Project: TheirWorld - Epilogue

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Epilogue

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TheirWorld

As the last of the security guards slumped to the ground without so much as a moan, Jackal stared up at the man in the large tube-shaped tank lit up only by a blue underlight. Though his face was obscured by an oxygen mask and the silver-white hair that floated like seaweed around his head, Jackal could tell by his eyes that the man was smiling.

“You look like shit,” Jackal informed him.

“So you’ve come,” the man said in a tired, rough voice that came through speakers in a terminal in front of the tank.

A sharp pain shot through Jackal’s heart as he grit his teeth and said, “You asked me to.”

“I did,” the man said. “If you were me, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Jack looked down at the terminal. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked.

Letting out a sigh that could have carried the world on it, the man closed his eyes. “I am.”

“There are those among us that will not be happy,” Jackal reminded him. “My maskless self has been trying to get you out of this place for years. He may not know my mind, but I know his. Feelings hurt.”

The man in the tank laughed. “That you still feel is a marvel in an of itself,” he chuckled. “Your maskless self is full of hope and abilities that he doesn’t even realize he has. I suppose that is the way of all valkyrian - but I admire his naivety. His potential.” Jack remained silent as he took in the pathetic, helpless form of the man floating in the liquid of the tube, wrapped up in a black straight jacket. “End it, Traveler,” the man said. “Grant me mercy and let me die. I am tired of behind ‘Gren Yilin, Murderer’.”

Jackal saw the process in his head. To reroute the system so that it fed in the poison that would cause his life to end in a fit of spasms and wrenching agony. It was so easy compared to what it was breaking into the prison complex.

But it would be just as easy to walk away. To let the man live out his sentence. To keep his conscience guilt free on account of this one man’s death.

Brushing his hands across the keyboard, he said, “... I am glad, you know, that this will not be quick and painless. Asking me to do this, who the hell do you think you are.”

“You knew that when you answered my call,” Gren told him.

“Coward.”

“I won’t deny it,” the man in the tank murmured. “Were I a stronger man, I would take my own life.”

Jackal slammed the terminal with his fist. “If you were a stronger man, you would live, damn it!” he shouted. “Stop running away! Make everything right again!”

Gren’s eyes were tired and sad as he said, “To make everything right again, all would have to be unmade. Who are we then - we, the ones who remember?”

“You…” Clenching his fists, Jackal forced himself to relax. “You saved as many as you could - and I know you will continue to, be it in this life, or the next. That. That is why I came - not to feed this idea you have of eternal damnation. Asshole!” He started activating the lethal injection protocols in the system. Gren chuckled, but stayed quiet for a time.

“...Tell me, Jackal,” the man began in a soft voice. “In my next life, will I be able to be a good man? Will I be allowed to be a husband and father again? Will I be able to live in peace?”

“I am no more god than you,” Jackal reminded him, looking up after releasing the last lock. Though the poison couldn’t be seen, he knew it would be flooding into the tube. “... But...You. Me. The lot of them. We are all cursed. In this life, and in every other.”

Gren grunted. “Can’t even humor an old man?”

“You know me better than that.”

“You never change.”

“Why would I? My life is my own, and my memories, limitless.”

“What a luxury,” Gren mused. “... I seem them in my dreams, sometimes,” he went on, his voice soft and pained. “Iyore, before the accident. Lai’ara, before my own foolishness…” Jackal glared at him, and he chuckled. “Well. You know. But, you know? I see them in my dreams, but I can’t remember what they look like anymore. It’s like… It’s like watching a movie, but instead of images and sounds, it’s made of nothing but emotion.”

Jackal walked up to the tank and put a hand on against the glass. “... You should be starting to feel the poison,” he told him. “It’s about time…”

“Yeah,” Gren’s voice sounded jumpy; scared; in pain. Emotions swelled in Jackal’s chest as he watched the man’s body start to twitch, the medical sensors going off with a plethora of beeps and lights. “Y-You should leave,” he said, gasping. “I-I thank you, old f-f-friend! Guh… GAH!”

“Yeah,” muttered Jackal, turning and leaning against the glass. “I should leave.” Instead, however, his body slid down to the floor, listening to the ever more tortured cries of his friend. Memories of time spent together came rushing back, the influx of emotion bringing tears to eyes he could do nothing but accept, as they were trapped behind his mask with everything else that he was.

The screaming continued for about twenty minutes before the equipment monitoring his vitals flatlined. Jackal sat there, for another ten, quieting his anger and sorrow before standing and facing the now deceased Gren Yilin.

“Fool,” Jackal muttered, pressing his hand against the glass again. See you again in the next life, old friend. “Goodnight, dear Creator.”