the director! They’re awake!”
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boun nostra: end | i consider myself lucky, to have fallen in love.
“...I suppose… for me to call you all my friends, may feel a little disingenuous to a few of you….”
….
“...I only ever wished for your passing. And, perhaps, a little bit of good for the gander, if you catch my drift. I… never expected all of this. And I know you must think of me as some terrible villain….”
A blink.
“...But I am… grateful. That if I was to have a… first experience go so… poorly -- well. I suppose to even say that I’m glad it was with you all sounds so cruel-hearted….”
A shake of his head.
“So I simply will not. But what I will say is that….”
“...Should our paths cross once again, I hope I can do better by you, my friends. And I hope you all take as great of care as you can….”
….
“Ah. And Ms. Mori. Before you think I’ve forgotten about you….”
He flutters over to her, his eyes kind, a telephone in his talons.
“...I arranged for you to speak to your… Saori, then. She’s quite well….”
“...My ma is going to transport you all back, now, but I’ll let you stay an extra moment or two....”
“...And thank you, all, for doing what you could.”
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boun nostra: end | let me know, let me know.
Gambit flurries up -- looking at once happy -- if not relieved:
“Ma! You wouldn’t -- that’s--”
And there’s a twinkle in the lizard’s eye as she says:
“Too kind, I know. Of course….”
Each of you get her steely gaze, in turn.
“...When you come back, I can’t guarantee how affected you will be by the touch of the afterlife. Some of you, I imagine, will be cured of some of your… afflictions. Nothing is ever so perfect….”
….
“And, of course… when you die, once more, you will return. And your … inoculation, as they put it, will have expired. And cannot be made to work again … that, I will ensure.”
...It feels almost like a threat.
“...You humans are so clever. And so funny, all the same. Maybe I don’t really understand why I should put you back up there, beyond my own selfish desires to keep my boy out of trouble he couldn’t help, but….”
A twinkle in her eyes.
“...It does seem like you were all an amusing bunch. Now, ah. Mort?”
GAMBIT shakes himself -- his feathers puffed up, before he says:
“...May I speak to you all… one last time?”
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boun: nostra end | i’ve heard gabriel sing and play his horn.
You all prattle on -- some of you angrier than others, some of you informative, some of you focused--
And at various points in the trial, you can see GAMBIT getting flustered -- looking at his mom with some sort of anticipation, looking at all of you with something akin to anxiety--
But the dragon doesn’t waver. Whatever she thinks of your excuses, it clearly does not show on her -- her face as unreadable as any other reptile’s.
Until she believes, at some point, that she’s heard enough.
Her lips curl a little, and she says:
“Ah. So….”
Her eyes casting over to GAMBIT.
“This wasn’t his fault at all. I have to say, I’m surprised….”
A blink.
“Of course, your kind has always looked for these kinds of solutions, but never before have I heard of any organization getting so close -- without the stench of undeath attached….”
It’s… hard to know what she thinks about that.
“It’s clear to me that I wouldn’t be able to force you to move on, though I think someone above me could. And I suppose I could put you all at their mercy, but…..”
Her eyes cast over to her son, perhaps a little fondly.
“...Between all of us, maybe I can simply… do what your kind has always desired, and give you… ah. What is is called?”
….
“One free bite of the apple? Hm.”
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Endgame | Circle Unbroken | Masaki
It felt almost too soon.
Masaki had been mentally and emotionally preparing himself for what might be the end... or possibly a new beginning. He'd hugged and gave well-wishes to his friends. Tears were shed. Promises made. Promises honored. Whether this was the end of their existence or not, Masaki could at least at least take comfort in the fact that their torture here was finally over.
The trial room was... not what he expected. It was warmer. Comforting.
His eyes focused on a chair that he immediately knew was his.
It looked... exactly the same. The worn, faded upholstery from a style long since dead, the aged squeak as it rocked, instantly bringing back memories of days when three little brats fought over its limited space for morning cartoons. That is until Ma came in with a grin and claimed it for herself, and where she'd later sit to brush and braid their hair every day. A ritual kept until the day he left for SUMMIT.
Gingerly, he took his seat. Eyes closed and a deep breath.
"... My name is Masaki Miyamoto. I'm a chef, and I've been flushing pride down the toilet since I was old enough to know what that meant. So I'm not above begging for my life if that's what it takes."
He smiles weakly.
"Pathetic, maybe, but I swore to myself I'd return home no matter what. With or without your help. I have people waiting for me: my ma, my sisters, my brother, my friends, my colleagues, my regulars at the restaurant. They're all counting on me to come home safe and I can't let them down."
The smile fades, and he watches his fingers trace the upholstery.
"After everything I've worked for, I can't let it all fall apart again. I have so many things left to do, and so many things I didn't realize I needed to do."
