By the time I come to, I’m back in my own body, strapped down by vines. My nose is dripping blood like a leaky faucet, and my vision is glossed over. It’s as if I’ve entered twilight, like I’ve woken to a completely different world. The sky beyond the forest has been overcome with a purplish hue, the swirling ball in the distant space growing larger as it draws closer.

I feel something heavy quiver behind me, but I cannot crane my neck back to look. My body is exhausted from the constant projection, but I have to jump back in. The feeble amount of rest I’ve gotten will have to do.

My head surges with the sensation of diving as I throw myself into the dark. As quick as ever, I find the place I’m looking for and grasp ahold of the roots in the ground.

I surface within another vine, and survey the area. The rain has stopped, and Mary stands with her back to me, her arms and legs matted with dirt and mud. I slither around to her side, and discover a patch of earth freshly disturbed, as if housing a newly planted sapling.

She’s staring at it with dry, swollen eyes, not daring to blink. Her expression bares no emotion, her dark brown eyes verging on pure black. She clenches her bloodied, dirtied hands weakly before turning her head.

“Finally,” she mutters in a hoarse voice. “You’re back. I’ve already buried him. Let’s go.”

She extends her hand toward the end of my vine, her expression unchanging. With only a moment’s hesitation, I clasp onto her muddied hand, and lead her north.

I make haste, spawning countless vines in order to propel her faster.

Within minutes, we arrive at the location of the second theater. The area around the fancy rustic brick building is less spacious than the first, thickets of trees crowding every wall.

I confirm that no troops are waiting in hiding, and locate the moss-ridden entrance. Together, Mary and I enter, on high alert for enemies. Much like the first theater, however, the entrance is dark, narrow, and unoccupied. We follow the hallway to the lone theater room, and enter.

Just as we turn the corner, my consciousness cuts out, and transfers to that of Aku’s. Just like before, I’m standing next to Mirei, whose distressed clothing matches her fatigued look.

The screen shifts from black to stark white, before transforming into the wasteland from my dreams.

“I’m looking forward to learning more about you,” Mirei whispers softly, averting her eyes.

“I look forward to both of you lowering your opinions of me even further,” I respond in Mathais’ voice.

“Are you sure that’s even possible?” Mary says in monotone as she approaches from behind. At the sound of her voice, Mirei bites her lip, careful not to take her eyes off the screen. Just like last time, Mary takes her position to my right as we all focus on the screen.

I’m immediately sucked in, assuming the position of the me on the screen, throwing the fiery golden ball toward the figure in the diving suit. Again, I run after throwing it. As I run, the scene shifts to a dark alley. Buildings surround me closely, with very little light radiating from the main street.

My slender, black-clad frame slinks along the walls of the alley as I close in on my pray- a long haired Irish man I’d been tailing since I arrived in Shibuya.

Just as the alleys form a crossroad, I pounce on the man, whose back remains turned to me. As soon as I close in on him, knife readied, a series of gun shots erupt from my right side. Just as the sound reaches my ears, I feel several bullets pierce my right leg, scaling from my ankle to my thigh.

The attack puts me on the cold cement, freeing the knife from my grasp. It clangs past the long-haired man, who stops and turns slowly in my direction. He looks down upon me with a calm, intimidating stare, his thin face lacking a trace of uncertainty.

“So, this is JC, the man who made his name working for the infamous Killian,” the man hisses in a low voice, arrogance seeping from his expression and tone. “You certainly were hard to catch,” he continues, pacing to my side. With a smirk, he digs his boot firmly into my freshly wounded leg. I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to yell in pain. My leg paralyzed by the bullet wounds, I find myself unable to even attempt an escape or reversal on the man- especially while a sniper is involved.

“I was careful…” I mutter through gnashed teeth. “So, how…”

“You made two mistakes,” the man proclaims with increased hostility, digging his foot deeper into my wounded leg. “The first was underestimating Ireland’s Finest.. the second was that you underestimated the Shibutani Group and their resources. The second you made it to Japan, you were marked. Even as careful and meticulous as you are, we knew your movements. The Shibutani Group possesses some fine technology, in addition to having connections everywhere you could possibly imagine. You were outmatched from the moment you met with Kaspar Reed, JC.”

Rendered speechless, I can only search for a way out. It’s clear the man intends to kill me here, and is just toying with me.

