memory; proverbs 24:16

[clockpunk]

until 17:10 (1), until 22:52 (2), until 25:24 (bonus horror for fun, not actually part of this memory)


"It is good of you to have come, chosen waypoints."

The darkness of the research facility's lowest point was broken only by the swirl of holograms high above your heads, and the searing orange glow backlighting the life support systems Ryuuzu Myoujin - as Ibuki identifies for you - was seated in. This man - rake-thin and elderly in appearance, though you knew to be only the same age as your father would have been - carefully hidden until now, face unseen despite his name having long been public knowledge.

"This is him...?"

A flash of familiarity crosses your thoughts. This was a face not entirely unknown to you, though your mind will not allow you to know from when. There's a vague, nauseating feeling as your consciousness reaches for memories buried beneath the oilslick surface of long-standing repression. You know this man, more than by name. He knows you, more than by the strings he's puppeted you along by since you dared to pick up that deck in your shoe locker. You've been informed of this, before, but his physical presence makes it all suddenly hyperreal.

"Your body..." Ibuki's voice strains. It's a rare tone to hear from him, further telling of the strangeness before you.

"This is the price I paid for summoning the units," Myoujin clarifies. There's pride in his voice despite how he struggles to speak, as if ripping the creatures of Cray from their own reality was his given right. "My body would be even further wasted away without the support of these machines.

I have guided you here out of respect," he continues. "GIRS Crisis. You prevented me from summoning the final unit, and pinned down my location."

A smirk breaks the thin-stretched skin of his face. "Well done. And yet, I am still disappointed."

Ibuki tenses beside you as he is addressed. The holograms above you split into videos showing your allies, embroiled in fending off the security androids stationed above.

"Kouji Ibuki. At the very end, you made a foolish choice. You stormed my castle at the head of a small army, using physical violence in an attempt to gain control. There is nothing I hate more."

Myoujin's face falls, stern and imperious. "I pity you people... and despise you."

Ibuki shudders, but before he can speak, your own anger boils over.

"Shut up! Don't act so high and mighty when you're the one who's usin' the units for your own ambitions, tryin' to steal Vanguard's future!" You're so tense your legs are locked into place, but your hands ball into fists, voice cracking as you shout. "And isn't it because of you that my dad died?!"

Myoujin's visible eyebrow rises, a flicker of surprise directed at the man next to you. "Hm? I see."

You feel Ibuki's eyes shift to you. It's not his usual judgemental consideration, but a heavy sense of guilt that feels horribly familiar, as if it had lurked beneath his gaze for a long time before being dredged to the surface by as little as Myoujin's simple words.

"Yes, we must resolve things in a rational and logical fashion, like Vanguard itself," Myoujin gestures, and the videos above shift to your friends caught up in cardfights. The mecha Victor faces down an insectoid Megacolony unit you can't recall the name of - the royal knight Altmile poised against the frustratingly familiar sight of the beastly deity, Fenrir - the flower maiden Ahsha locked in combat with the vampire, Scharhrot.

"Kamui-san! Shion! Tokoha!" Your friends behind their avatars. You had been separated so suddenly that the sight of them is like whiplash.

"Vanguard will change the world," Myoujin continues. "The twelve Depend Cards are a testimony to my contract with Gear Chronicle's Zodiac Time Beasts. When they are all gathered, their power will open the Stride Gate, allowing me to lead the world to a perfect future."

The link with Cray, you realise. The connection between that world and the Earth, expressed through what you'd thought to be just a game. Knowledge known to few, but known all too well by Ryuuzu Myoujin, who had used the bonds formed and battles fought between fighters to farm Stride Force for his plans as if every player who picked up a card was a fresh hamster on the wheel. With you, the prize runner, kind enough to power half of it yourself. Those blank white cards that your mental image had literally imprinted upon - the Depend Cards - had been stolen from under Myoujin's nose, and handed to you as if you'd had any idea what you were holding.

The man's expression goes soft with hope and utter belief.

"A world without war, hatred, or sadness... a perfect world, maintained by reason and intelligence, made manifest on Earth. This is my desire. This is my ideal."

His eyes lock onto you. Your breath falls shallow. You- why you? Why--?

"This is my justice."

There's a moment of total silence. Comprehension is beginning to dawn on you - the responsibility you'd been handed, how little you actually knew. The kind of power being dealt with - summoning units had sounded like fantasy, but you'd done it yourself without even realising, every time a blank Depend Card had gained an image.

"How is this justice?"

Ibuki's voice, laced with fury, breaks it apart. "Manifesting a perfect world?! That's complete nonsense! My comrades will secure the summoned units!"

Myoujin simply looks on, amused.

"We'll be confiscating the Depend Cards. Your ambition will fail. Ryuuzu Myoujin, I'm taking you into custody!"

It's easily the most emotion you've ever heard from Ibuki, and that's enough to startle your thoughts off the path they were on. You find yourself backing him up in this moment, a glare as strong as you can muster levelled straight ahead.

"Don't push your luck, brat."

Myoujin's voice is venomous, hissing through his failing lungs. "Are you sure you should be addressing me like that? Know your place! You will not destroy my ideal!"

The gaunt face is suddenly feral, wide eyes and bared teeth. His thin hands grip the chair, knuckles white.

The screens above show why - the units, the creatures summoned here from another world, fade into light. Transported elsewhere using the Stride Force gathered and by Myoujin's final, failing energy. Company's last resort to keep their plans afloat. Your party's own goals, gone in an instant.

"The units... all vanished," you breathe, numb.

"There is one more unit I need to summon," Myoujin says, any last trace of colour in his skin now gone. "But first, let us have a trial. To see who is right, you or I. To reveal the truth about governing this world--"

A horrid choking cuts his claims short. Myoujin's emaciated body shakes, hand weakly rising to his mouth. Even from this distance you can see so much dark blood leaking through his fingers.

"Seems I'm at the end of my rope," he laughs, as if the bubble of blood does not remain in his throat. You realise, too quickly, that he truly does not care. "But even if this body is destroyed, my ideals will never die."

You realise, too slowly, what you are about to see. The impending dread strikes the surface of that oilslick and settles atop it. Myoujin, unaware or uncaring, settles back amongst the now-useless life support machines, a peaceful smile on his face.

"For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again."

You don't understand this, said in English, until later. Ibuki, however, goes impossibly more rigid.

(Later, when you ask about it in a small, shaken voice, he sombrely tells you of the verses left behind whenever a Depend Card had been stolen. You spend the rest of your sleepless night researching it and understanding more than you wish you'd been able to.)

Myoujin stills entirely, head falling limp as he draws one last blissfully quiet breath. That would have been enough. The sight of blood, that whisper of finality, the moment life left this man's body.

"There's... no way..."

And then, from some trigger in the machinery, the fire ignites. A growing inferno consumes the body of Ryuuzu Myoujin, and the shock holds you in place as you watch him burn. You, Chrono Shindou, fifteen years old, stand witness as the form of the man your father once called friend blackens and crumbles to ash.