He takes a breath.
"... Maybe our motives don't mean much to you, but there is one thing you should consider if nothing else-- SUMMIT did something to us. Our bodies died, but we're... here. Clogging up whatever the fuck this system is and causing it to break down, and no matter what Gam-- Mort tries to do, he can't get rid of us. We can't pass on. We're stuck here in-between life and death, and will likely remain here until the end of existence if you can't help us."
Masaki sits up straight, looking at Ms Ma with gravity.
"Immortality doesn't belong to people not born with it. What SUMMIT is doing is wrong, and... I don't know how they talked us into it, but they did, and we're here... and we died. They'll likely find another group before long to continue the project, with possibly the same thing happening again, with you and your son going from 20-something people fucking up the system, to possibly 40-something. Maybe a hundred, or a thousand, or ten thousand, or... gods forbid, millions. A horrifying concept to us, but a huge pain in the ass to you guys. We know what's going on, we can stop it... or try. Or at the very least, keep SUMMIT's experiences contained to only us, and maybe one day we can find a way to fix whatever it was they did to us."
He glances quickly at his classmates, lingering ever slightly on certain dear ones. Family.
"Keeping us here benefits no one, but helping us helps everyone."
With a final breath, Masaki rises to his feet and bows stiffly and deeply.
"So please... Help us."
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existential on main | koji | endgame 2.1
It isn’t until others take their seats that Koji recognizes a wheeled leather office chair as his own. The seat possesses traits of chairs he’d encountered in the offices of important people, but he wouldn’t recognize it as something specific. As he sits down and rolls to Simone’s side, he can’t help but wonder if the chair helps him look older or more mature around this lizard person he’s never met before. Figuring it’s a persona he could stand to lean into, he buttons up his shirt and puts on his tie.
Koji’s accustomed to doing something to fix his situation when he’s feeling useless, but the previous day’s revelations were starting to make him feel like an asshole for ever trying to fight against his fate. He reclines in his chair and nods at others as they contribute the info Lizard Mom asked for, happy that no one is expecting him to do heavy lifting when he’s as shaken up and confused as anyone else.
It's a self-centered line of thinking, but why should he be expected to exert effort for this person he doesn’t know or trust, when his efforts were so easily taken advantage of in the Don trial?
The bitter thoughts subside somewhat as Evie seems to hit all the right notes - taking ownership, wanting to help others in the future, and wanting to make it up to Simone. She had expressed these sentiments before, but hearing it summarized in a context where he isn’t certain he’s about to die feels a bit more convincing. Koji waits to see Simone and Finlay’s reaction before nodding at Evie as well.
Koji keeps his hand on his chin and looks at the others at they speak, even Sute. (Why not, when she is so clearly making the effort to reach out.) He takes the awkward silence after Ivan's chair speaks as an opportunity to pipe up.
“Guess we’re all unleashing our heartfelt soapbox speeches here, huh? In that case, let me have a turn…”
He coughs to clear his throat and addresses the komodo dragon.
“So, my name’s Koji Abrams. I can’t think of any particular reason why I, above others who have died before me, deserve to come back to life. I’m not sure anyone deserves that level of special treatment based on their talents or other personal traits. To put it kindly, I don’t think a cohort of people less talented than us would be any more or less deserving of living again.”
Were he completely incapable of reading the room, he might have asked if coming back to life was something the class would even want. Thankfully, the class seems to have already taken these doubts about resurrection into consideration.
“As for me, I’m just some guy. And even if I wasn’t… if there were something special about me and the things I could do in life… that’s not really something that would qualify me to break the laws of nature. Sure, there are circumstances under which someone can come back to life, revenants and whatnot. But those conditions don’t apply to me.”
If offered a second chance at life, what could he uniquely do to make the world a better place? He could make amends with Sonoma in an attempt to fix a disappointing institution from the inside, but if he took a powerful position, he’d have to dirty his hands with difficult decisions. Any minuscule change deliverable by one dissenting voice could theoretically be implemented by a like-minded living person.
“I suppose it’s… less accurate to say I believe I’m a special case uniquely deserving of a second chance, and more accurate to say I just don’t want to be here, enduring who-knows-how-many killing games in a rapidly deteriorating space. Which, fair. I don’t know if we’ve given you enough information to enable you to send us back, or if that’s something you’d even be willing to do, but… maybe steps could be taken to keep our situation from being any worse than it has to be, regardless.”
He bites his lip for a few seconds, anxious about how his next words would be perceived.
“This realm is breaking, yes? It’s tough to pin down exactly why, but the condition of this space seems to be getting worse as the cycles go on. Maybe it’s the fact that we keep getting revived. Maybe it’s thanks to our intense *relationships* with each other, as Claire suggested. Who knows, really. My point is that if we’re forced to continue existing here in the manner we have been, this place may just break completely… I don’t know what that would mean for us, or this purgatory we’ve been placed in.”
