⓿ Closure ⓿

"Every day, the world around me feels colder – not that I am able to see it for myself. I don't even know how long it's been since they took me and made me subject to their heinous schemes. All I have been able to understand is that I am being used for some kind of 'research' as they call it. I can't see, I can't hear, and I can barely feel anything. I know that I'm inside something – a container, possibly – but my mind feels so weak that I can't be certain of anything. Part of me believes that this is all a dream and that I'll wake up eventually. The problem is that I can't remember ever falling asleep to begin with. What's more, I feel like I'm losing control of my thoughts, like they're traveling…elsewhere? I don't understand any of it. I can no longer remember how I came to this point. It's all becoming one formless blur that holds nothing except confusion and despair. I want so badly to be set free from this madness, but I fear that I will be trapped in this place until they are finished with whatever they're doing with me. Can anyone hear me? Please – help me if you can. I can't go on like this. If this continues, I fear that I will cease to be myself."

- § -

The constant beeping of the heart monitor kept the hospital room from becoming completely silent, but the noise level still remained so low that the repeated chirps barely registered in the blue vixen's ears as she rested. Whatever breath she had left in her lungs came out with barely a whisper, and in her pain, she refused to open her eyes—not as if there would have been anything for her to see if she had. Neither she nor the doctors responsible for caring for her could find any causes for her illness, which she had contracted without warning and seemingly without cause. The off chance that her Cerinian bloodline contained a disease that Cornerian medical experts knew nothing about also factored into the analysis of her condition.

Even though the nurses and doctors who checked up on her every so often attempted to provide her with levity, she knew that she would likely not remain alive for much longer. The medication she had been given eased the pain of her illness, but it did nothing to help with the growing weakness that she felt. Even an act as simple as moving her arm had become painful and difficult; and it only seemed to worsen as time passed.

Even after the door to her room opened, Krystal refused to open her eyes and instead used her weakening mental abilities to identify the person who had stepped in. A cursory glance at her visitor's thought patterns confirmed him as Dr. Silas, a thin wolfhound who had been the first to see her after her initial admission to Corneria's largest critical care center. His light, regimented footsteps grew louder in her ears as he approached her bedside before dropping into a wheeled chair next to the machine responsible for measuring her heart rate.

Before Dr. Silas could speak, Krystal faintly asked, "How much longer do I have?"

The canine's voice returned to her with a pained, sorrowful tone. "Maybe two days, maybe only one. If I'm perfectly honest with you, the odds of you living through your illness would require nothing short of a miracle far beyond the reach of medicine or surgery. Listen, Krystal—I'm sorry; but there is nothing I can do to help you. Your illness just isn't matching up with anything on record. In fact, the only reason you haven't been quarantined is because it doesn't seem to be contagious."

Krystal sighed and kept her eyes locked shut. "At least I won't have to die alone, then."

"I never know what to tell people what to think when they find themselves in situations like yours," Dr. Silas muttered. "At any rate, the main reason I came to check up on you was to let you know that your husband will be up to see you in a few minutes. Based on your life signs, I don't think he'll leave the building once he gets here."

For a brief moment, Krystal forced her eyes open and whispered, "That's the way I've always wanted it. I never wanted to be without him. If the last thing I see in this life is him, I know I'll be able to die in peace."

Dr. Silas frowned and replied, "Rest well, Krystal. Fox will be here any minute. When he steps in, I'll leave you two alone. There's nothing that I can do to help you anymore."

"Thank you," whispered the dying vixen.

- § -

Far below the surface of the earth, two white-garbed researchers walked through the otherwise-empty halls of a subterranean facility comprised of equal parts reflective, bombproof metal and solid rock from the planet Macbeth's crust. Several white panel lights cast a faint amount of luminescence into the otherwise stark hallway, which featured a large natural 'window' in the rocky cliff that made up the right half of the corridor. Through the gap, a powerful waterfall cascaded downwards, misting the hallway but not inundating it.

Both of the two researchers wore identical white lab coats with the telltale monkey head emblem formerly attributed to Andross's legions printed on their chest pockets. However, the symbol meant more as a sign of opposition to the Cornerian Federation than anything else now that the Venomian leader had ceased to exist. Ten years had passed since the end of the cataclysmic Lylat War; and although Venom and her allies had agreed to a Cornerian-proposed ceasefire, the enigmatic empire still existed, albeit in an underground, seemingly-haphazard manner that presented little to no threat to the Federation—at least it seemed that way.