“Since we feel a little sorry for you and your hopeless plight, however,” he says, lifting his foot at last. “We have decided to let you live. That is, if you swear fealty to the Shibutani Group, and surrender all of your weapons.”

Moving in front me, he crouches down and smiles menacingly. “What do you say? Do you think you can live a normal life, without sneaking around and killing for money? Go to school, find love and fulfillment- for the first time in your pitiful life, be a legitimate member of society.

A switch flips at his words, and my leg regains its feeling. Using both legs to sweep him off his feet, I twist myself to his left side, reaching for his throat whilst using his body as a shield from the hidden gunman. However, he reacts swiftly, drawing his pistol from his belt and firing it wildly. The bullet hits my shoulder, stopping my arm from grasping his throat. Another gun-shot sounds from the east, and then several of different capacity follow.

The first shot hits my right elbow. Three more bullets of a different capacity fly over our heads as we grapple, and another strikes his gun, knocking it out of his hand and several meters away.

The man takes advantage of my wounded arms and leg, breaking free from me with a kick at my face. Staggering to his feet, he sprints down the alley until he’s out of sight. I look up in the direction of the gunfire, only to see a glimpse of a hooded figure retreating to the east, leaving two gunmen dead in the alley.

The scene shifts abruptly to a bland motel. I’m leaving the receptionist desk, lugging three black duffle bags over my shoulder. “I hope you enjoyed your stay,” the receptionist remarks in a monotone voice.

The scene shifts again, landing me in another glum motel atrium.

“Please enjoy your stay, Mr. Cathal,” the receptionist mutters, stifling a yawn. I retreat to the stairs with a wave, and follow his directions to my room. Upon entering the small, dimly lit room, I promptly treat my wounds. As I finish wrapping my leg, I begin to unpack my duffle bags. While laying the several dozen firearms across the small bed, I notice a small handwritten note on the bed-post.

“Wherever you go, we will know. Please check your illegal belongings in at the desk and give up.”

I drop the note to the floor, unable to move my empty hands. Slumping down on the bed, I glance over my duffle bags. Protruding from one bag are the broken pair of headphones I haven’t used in a year. I let my back fall onto the bed, and stare at the ceiling without any expression.

Minutes later, I’m walking away from the receptionist desk, only one small duffle bag over my shoulder. “Thank you for your stay,” he says, hauling the three large duffle bags over the counter top. Ignoring him, I take a step out into the dark night. I glance at my watch to find it’s 3AM. Unsure of my next destination, I wander the streets aimlessly, without attempting to go unseen.

“It’s over,” I mutter, my face still devoid of any expression or emotion.

The scene shifts to a familiar place. Gentle winds toss cherry-blossoms from their trees, one falling onto the keys of my laptop as I sit, typing out a message.

“I have been forced to give up my search due to circumstances out of my control. It is best to consider the matter over, and try to move on. I am very sorry….

-JC”

I click to send the message, and close the laptop without bothering to remove the cherry blossom, holding my head in my hands. Something like static noise reaches my ears, prompting me to peek through my enclosed hands. A slender, dark-haired girl approaches from the crowd of people attending a lecture in the middle of the park.

I had discovered this open-air lecture online in my search for something affordable to commit my time to, to show the people watching from the shadows that I’ve conceded to mixing in with society here.

This particular lecture was driven by a sort of cult of environmentalists led by scholars, professors, and professional environmentalists seeking to educate the community on the environment, and forest preservation.

Having tuned out most of the lecture whilst working up the courage to send my message, I had made eye contact with a particularly pretty girl, whose dark hair and tan skin captivated me. Much to my surprise, this same girl approaches as the lecture disperses, delivering a parting message to several friends. The words reach my ear as static noise for some reason, as I attempt to calm my nerves.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Her words pierce my ears like tiny needles, waking up my brain as a whole. I gaze upon her figure, adorned with jeans and a black leather jacket. Her deep brown eyes enrapture me, reminding me of my mother. I realize, while she waits for an answer with an innocent smile on her face, that I haven’t taken note of the color of any one person’s eyes since the last time I saw my mother.

“Not at all,” I answer her without hesitation, much to my own surprise. Broadening her smile, she takes a seat next to me. “I’m Genevieve. What’s your name?” she asks, setting her small bag on the table before turning her back to it to match my position.

“I’m… JC.”