He decides it’s tasteful to let the implications of what happens to the class if Nostra breaks with them inside to go unspoken. He moves onto his next point as soon as he catches his breath.
“Allowing us crabs to continue pounding at the walls of our bucket doesn’t sound like an ideal scenario for anyone, does it? No, we can’t escape, but we've succeeded at wrecking this place up in the process of trying. Like, our last killers somehow connected this realm with the school realm, and I’m not sure if that part was even intentional. So, um. If the structural integrity of this purgatory is something you place a lot of value in, then we can’t be put through any more killing games.
Worst case scenario… If neither you nor your colleagues can help us pass on or return to life, then at least let us exist in peace indefinitely, preferably somewhere that isn’t falling apart. No executions, no memory wipes, no murders. If there is seriously no other option, then turning our continued existence into… something we could learn to appreciate would be something to consider.”
He offers a weak smile, much like his father’s employees when they feel compelled to listen to their boss’s latest tone-deaf rant.
“Sorry if that sounded presumptuous. I get that if the execution was still on, it probably would have happened by now. And I get that us being revived isn’t anywhere near off the table. It’s just… tough to trust that I’m really safe right now.”
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Baybee Boi, You Stay on Our Minds || Ivan || Endgame 2 || Re: Ma!!!
"...Darkness. A cold mist. A harrowin' winter the likes nobody's ever seen. A chill that doesn't go away, no matter how many blankets or people you reach for. It's stuck with ya. Stuck inside ya. Stuck there forever. Y'move a teeny bit, and it's like velcro pullin' right in yer chest. Y'breathe 'n' it's torn from you. All y'got left is this squeezin' feeling like something's missin'. And nothing can fix it or clear away that frost that's piled up. It just keeps growing and growing and growing. An intense, lonely emptiness. And the name of that feeling? That's..."
Ivan smiles.
"That's life without me in it, baybee!"
If anyone had seen Ivan's chair (and how could anyone have not?), they would've known not to go along with his wild ride of an opening statement.
It's a pegasus.
The chair is a pegasus with the hum of its inner-electronics as loud as an overheating computer that's badly in need of a break. The Pegasus Domestication Initiative had been prototyping levitating rocking horses for children, and of course, Ivan had gotten their hands on one. It's clearly a toy, but an ultra soft and cool one with its plush body and half-a-foot floating feature. It even brays at the push of a button.
Its wings proudly flap, no doubt sending a breeze of wind toward anyone around Ivan.
"But, f'real, I ain't so far up my own ass to think that I'm the only sun shining up in this place. Y'already heard plenty about that. Just sayin' that when I shine, woo, when I shine, WOO, when I shine, I fuckin' dazzle."
That's what being covered and surrounded by gold is all about. Dazzling. It wasn't always that way, though, and most people were more than privy to that shit. Might as well take Mort's ma down memory lane.
"Thing about me is, my life was kinda a shitshow of my own making. Fucked up. Lost Miguel. Disowned, unwanted, whatever. Turned that shit around when I got into horses. Let's take a sec and give it up for horses. Horses are beautiful, am I right?"
He pounds his chest and gives an understanding nod to Kaga, Mort, and Aki, former horse.
"Yeeeeaaah, I know I might not have the cleanest of records when it comes to gamblin' and shit like that. Details shmetials. 'N' mebbe I'm extra late on catchin' onto bein' a 'good person' cuz I was too concerned with bein' the 'best person.' It took being here and dying and shit to finally catch onto my...uh, the fuck is it called again? Thesis? Yeah, that. My life's thesis. Used to think it was more about saying fuck you to everybody who burned me by keepin' my own smile on. Always gotta be ahead at the races. But y'know what's better than that?"
Ivan holds out their arms, as if they're saying to look around the room. Or they might be bowing in some grandiose fashion. It's hard to say.
The pegasus continues to whir.
Someone save it.
"I won't say it cuz it's corny as fuck 'n' y'all know the answer, anyway. I care. I care and I wanna patronize the dramatic arts and internet hackin' shit. And I wanna be a wrestling agent and I dunno, eventually, retire to a farm in Italy or somethin'. I've got shit to do."
C'mon, time is money, and Ivan's time is expensive. Taxes is owed!
"Besides, this is the timeline where a certain someone willingly gave me their number. Y'can't do me dirty after an achievement like that."
That someone knows who they are. They're rewarded, as always, a wink and a joke at their expense, as is customary at this point.
Ivan then pushes the button repeatedly.
"Neigh," says the pegasus in further defense of Ivan and their friends. "Neiiighhh. Neigh. Snrrrrrt. Neigh."