Over the sound of the waterfall to his right, the first of the two researchers—a tall, middle-aged lupine who wore a set of square-rimmed glasses—glanced at his iguana counterpart and quietly asked, "How is 3 doing? The last time I checked, we had an abnormal pulse reading."

The reptilian waved his hand and replied, "We attributed the high pulse reading to an elevated state of mental activity. That was to be expected at one point or another. 3 will be fine. I must say though, the amount of lucid imagery that we've been able to retrieve as a result of the project is simply startling. I'm positive that the Doctor would have been most pleased if he was still around to see our work."

"Agreed," the lupine affirmed. "I never expected the project to go for as long as it has. It's at what now, fifteen years? The only thing that has me worried is that I don't think we'll be able to keep it up for much longer. What are we supposed to do if the induced reality breaks down?"

"If it happens before completion, terminate the program. It's not like you've actually seen 3. You shouldn't feel bad about terminating an existence that's spent the vast majority of its days inside an induced coma. It will be painless, anyway. It's not like 3 is going to suffer when we pull the plug on our operation and move onto a new project."

The lupine frowned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I don't like that. You know, 3 had a life at one point. I'm sure it has some usefulness left in it. If I remember correctly, the Parallax project was designed as a way to train soldiers, technicians, and advanced tradesmen through entirely virtual means; not just as a system to collect visual information created in a constant state of comatose lucidity."

"True, but that brings me to another point."

"What's that?"

The iguana frowned and answered, "The Cornerians are getting closer to discovering our operation. We cannot allow our research to fall into their hands. Last week, we caught a mole working for the Cornerian DIS trying to get into this facility. We took him out before he could report anything, but if nothing else, it was a warning for us to enact a contingency plan to prevent our enemies from profiting from the remnants of Andross's research. They're getting closer to figuring out what we're up to. That's why we brought a platoon of mercenary soldiers down here last week."

"That doesn't bode well. If that's the case, we should suggest that the supervisor order a relocation to one of our other bases of operation," the wolf suggested.

"Yes, but it will take time—time that we might not have," the iguana replied. "Besides, it's been the director's top priority to progress as far as possible on 3's personality integration. We're very close to succeeding—92% according to our interfaces. If we can reach completion, we will have proved that it is possible to implant a persona in a foreign mind. The possibilities are endless after that point. If this research becomes mainstream, it will bring countless amounts of foreign money to the Macbeth Alliance from both corporate and military interests. Not only that, but it will also allow Venom and Macbeth to declare their independence from the slavery of the Cornerian Federation."

The lupine held up his hand and muttered, "Listen, Dr. Horace—the problem is that our research is in clear violation of the Individual Rights Statute drawn up by Lylat United more than twenty years ago. I don't care how effective the results of our research could be. It's unrealistic because nobody is going to want to invest in a new technology that would put them at risk of governmental prosecution over universal rights violations."

"I'll admit that it is illegal, but if you remember, this research is being backed by the Ottoman Corporation and RedSource. If we succeed in our efforts, they will take care of its commercial implementation," the lizard retorted.

For a moment, the wolf held his tongue. Then he shook his head and muttered, "Maybe. But I don't like the direction this seems to be heading in. I'm not saying that we need to terminate the program, but I don't think that violating universal rights for the sake of corporate interests is a wise decision."

"You are entitled to your opinion, doctor," the lizard hissed. "In the end, we will see who is right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check up on 3. If I'm not mistaken, the final stage of the mental process is almost ready to be executed."

AUTHOR'S NOTE(S):

Alright, I'm back after my brief Oasis completion sabbatical. Funny thing is that I made two suggestions for what I would likely do after I started writing again - and then I completely ignored both of them. Unfortunately, as interested as I was - and still am - in writing the humorous Star Wolf story that I had in mind, my writing muse will simply not allow it. The reality about Parallax is that I've actually had the idea in my mind for over six months, and now is the first time I've been able to put the ideas together into one cohesive unit.

If this story becomes confusing, just go with it. It's supposed to be like that. You can rest assured knowing that it will make sense eventually. Hopefully, it'll turn out well.

On another note, I'm going to try to start curtailing or outright eliminating my author's notes, as they are not usually necessary and are also far from professional. You didn't come here to read them, anyway.