“JC, huh?” she says with a curious look at me. The words that follow reach me as static once more, but our conversation continues for several hours, until the sun begins to set.

“I’ll see you at the next lecture?” she says softly.

“Right; I’ll be there.”

The scene shifts to another sunny day. Again, I’m at the same park, attending the same lecture. However, this time I’m seated in the grass with Genevieve and her friends. Once the lecture disperses, one of the friends who had been receptive to me joining, Gabriel, pulls me aside.

“So, JC, you understand the point of the lecture, right?” he asks pointedly, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Well, they’re teaching us how the earth’s environment is in danger, and how humans can utilize science to save it, right?”

“Yeah, of course that’s the content, but the main message? Anything you really took away?” he prods expectantly.

“I’m sorry. Not really.”

“I’ll help you out then; as long as you’re not just here for a girl, that is.”

“I was here before I met any of you, remember?” I say plainly, raising my brow at him.

“That’s true!” he responds with a chuckle. “Anyway, they might not be saying it outright, but the professor that referred us, Professor Kaisar, taught us the real take away- that in order to save the planet, we must treat the planet as God. God is almighty, and knows how to save the planet, but we must listen to him, to the planet itself.”

He pauses to make sure I’m listening. “Therefore, we must adhere to God’s will, which is to spread forestry like wildfire, and worship it as God himself!”

The scene shifts abruptly, pulling me into a bus filled with people. Genevieve sits next to me, dozing off while resting her head on my shoulder. I watch as she folds her hand into mine. Sensing someone’s gaze, I look up to see Gabriel peeking his head between the seats in front of us, smirking as he winks at me.

The scene shifts to our destination, a barren field where a fire had ravaged a small town. We spend hours tilling the earth, and planting trees that promise to grow taller than buildings in the city. As I work alone, a tall, slender man near my age approaches me.

“You must be JC,” he says, grinning earnestly at me through his spectacles.

“Yes, and you must be Professor Kaisar,” I respond. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says, shaking my hand. Gabriel and Genevieve have told me about you. It’s odd to meet someone so quiet yet well-spoken. You hail from Ireland, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“It is odd,” he says. “Your features strike me as Nordic rather than Irish.”

“I’m impressed you noticed,” I answer calmly. “You see, my parents were from Iceland. I was raised in Ireland.”

“So, you are Icelandic!” he responds heartily. “But you said were? Are your parents no longer around?”

“That’s correct,” I say, nodding plainly. “They passed in an accident when I was young.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says with a slight bow. “May I ask how you made it to Ireland? And here, for that matter!”

“I was born in Ireland,” I lie with a straight face. “I was passed around orphanages after a relative threw me out. Eventually, I managed to save enough money to come to Japan.”

“And why Japan?” he presses further, head cocked with curiosity.

“I’ve always been interested in neuroscience,” I answer honestly. “I heard that Shibuya hosted the most acclaimed branch of the World Neuroscience Institute.”

“So, you are interested in Worldbeaters, then?” he says with wide eyes, as if he’s thought of something.

“You could say that, yes.”

“Well, I happen to have a friend who works at their main lab,” he says with a grin. “Maybe I could introduce you someday?”

“That would be very kind of you,” I answer, looking him in the eye for the first time.

“Let’s plan on it,” he says with a nod. “In exchange, I hope you’ll continue to stay by Genevieve’s side, and be a beacon for us to enact God’s will to save the earth.”

“I want to be by her side, regardless,” I answer softly, looking down.

“Good,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m very happy for both of you.”

I nod silently as he walks away, before returning to the tree I’d been planting. The charming slender girl appears at my side, grinning precociously at my tree. Her words are stifled by static once more, as are my own. Our conversation slows in pace, and three more static-coated words leave her lips as they meet mine.

The scene shifts to a small pond in a forest. My head is submerged underwater, while the group cheers around us. As I come up, my gaze seeks out the one crying into her hands as she looks on. Unable to contain my emotions, I dash through the water towards her, embracing her while Gabriel and others laugh joyously.

The scene fades into another, two nights later. The Professor stands atop a stage at a performing arts center, speaking vehemently to a large crowd, whose cheers and gestures fuel him. I find myself standing alone in the crowd, listening intently to his words until I realize my friends aren’t anywhere around me. At the front of the stage, I find her, hands in the air and a glint in her eyes as she gazes at the Professor.