"There you have it," Ivan adds. "The best argument in the room."
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Endgame 2.1 || Arbiter || Andy
Andy couldn’t put into words how much his emotions had changed in the last day.
The chair that greeted him, an armchair in faded, scratchy navy, a familiar crunch of food wrappers as he sat down on the blanket covering its torn seat.
A strange odour emanated from it. Old beer and spilled takeout.
Disgusting to most, probably.
Probably.
“We’re all dead but… why this whole charade? Why is this of all things the space between life and death? Why are we all dressed like it’s 1935? Why the gangs and the motives and the codenames and the killing?”
He laid his head down, clutching the polyester and wood he hadn’t felt in decades.
“Why make people die again… if- if normal people could just pass on? Is it for show? To test our morals or our resilience or?”
The chair he’d curled up on most nights as a child just as he did now. Armrests substituting as pillows.
It was somehow comforting.
Dragging it close to Myra, he let his hands droop limply off the chair, a garland of grass laced around his left ring finger.
“My name is Andy Mori. Some people know me as Nagisa now… I’m 26 years old, I grew up in Hawai’i but spent most of my life in England. I’ve…. never really accomplished anything with my life. I spent most of my childhood out of school. Half of it in prison, basically. I’ve never held down a proper job. I’ve… never done much of anything. I don’t have any family. I have a cat and one friend waiting for me back home. Emotionally, it wouldn’t be much of a loss to the world as a whole if I passed on. The only thing I can say the world would benefit from by having me still alive is that I want to get rid of the research done on my body. All that research into ESP fields and… how it can be used for communications, how it can be weaponized, I… I want to avoid the hurt I could cause. If I’m dead and certain people get ahold of my body… don’t know what they’d do. I don’t know if I can make the world better if I live but…”
He pauses, inhaling a little, before exhaling again.
“I know I can stop the world becoming a worse place by living”.
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endgame 2.1 | sute | dying embers on the sleeping moon
“...no one deserves to die.”
Sute looked up for the first time, feathers still dancing around her body like cherry blossoms in the wind or snow in the night. Her expression, usually hard and focused at these meetings, mostly due to a sense of self preservation in a social atmosphere which attacked her from the outset, was softer.
No, softer wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t soft. It was vulnerable. It was true.
“A rabbit does not deserve the fox to tear the air out from its throat. A man does not deserve to be involved in a helicopter crash. Saori... did not deserve to be murdered. To think, she would have gone through something similar to this--...”
She cuts off, jaw tensing in a wince, before she continued.
“Life and death... neither of them are fair. There is no defined justice in our world and trying to find it will bring nothing but disappointment and stress upon your brow. To say we do not belong here, inoculation or no... I do not believe it is the answer she is looking for. She is asking why she should break the laws of gods and beasts to send us back-- to send us home. Beyond our inoculation, that loophole of a thing... why are we deserving of this second chance above any other taken before their time?”
She reached up, fingertips brushing her own cheek.
“...huhu, and for myself? I do not know. Shall I bring up the fact that I have defied death before and would like to keep avoiding our meeting? Shall I bring up the fact that... perhaps there are those that will miss me? Shall I bring up that there is reparations I need to make? No, those are all too echoed, I believe.”
She shook her head.
“Shall I bring up that I willingly accepted another cycle with my memories well enough in tact, just for the possibility that you may bring back the woman who gave nothing but good to the world, and to I? And that I do not want her to have to take on the horrors of life alone?”
She looked to Sylvie, brows knitting and eyes a bit wide.
“...shall I bring up that it is not only Saori that holds that place in my heart?”
She looked back to the lizard, her gaze finally gaining the focus and fire that was all too known of her.
“I still do not think that is worthy, and truly nothing would ever be. In the end, the decision will be yours to make, no matter what it is we say, or emotions we envoke.”
She tipped her head.
“Because, in the end, it is all convecture, is it not?”
She gave her a soft smile.
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endgame 2.1 | grisha | this too shall pass
Suddenly the hotel is gone, and it doesn’t really hit Grisha for a little while that it will most likely be the last time he ever sees the hotel. Not that he’s sad to see it go, but he’s spent months there, around the same people. Like it or not, it was a way of life, and he had adapted. That could describe a lot of his life, couldn’t it? Adapting to strange or unsatisfying ways of life, and staying put, working with it rather than trying to change it for the better – not even knowing what better would be. A life without aim or direction.
And yes, it feels strange to lose this way of life, too. But for the first time in his life – rather, his existence, he sees a way forward. A direction. And he’s ready to follow it.
He’s appeared holding his sketchbook, its covers swollen with photos carefully slipped between each page. He knows that the book will likely just vanish when this is over, but if it doesn’t, he wants it with him. He scans the chairs, unsure of which is his, until his eyes land on an Adirondack chair just over there. Unpainted pine wood, still smelling faintly of the forest. A bolster pillow covered in earth-toned patterned fabric sits in the crook. He just knows its for him, and it almost makes him smile. He does smile when Valerio comes over toward him. He’s sitting not far from Runa and Finlay, and Masaki is just over there.
He reaches over and puts his hand over Valerio’s for a moment as the discussion begins, and he settles into his chair.
The question that really strikes him is why they should be allowed to leave this place and return to the living world. Finlay and Mathilde handle the bulk of the summarizing for now, giving Grisha time to ruminate on that one question.
He died, didn’t he? Twice, now. He’d had a second chance already, and he hadn’t done anything meaningful with it. He’d built himself a successful athletic career, yes, but he had done so on the shoulders of his condition, using his newfound physical quirks to excel at the biathlon’s unique challenges. What had that accomplished? Who had it helped? It had driven a wedge between him and one of his dearest friends. He didn’t use any of his winnings, just squirreled them away and continued to live in his childhood home. He traveled for races, but never went anywhere or did anything; he raced and then went home, and continued training. Training, racing, training, racing, repeat ad nauseum. He had never expected to make a lifelong career of it, but he’d blinked and five years had gone by, with nothing to show for it than a dusty box of medals under his bed.
A second chance, and he’d squandered it. Why should he deserve a third chance?
And hadn’t he, just yesterday, railed at Sute for having the audacity to try to return a woman to life. He very earnestly wondered if he shouldn’t return. That’s the way of the world, isn’t it? People die. They die every day. Life would mean nothing without death. Some people die far too young, and they don’t get second chances, let alone third chances.
There was a boy, ten years ago, who disappeared from Grisha’s school. He had died in the snow in the forest, alone, cold, and suffering from an infliction just like Grisha’s own. That boy hadn’t gotten a second chance.
What would anyone even do with third chances, or fourth or fifth. The idea of eternal life terrifies Grisha. Unceasing existence as everything around him decays and dies. He shudders at the thought. What makes this death different from any other? That he was young? That it was too soon? The same could be said for the boy in the snow.
He almost says that maybe they should not be sent back. But he can’t make that decision for anyone other than himself, he knows. It’s up to the dying to decide whether to turn back from the light. But if he stays, what is there for him? There is no death, and no life, either.
No, he understands why he needs to leave. And he vows to himself that the third time is the charm. With a third chance, he will do good with his existence.
He takes a long breath. “If we stay here,” he says to the lizard, “Then we will never leave. You saw what happened to Kagashi. We cannot live here, and we cannot die. We will die, and die, and die again, forever, in whatever hell this place is. In the end, it will break us. This unliving, undying… it is not good for a soul.”
It isn’t to say that he wished Runa, Valerio, Amita, Masaki, Rita, and Ivan had simply disappeared. But he knew how much that lingering state had bothered Runa and Valerio. How they had wished to simply move on, instead of remaining trapped in unlife as they were. It hurt him, losing them had hurt him, but he understood what they meant, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
“We need to go back, so that whatever was done to us can be undone. So that when we die, we will not linger. In the end, a clean break is the best.”
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
He takes Valerio’s hand in his own.
“Each of us has our own reason for wanting to return,” he says, with quiet resolve, “And they are all right. But the truth of it is that keeping us here as we are is nothing short of existential torture. If you have any compassion for our mortal souls, you should send us back.”
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SUPPLICATION | ENDGAME 2.1 | MATHILDE | RE: KAGA, MRS. GAMBITS MOM
Mathilde lays a hand on her chair (too large to be called a ‘chair’, really, it’s obviously an old chaise lounge), gaze running over the solid walnut legs, the charred floral upholstery, the flaking armrests. The whole thing reeks of age and burnt wood -- it does not look like it belongs here. Mathilde sits in it all the same, folding her hands in her lap neatly as ever.
“Our ‘deaths’ were not the goal of the project -- quite the opposite, it seems.”
Mathilde’s expression darkens.
“Whatever possessed me to agree to participate in this research in the first place, the files made it quite clear that the Summit staff could not proceed while some of the subjects were unwilling to give explicit consent. It would make little sense, then, for a place like this to be a part of their designs. I had thought, at first, that perhaps there was some relation between what is happening here and what happened at Summit... but the situation appears to be as Kaga has described.”
Her gaze lingers on Kaga for a few moments. She can’t help but feel a surge of panic in her chest as she remembers the previous day, the despair she felt as he vanished before her very eyes. Listening to the others speak, there can be no doubt that they have forged similar bonds with people dear to them. They were all demanding to be freed, and why shouldn’t they?
Still, she can't help but feel a sense of gnawing uneasiness. If this was the afterlife, if what happened here was supposed to determine whether they lived or died -- or worse, stayed trapped in purgatory forever...