Assaulted by a strange feeling, I walk away from the crowd, and find a park bench to sit on outside the venue. I withdraw my phone, and check on Worldbeaters’ latest findings. They seem to be making progressions every week, paving the way for consciousness to be extracted in the near future.

Noticing an hour has gone by, I navigate my browser elsewhere, bringing up an old song of Shiburei’s. A tear leaves my eye as the song cascades to its emotional climax, and I close my phone’s display. Suddenly, Genevieve creeps over my shoulder, wearing the same precocious grin as always.

“What are you doing out here alone, Jean?”

She sits next to me, inquiring about the music. Her words are filled with static, but my muffled words barely reach my ears.

For the first time in my life, I explain Shiburei and her impact on my life. She listens while stroking my arm, but before I can explain why hearing her music now brought a tear to my eye, her lips move in on mine.

The scene shifts once more, bringing me to the site of another town razed by wildfire. I’m sitting down next to a pile of gardening tools. My dirtied hands swipe through pictures on my phone; a series of group photos of Genevieve, Gabriel, the Professor, and others. The caption “Day 4 in Kyoto!” leads the first photo.

Toggling over to my messages, I click on the message thread between her and I. My last message reads “Enjoy your trip! Let me know when you get settled in.” It was sent four days ago, with no response.

I slide my phone in my pocket, and continue planting trees alone while the sun sets.

The scene shifts again, this time to a small café. Gabriel sits across from me, wearing a somber look as he zooms in on a picture. In the corner of the shot of Gabriel and our other friend, I see the backside of a slender, dark-haired girl. There’s no doubt who it is. There is neither any doubt who the person locking lips with her is; the bespectacled Professor. As all sense of life seems to leave me, Gabriel shakes his head, whispering “I’m so sorry,” over and over.

A shutter clicks over the scene, bringing me rapidly to the next. I’m sitting on the same park bench where we met, allowing the pouring rain to soak through my clothes. She approaches me, already in tears, holding her phone in her hand. The rain belts down on us, drowning out even the static sound coming from her mouth as she bawls, unable to stop me from standing and leaving.

The shutter clicks once more, bringing me to a small office space. I’m wearing a suit and tie, and my long hair is tied back.

I stand up as the tall blond man walks in, and we clasp hands. “I am the Director of Worldbeaters,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, JC. Professor Kaisar spoke very highly of you.” My curt, formal reply is trodden over as he continues. “It seems you’ve been doing volunteer work with his “Anterra” environmentalist cult for a while- oh, poor choice of words, my apologies. His ideological organization, rather.”

I offer a polite chuckle, reassuring him that I’ve begun to rethink some of their principles, to which he effortlessly cuts me off once more.

“Yes, an interesting group. I, myself, derive my principles from a scientific perspective. It is important to listen to the very earth we tread on, but that does not make it our master. Rather, we should be its master, as our intelligence vastly outweighs its majesty.”

My words are once again consumed as if by a machine, and answered almost robotically before I can finish a sentence.

“Yes, I’m very pleased you agree, JC. But, of course you would, from what our mutual acquaintance, the righteous priest and professor, has said. It seems you’ve also done some intern work for our branch here during the last year. You are deeply interested in the art of neuroscience, are you? Oh, yes, but your area of study has been in social science- or sociology, correct? That is why you’ve helped us in collecting some data, and observing some of the citizenry that have registered under our neurological tracking machine.”

To my surprise, he allows me to reflect on my time observing for Worldbeaters, and how I’d taken an interest in observing social behavior ever since I moved to Japan. He seems to notice as I clench my fists while mentioning the Professor, but doesn’t raise his brow at it.

“Very well, a valuable piece of talent and interest. It’s no wonder the Professor suddenly insisted I give you a chance to work in the lab itself here at Worldbeaters Inc. You surely must have done great work for him, for him to assume such a great debt to you all of a sudden!”

My clenching fists shake without my consent, but I work hard to maintain my composure and deliver a generic response with a manufactured chuckle.

“Well, I must say, your professionalism lends itself through your speech and demeanor. I am rather impressed. It happens that I have a need for a social scientist much like yourself. You won’t need to work in the lab here just yet, as your tasks can be communicated to you at your home. Your workload would increase, so your ability to volunteer with the Professor might decline. Is that okay?”

I nod a fervent nod, assuring him that this is and will be my top priority.