Mathilde turns to the komodo dragon.
“I am too old to consider myself above begging. I implore you to return these people to where they belong -- for clearly, they are not meant to be here. There is a great deal of good that could be accomplished with their talents, regardless of what their specific skillset may be. Furthering the development of science, arts, athletics... if you plan to let us go on the basis of our merits, I would be happy to expound upon all the ways in which the people here are all deserving of release.”
“...And if that is not good enough, then I would at least ask you to consider that it would be cruel to keep them here any longer, knowing that they are unable to ‘pass on’. If you truly do intend to help us -- if you have the power to do so, then please...”
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endgame 2.1 || ground truth || finlay || [ re: lizard ; simone ]
There’s no fanfare to it. One second, Finlay’s minding their own business -- sprawled across Simone’s fold-out couch for maybe the last time, notes spread around them because even if there are no clocks, they know time has to be running out -- and the next second, they’re in a room with nothing but the clothes on their back and the notebook in their hands.
As always, there could never be enough time for them to feel truly satisfied.
A black leather armchair, simple and a little worn but unsettlingly familiar, draws them in. And with a huff as they tiredly eye the general company in the room, Finlay finds themself tugging their chair closer to friends -- Valerio and Grisha, namely, as they already see Simone pulling her own chair to them. They’ve had more than enough of being stuck with unpleasant company.
They don’t sit properly when they plop themself down either, sitting horizontally -- back against one armrest and legs kicked up over the other. Lovely. Thank you.
They settle in, and the questions that the lizard has asked of the group finally set in as well. Some of them are easy -- easy-ish.
“...Think folks’ve got the idea ‘bout why we’re here. Hate to retread, but just in case she wants details: we get invited to Summit, thinking it’s for the betterment of society or whatever. Turns out they wanna use us to test shit on immortality -- how much, if anything, we were told ‘bout the true nature of this project’s up for debate.”
There’s a distance to their voice, like Finlay’s reading dull information from a teleprompter. They can’t let themself think too much about all this, not right now.
“We get the… inoculation. Shit causes some side effects. Eventually there’s some helicopter accident where an employee ‘n one of us dies -- think we theorized the employee was Mamoru. Something ‘bout the stress from the event fucks us all over ‘n we… all kick the bucket.”
“Considering Benny’s game didn’t have cycles ‘n didn’t seem to have this inoculation shit, seems reasonable to assume the reason we keep… cycling ‘n ain’t moving on or whatever’s ‘cause of whatever they gave us during the experiment. Shit’s probably the reason why, er, Chouzou came right back… all that." A pause. "Don't wanna get screwed 'cause we weren't specific 'nough, 's all.”
Some of them are less easy. Just for a moment, not easy. Because it’s not the first time they’ve cheated death, and maybe their borrowed time has finally run its course. After all, how many times can one cheat death before it comes to collect the debt? Yet, it doesn’t take them long to get over it because:
Finlay Boone never gives up without a fight. And they don’t give a shit about Death’s debt.
There’s a feeling of eyes on them, and they catch Evie’s gaze before she assuredly looks away once more; they don’t offer her a smile nor any warmth, but they do offer her a curt nod. That’s all they can manage, something to show their approval of her sentiments, before also turning their attention from her.
So, instead, they look over at Simone and give her a resolute nod, a small smile to Valerio for both their words before speaking up themself.
“Agreed with Simone here. I wanna get out, ‘n if you’re actually gonna give us that opportunity, then I appreciate it. But after all that we’ve been through, I don’t have to sit here ‘n lay myself bare ‘n grand stand ‘bout what I could do with my time just so a stranger can judge whether I deserve to live.” A roll of the eyes. “Hell, not like most of the folks here deserve to hear my inner workings anyway.”
Most of this room doesn’t deserve to hear their nitty-gritty, all the things they’ve learned and what they’ve been through to arrive at the objectively better version of themself than they were at the beginning.
“So. Why should I go back to my life? ‘Cause I fucking want to. I know I deserve to live. I know this ain’t my time, 'n I’ve still got plenty of shit to do. Whether that shit’s finishing my research or --” Here, their eyes drift to a select few who aren't hard to guess. “-- the plans I’ve made with people, ‘s still important to me. And that’s... all I really care ‘bout. It’s not like my research was ever based in selflessness to start.”
They raise their eyebrows expectantly, finally looking over at the lizard in question.
“Let’s be honest. I’ve never given a single shit ‘bout lying to save face or impress anyone anyway. I ain't 'bout to stop being true to myself now.”
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fuligo septica || myra || endgame 1
When she walks back into the room, Myra instinctively frowns at the decor- but that changes in an instant when she sees her old chair wheeled in from her lab. Where the hell had they gotten this thing from? She trots over to it, checking it up and down to see if this really is the same piece of shit she'd sat herself on for years on end. Wow! There's the stain in the back cushion from when she spilled the petri dish full of dog vomit slime mold! The broken wheel from when she got lazy and tried to scoot herself around the uni floor on it! Even the Weird, Unidentifiable Smell that ensured nobody else took her spot! Yes, this is 100% the chair of a gross little fungus goblin, and she plonked herself down on it with glee. God help us.
She makes sure she pulls herself as close as possible to Andy, although there are others in here that she nods to before she speaks. She'll get to them in a bit. And when she gets a chance, she opens her mouth.
"Who am I?"
Myra closes her eyes. If they had gone straight from the Don trial into this, she was sure she'd be spitting fury right about now. That break really was a godsend, even if she'd spent most of it having a panic attack. But now, she had- some sense of clarity in this whole thing. Enough clarity that she could give Mort's Mother a response that WASN'T full of bizarre, poorly-translated profanity, at least...!
"My name is Dr. Myra Linne. I am a mycological prodigy and an award winning innovator. I have cured disease and assuaged famine; I have turned death tolls into mere inconvenience. I have done things with fungus that others couldn't begin to imagine. I have even granted sapience to some, although any of my peers would tell you that was not a great idea in the long run."
A soft chuckle. She glances at each of her fellow classmates before she continues, although she avoids a select few. Her gaze lingers on those closest to her- Runa. Rita. Simone. Kagashi. Valerio. Masaki. Most of all, Andy. She flits to those she had reached an uneasy understanding with- and those who, although certainly not a fan of her words and deeds, she couldn't help but acknowledge were valid. Then, she nods.
"I am also a nasty little gremlin, and a royal pain in the ass. There is not a single person here I have not pissed off in some way, and for reasons that I was probably 100% in the wrong for. I am not a good person. Perhaps my parents knew this when they abandoned me in the woods. But I have survived, presumably as some sort of cosmic joke, and I have thrived. I have overcome life in the wilderness. I have overcome being found and raised by people with no tolerance for my mental condition. I have overcome academic and social hardship. I have overcome crippling despair- and the holes I drilled in my skull as a result of it. And, apparently, now I've overcome death itself."
She shrugs.
"I have no idea how Summit convinced the cordyceps that any of this was a good idea, nor the precise mechanisms of these cycles, but I can guarantee you one thing, Mrs. Mort. If I cannot be sent out from this Purgatory you Psychopomps reign over, and if Nisha was able to find you in the void, I promise you that you will never hear the end of me. I will annoy you until the heat death of the universe, and perhaps even beyond. Any one of my cohorts can attest to how much I've irritated them in the past- and I will inflict that tenfold on you and yours if you don't set us all loose."
Myra grins.
"So, listen. If you're not going to send me back for the betterment of humanity, send me back for your own mental health. I've come up with twenty verses for my awful little fungus song and I will sing them on loop if you don't."
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far from home | endgame.1 | valerio
It doesn't look like there's... anything stopping him from simply picking up the chair and moving it somewhere else, did it? Because that's exactly what he does-- he folds the director chair to carry it away from its original spot. He knows he wants to sit next to Finlay, or Runa, or Masaki-- it's almost like the daunting middle-school challenge of correctly choosing who you want to sit next to on the first day of class before your seat is locked forever, but... there's a tiny, very tiny sentiment of *pettiness* that welled deep within him for a few hours now against Gambit, who had decided to shuffle his seat from its original spot beside Grisha, and it's all the weight he needs to his decision when he plops down the chair by his boyfriend's side (and it's not like his friends can't simply join him, but he doesn't want to *impose* either-).
(Besides, he had only been able to interact with him through his unreliable, precarious ghostly form. As heartwarming as it was to know it stemmed from the power of- er- *feelings*, he absolutely hated being a ghost.)
... The lizard begins to speak, and a few others take turns to cite their answers. And what did *he* have to contribute to puzzle-solving? Well, it's not like he was too stupid to understand their situation, but his mind tended to worry more about sentimental affairs than figuring out the mysteries of the past, which is why the question of 'why should you all return?' hits an incredibly sore point.
He didn't have an answer. He didn't... have a greater purpose, or something in him that could save lives. He thought he did, but it was only partially true. He has as much power to save as he has to kill, and that doesn't make him stand out from anyone in a crowd of strangers. Even to Hollywood, he was simply a 'double', he replaced, but he wasn't irreplaceable.
... So what, is that where he has to stop? Is that enough to throw his head down and stay quiet, playing the card of humility when it would only make him look pathetic? Hmm...
Not this time.