“Very well, then,” he replies with a sly grin. “I believe this is the beginning of a very important working relationship, JC.”

The shutter clicks, bringing me to a lively pub. Gabriel clang his mug full of beer into mine, shouting congratulations along with other friends. Suddenly, my heart drops into my stomach as a slender, dark-haired girl walks in the bar, approaching me with a sullen smile.

The shutter clicks again, shifting to the rooftop of the same pub. The girl is standing next me, crying while tugging at my sleeve. Her words of regret come out as static, but they strike my heart nonetheless. My heart and mind compromise with each other, and my arms embrace her.

The shutter clicks harder and faster, finding us all together at another outdoor lecture. Gabriel grips my shoulder with a grin, while Genevieve holds my hand on the opposite side. My eyes are glued to the lecturer, a man I’ve been tasked with observing.

The shutter clicks even faster, landing me in the back of another crowded rally. Professor Kaisar preaches to his biggest crowd yet, while our group leads emphatic cheers from the front. My focus, however, is on several of the attendees, whom I’ve been tasked with observing. When they suddenly leave the rally early, so do I.

The shutter claps like thunder, shoving me in and out of the next several scenes before I can even fully process them. From dark alleys to restaurants and crowded streets, from my small apartment where I sit at a laptop for hours at a time, to lectures, rallies, and foresting outings which I always leave early. Each time, Genevieve seems disappointed to see me leave. In my spare time I plan dates with her, but they become more infrequent, and shorter each time.

In one instance, she accompanies me to a concert featuring The Blinking Owl, a group I had grown to love as a substitute for Shiburei’s music as they were partly inspired by her. She enjoys herself, grinning at me periodically, but eventually I catch her staring at the male guitarist with beaming eyes I’ve seen directed at someone else before.

The shutter clicks forcibly into the next scene. I’m storming down the stairs of her apartment building, rage bubbling inside me. She chases after me, holding her phone, and attempts to corral me while in tears. I pull away and make a run for the parking lot and climb into my new sports car, slamming the door in front of her. As she pleads for me to open the door, holding the phone in her hand while she cries, my rage grows. I throw my fist into the dashboard as hard as I can, smashing a dent into it and splitting my knuckles open.

The shutter clicks rapidly through another set of scenes, all depicting me alone in my bedroom. With each scene my hair and face grow more unkempt, and shadows under my eyes grow darker.

Finally, the shutter rests on a scene, wherein I am staring at my phone. A message pops up, reading: “What do you want to do, Jean?”

My reply reads: “I want to work things out by talking. But how do you feel?”

My heart drops at the reply, reading: “I don’t know how I feel. I just wish you would be a better beacon for God.”

I type out a short message before setting my phone down on the floor next to me. The screen begins to dim while displaying my words, “goodbye, then.” As a response is being drafted, the screen goes dark, and I turn to lay on my side, shutting my eyes.

The shutter clicks rapidly once again, showing different angles of my room as it grows more cluttered by delivered food remnants. Eventually, the scenery of the room changes to an even smaller room with white walls and nondescript décor. Through every scene, the only constant is my laptop screen, which remains on, allowing me to view surveillance footage of my subjects before typing up and sending my reports to my coworker at the lab, Mathais.

Suddenly, I’m wrenched from my room with a thunderous click of the shutter, and brought to a slightly more spacious room where I sit across an older, bearded man.

“Let’s continue where we left off,” he says softly. “What are your thoughts and feelings today? Your mental state has been declining yet again, according to the reports.”

“Lately, I’ve only been dreaming one dream,” I say without any expression. “I’m in a wasteland, as if the world has been destroyed.”

As I speak, my consciousness takes me to the place I’ve seen in my dreams frequently since coming to Japan, and every night since I stopped going to any Anterra events or lectures. The stale air in the deserted wasteland weighs me down, bringing me to my knees. Across from me, the man in the deep diving suit stands menacingly, preparing to throw the boisterous ball of flames my way. This time, something stops me from running away. Instead, I stare it down as it grows larger, threatening to swallow me up. For some reason, I no longer want to run from its heat. It begins to consume me, but stops as I throw my hands into it, and push back on it.

The mass pushes hard, but I persist. Within its light, I begin to see flashes of the place I once went to when I was in a state of desperation. The place among the stars, where my ethereal body floated amidst an otherworldly vehicle of power. The singularity my parents always sought, where I alone viewed an imminent collision with the earth. It was the place in which I glimpsed upon my ghost-like hands that held nothing in their grasp despite the power laying at my feet.

I had, all along, sought a piece of a dream. Maybe it was to replace the piece I had known so well yet lost. I don’t like that, though. I’d like to think the ‘something’ that I sought was what I had truly needed all along. Not that I ever believed in fate or any of that. Just that some things happen to be made for people, some people made for other people, and so on. That’s bound to happen with everything thrown together to make the world what it is.

The only way I can look at it now is that she was a distraction, an existence aimed at thwarting my dream. The more I became immersed in her world, the more I abandoned my dream. For that reason, I can’t think that she was a bump in the road that helpfully steered me in the right direction. Rather, she was a nail in the road, the spare tire, the empty tank, the gas pump, and the ravine. I once told her she had stabbed my heart to bits, but she was the only one that could repair it. I think I engraved that mentality into my beaten heart that very day, and to this day, despite the bitter, pessimistically sobered worldview my pathetic mind built, that mentality somehow persists. It slips through the cracks of the carefully paved walls of logic I have built, and pulls me back to such a pitiful state of mind.

I see the light for what it is. The truth I seek is within my grasp, filling me up with its light. So much that it feels as though I will implode if I hold it any longer. Therefore, I throw the ball, back in the direction of the man in the deep diving suit.

The great fire within the ball illuminates the visor of the man’s diving helmet, finally shining through to the inside. Finally, the phantom I’ve been battling against all this time, is revealed.

The face of a cowardly man, eyes wide in fear, lays before me. His visage is that of someone lost and broken. Someone whose lack of sleep shows through his shadowy eyes. Whose lack of interest in himself shows through his patchy beard.

The man staring back at me is none other than the man I currently am. And, just like me, he fails to hold onto the ball. With a desperate look on his face, he pushes it back toward me. Like clockwork I send it back to him, and he back to me. Both of us, as weak as ever, bounce our dream back to the other, unable to hold on.

Every time his face illuminates within the helmet, I think on how much I need to change. If that is what I look like, I must become stronger. Even if I’ve crafted a certain sense of myself in the months spent hiding in my room, having broken communication with everyone outside the lab, I cannot grasp my dream while I’m still so weak.

Therefore, I force myself to change. I return to reality, harden myself to my feelings, and begin expanding my work. With another rapid set of shutter clicks, I find myself reconnecting with Gabriel, spending time at his home with his unwell mother, and talking through everything with him. He apologizes for remaining friends with the one who broke me, and failing to reach out to me. With kind, forgiving words I gain his favor, and continue to spend time with him, aiding with his mother.

At my apartment, I’m sent notes that detail Gabriel’s psyche, the monitoring of his consciousness, and the newly quantifiable personality. Mathais’ notes confirm something I had been suspecting: that during his time taking care of his mother, whom he loved wholly, he harbored feelings of bitterness and regret that he would not dare to show anyone.

I begin to test him, prodding for triggers that may bring these feelings to the surface. However, he remains steadfast. Perhaps because he still attends lectures and services held by the Professor, albeit seldom.

He remains the same, until a new development is made in the lab- at last, they discover the means to extract and manipulate the nerve impulses of the ‘registered’ subjects, specifically in regards to their personality. Since the ultimate goal remains the manipulation of consciousness, I’m tasked with observing the effects of a manipulated personality.

As if a switch is turned, Gabriel becomes a different person. He breaks down, exploding at me and his mother. It’s almost as if he knows of my involvement, as he blames me for his break-down before going on a rampage in the city. Eventually, he’s arrested, and his rapidly changing personality continues to be monitored daily.

Mathais’ leading report notes that Gabriel had, hidden under the surface, traits of borderline personality disorder and multiple personality disorder. In a profound development, it seems that through the particle collider used to manipulate his personality, we effectively shifted that very personality to a state of mania in which these disorders were given a path to surface.

The lab is thrown into uproar by the new finding, and I’m promoted to Chief Social Scientist and given access to several divisions of the lab. My pay skyrockets, and I meet with the Director weekly to brief him on my projects and many different subjects. The prospects of my future grow, and with it, my new goal comes to life; the possibility of reaching the singularity through Worldbeater’s technology.