"It is as... er... he said-- sorry, I don't know your last name." He grimaces some kind of apologetic look as he gestures towards Kagashi, just short of saying his codename. He wouldn't want to hear his own codename either, so he settles for vagueness. "Our 'deaths' are not justified-- so then, why should we justify a reason to return as if it's somehow equivalent? As much as other people who have died so unjustly don't have this chance, I... there's no reason we should pass on this opportunity just because others couldn't. There's no point in being humble about that."
There's a pause to his speech, a glance down to the hands on his lap. A sign that he knows that he's about to say something that will... probably not serve anyone, be incredibly personal and might also be simply ignored. But he doesn't want to stop there. He doesn't care who listens.
"Perhaps some five years back, I would have been okay staying back here." His hands clench into fists, a familiar face pops into his mind. "... My mother didn't want of me. Hell, she didn't seem... to want her own existence either. No one in my family can seem to agree our lives are worth shit because of the... of the 'danger' we may pose. Their self-hatred translates into hatred for their own relatives. They take turns to blame their preceding generation for not ending the bloodline-- but- ugh, sorry if this is so personal..."
A hand flies to cover his eyes briefly, take a deep breath. Get to the point.
"... But it's not... wrong to want to live, and to build a family... is it? It's what I was... starting to understand in the recent years, and after what I experienced here..."
He's still looking down, but... slowly... his gaze drifts... at the feet of the person by his side.
"I may not have a noble, humanitarian reason to live, or some kind of compensation. My file may have brought on some aspect of myself that I was only starting to suspect... but it's still not fully clear. ... Though it's- it's as it said. I don't... I don't have anything remotely world-altering to offer. Or any of that,” airquotes, “‘Clout’."
...
"... And yet, there is... there's people who need me. Who are probably waiting for me to rise again. Who need me to be where they are."
...
"... There's... also people I want to see achieve their goals... People I've come to consider my family. People I've made promises to. ... People that I need, too."
His eyes screw shut for a moment, and then-- to accentuate his final point, an act he's seen in one too many tacky movies, he opens his eyes again to look directly at Gambit's mother with a determination flaring in proportions yet unseen from him.
"Each and every one of us... have made some kind of impact on the world as individuals, whether they think themselves capable or not. The world may not need me in particular, but it needs us."
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18+ likes hamilton || simone || endgame 2.1 || re: Gambit's Mom (Has Got It Going On)
The first thing Simone does when she finds her seat is pull it as far as she needs to in order to sit near Finlay. Then she can focus on the rest.
Then she can focus on getting comfortable, wondering if it’s a coincidence how familiar the seat is even though she kind of knows there aren’t really coincidences around here. Pulling her legs up so she can sit cross-legged in the chair, taking a notebook out to lay in her lap, reviewing whatever is inside of it.
...And on the question. Why should you go back to the lives you left behind?
Because there’s a lot of answers she could give. Things she could say about everything she wants to do, the life she wants to live now that the worries that used to hold her back seem so trivial in comparison to the things she’s been through. Promises that she made to help Finlay with their research, to see what she can do to help people like Andy and Kagashi with larger organizations looming behind them, even just to hang out with people. She could get really deep about it, make some big emotional speech about understanding the value of her life and wanting to live it to the fullest instead of staying paralyzed by fear of the criticisms that might be thrown her way, but honestly...
...Honestly, she’s tired. She’s spent enough of the past twenty four hours crying that her head still kind of hurts, and it’s almost a little annoying to be expected to make a case for herself, after everything. As though the fact that her head has been fucked with so many times that she’s not sure what’s real anymore and she’s seen more dead bodies in the past few months than she should have to see in her life and she went to Summit because she wanted to do something meaningful with her life and instead wound up dying at least four times and getting stuck in a murder game isn’t enough.
“Why shouldn’t we?”
(Not sure now is the time to do this, but go off I guess.)
“...I don’t mean to sound...rude. It’s been a very stressful couple of days. As much as I appreciate your help..." she gives Gambit's Mom a little smile. "...If it’s at all possible for us to leave, then I’m not going to sit here and beg for the opportunity. Nor should I have to. It’s as Kagashi said -- none of us asked to be here. We should all be allowed to return to our lives because it’s the least we deserve after everything we’ve been put through.”
And admittedly, the comment from Evie catches her a little off guard. She looks over at her, surprised, and manages a very small smile that Evie might not even see before Simone looks back at her notes. There’s still a sense of uncertainty, a moment of quiet that follows where she’s not sure if she’s supposed to say anything at all -- that she’ll be there, that she won’t, or even a simple we’ll see. In the end, she says nothing, nodding very slightly and burying her face a little deeper in the notebook.
(Not that she’s going to be the one to actually bring anything up, of course -- because for all the ideas bouncing around in her head, she doesn’t think anyone ought to trust her to solve a mystery here. She doesn’t have a great track record with those.)
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