With a click of the shutter, however, I return to the room with the bearded doctor, where I lay on a sofa. “You have been doing much better, JC,” he says with a smile. “However, your own measurables still show to be a bit troublesome, which is why you will continue to undergo treatment. Where would you say you are at in your mental journey? How about that dream you cannot quite solve?”

Again, I’m thrust into the wasteland as I recall my experiences to him. The ball continues to go back and forth, though I can feel the difference in resoluteness between myself and the weak, broken me in the deep diving suit. My throws grow stronger and more precise, in an attempt to annihilate his pitiful existence.

However, nothing changes. He continues to thrive, to dazedly throw the ball back to me. I wrack my brain, attempting to understand him, in order to crush him. If I can, I might be able to grasp a hold of the boisterous ball with my own power.

I study his eyes, and find in them the most pitiful truth: that his strength lay in his brokenness. His weakness allowed me to change, to become stronger. All of his pain was necessary to build my strength.

Looking into his eyes, I truly understand. None are really supposed to see these things the way I do. Any that do are shamed by society, given a stigma they can never separate from. They’re bums, losers, recluses, and so on. It’s because they abandoned the natural path humans are supposed to take. That is, to seek happiness and approval, immersing yourself in what society has to offer and taking the bad with the good on the journey to your happiness.

I started showing signs of deviance to this path early on, and grew sick of the usual flow of emotional ups and downs. “Another good day.” “Had a really bad day.” “I’m going to make this a good day!” My mindset began warping rapidly, and I no longer felt those ups and downs. And I was content that way. There was no need to reaffirm myself, prop myself up, or scrutinize myself. I let my mind decide what brought it peace, uncertainty, and unpleasantness. All preconceived notions and extraneous outside perceptions aside. This was the beginning to my utopia.

Still, the weak me tried to cast me into the never-ending line for the pursuit of happiness. And for some years, it worked. I fell into a new world and found real happiness. I would be cast in despair, uplifted and enriched, and eventually back on the road to turmoil. A constant cycle, but one that I was fine with, because I was opening my eyes to the concept of love more than I ever had. It wasn’t until this love that blinded my more practical senses began to show its wavering that I began to remember-

-my goals; I finally hardened my heart to everything but my dreams. There isn’t anything that can get in the way at this point. If there was, it would mean all the time I thought I wasted, and all the time I spent rebuilding myself, would truly be for nothing.

If I waver, I will lose to myself. I will fall back into my most pitiful state, one I won’t be able to recover from again. That’s why I must remain as strong as I am now. There is no going back to the other me.

However, that is where his strength lies; he has the power to drag me down to his level, unsure of anything. Will I always be bouncing my dream back and forth between myself and the me that couldn’t get over the past? The ball is in my court now. I cannot simply throw it back in the attempt to erase him; it’s as good as running away. I have to hold on to it, for my sake. If he gets it, he’ll dazedly send it back, looking only at what he’s lost.

And if I am him, I will be stuck in that process for the rest of my life, not knowing which me is which. Without a doubt, this dream is the only way I can save myself. However, if something truly beautiful were to appear and force me to reevaluate myself once more…

While I hold onto the ball with all my strength, the shutter clicks. Only the image of a room full of processors remains. The sound of Aku’s voice as he addresses me fills my ears as the image is replaced, along with another click, by the image of two girls lying motionless in their beds, connected to machines.

My mind, seeking a reprieve from the onslaught of memories, goes to the most peaceful place it knows: the pier in Reykjavik. The buildings I had previously looked into are closed off, leading me down the path in search of the nostalgic festival music. Somewhere far down the pier, I see Mary and Mirei walking together. I reach my hand out in their direction, before retracting it.

Because, within my other hand, the great fiery ball expands, growing so big that it blots out all other sights and sounds and turns my most peaceful dream into a fiery battlefield. Through it all, I refuse to let go. I hold on tight, as blinding light consumes all.

I wake from my dream, drenched in sweat and struggling to catch my breath. The theater screen goes black as I hunch over, holding my head in my hands while Mary and Mirei remain silent.

“Now you see who I really am,” I mutter through choppy breaths. “Awfully normal and perfectly flawed, fixated on keeping my broken mind from collapsing; what I’m really fighting for is nothing more than my own selfish desire for self-preservation. And for that, I’ll sacrifice any of the things I once held close to my heart.”