DREAMONICS

VIRAL

There were civilizations before ours, before the destruction of Earth, and the exodus of the humans to the underground, that gave another meaning to the word "viral". We discovered ancient texts buried somewhere deep within the ruin of Teppelin, memories of another generation that dared to rise against their fate. Dictionaries, books, medical journals – they defined viral as "of relating to, or caused by, a virus". Heh. When the humans emerged from the underground, they didn't even know what viruses were. Seven years have passed, and they've demonstrated their extraordinary capacity for growth, leaping from the discovery of viruses, to their manipulation for medicinal and technological purposes. Seven years. Once, it would've been a significant length of time, but Lordgenome changed that.

Perhaps that was his joke – naming me Viral. Something destructive, dangerous, clinging to humanity and leeching from them. Forever entwined with them, forever a witness. Observe, record. Dreams of glorious battles and victories were just that – dreams. I'd never fancied being a scholar, but we never were supposed to fancy anything, just bow to Lordgenome's wishes and continue being the obedient Beastmen he created us to be.

Reflection doesn't seem to make me any happier or content, but these quiet moments, between organising the humans and other Beastmen, between the skirmishes and battles… These thoughts rise unbidden, and cloud my mind.

"Sir, the telecommunications team have managed to take apart the enemy's transmitters located about five kilometres west from our location. The enemy's communications are ineffective around the areas they have marked here on our maps, and Yeni estimates they'll have groups out for repairs within three days."

The woman seems to stop, waiting for some response. You can almost hear the tension, hear her bouncing on her feet and eagerly awaiting some praise or emotion from me. I glance upwards.

Not a woman, a Beastwoman. Huh. Her voice confused me. So delicate, poised almost. Beastmen tend to have unmistakeable accents – turns out our anatomy isn't suited to human languages. The more humanoid among us can learn to speak almost flawlessly, but Cytomander's thugs used to be damn intelligible. Those birds and those beaks couldn't pronounce two-thirds of the alphabet, and seemed to prefer squawking and shrieking, instead.

"Good, miss..?"

She blushes. Cute.

"Sakarn. Miss Sakarn."

The rest of the conversation wasn't memorable for me, but Sakarn always brought up "our first conversation" with such enthusiasm, such… excitement. I'll confess, romance hadn't entered my mind at that point. She was an attractive Beastwoman, but who needed romance when there was the capital to contend with, and rebellions to organise? And who needed a partner who would doubtlessly see her pass away, and see her children pass away, and her grandchildren, and so on?

Immortality is lonely. Immortality is a curse.

She persisted, though. She didn't strike me as stubborn or demanding, but more and more reports seemed to come from the telecommunications team, and for more and more frivolous things. It was amusing, to see her make excuses to come to me, and then pretend that the most inconsequential enemy conversation was important to the cause. The enemy was thinking about raising taxes within the capital. The enemy was considering sending sanitary workers to the out-lying settlements. The enemy scratched himself at 10:00 this morning. She knew what she was doing, and we'd have this game, me leaning forward and nodding, asking her grave and serious questions about the latest gossip. She'd suppress a smirk and emphasise how every communication was an advantage. Reports went from once every few days, to once every afternoon, and for once, the regular intrusions weren't bothersome.

Viral, becoming attached? It was ridiculous, impractical. Had Lordgenome heard about these things… Well, Lordgenome wasn't here. There wouldn't be any consequences. It wouldn't affect our position. Excuses, excuses.

The most common of them was that I deserved it. I deserved to have someone. I deserved happiness. It was entitlement, payment for the suffering that had been inflicted upon me. She adored me, and no one was going to stop me from taking advantage of that. Advantage was the wrong word, perhaps. I needed the companionship. Someone who supported me. She gave me these things, and what she received for them… Who knows? She does, and she won't ever give me a straight answer for that particular question.

It's been four years since that particular meeting. The capital haven't been conquered and razed, which would've disappointed the younger and more brutal Viral, but we have reached an agreement that benefits me and my cause. Humans are permitted to return to underground settlements and settlements outside the capital. Humans are to maintain their numbers below 900,000, through the wide-spread use of contraception and strict breeding programmes. Beastmen, of course, share none of these restrictions, and have found ways to circumnavigate our biology, and-

"Papa!"

There's a blonde blur and a collision, followed by more excited squealing.

"Papa, Papa! You promised me a story! You promised one before you leave!"

My daughter. Mine. She's breath-taking. Every now and then, she catches me with my guard down, and completely stuns me with her existence. A marvel of human technology, no doubt. Unmistakable mine, or ours.

Sakarn appears behind her, moving gracefully and gently. She smiles – no smirking around our daughter, just genuine beams of happiness. She saps away my cynicism, and Sakarn's sarcastic, playful (another surprise to me) comments. I'm supposed to be travelling to the capital soon, for the anniversary celebrations. Sakarn doesn't want to come – the city's too noisy and crowded for her liking. Little Lena's too young to understand the fuss – maybe another few years, and she'll be standing proudly beside me, knowing that her father was the one that brought stability to the Earth, the one that forced the humans to cap their population, and make a proper peace with the Beastmen. For now, she just understands one aspect of the anniversary.

"I wanna hear about the battle, Papa! About the Gunmen and the fighting, and how you fought the Simon!"

"Just Simon, darling."

"How you fought the Just Simon?"

She laughs at her own joke. It's infectious. I'm supposed to be leaving within the next few minutes, and the sound of my transport can be heard rumbling over the horizon. It doesn't matter. My princess wants a story.

"Let's move outside, and you'll have your story!"

Sakarn's watching me. Another time, this would've made me uncomfortable and embarrassed. Exaggerated gestures, voices for the different characters… It's undignified for one of the leaders of the Earth, and undignified for a former solider of Lordgenome. But dignity's a stupid concept to have around a child – they'll just laugh and accuse you of being boring. Lena loves the voices and the arm-waving, so that's what she gets. I suspect Sakarn enjoys them too – or she she's seems to mysteriously appear whenever they're happening, anyway. A smirk threatens to break out, and her eyes twinkle playfully whenever we glance back to her.

"Papa had fought against Simon and his Gurren Lagann gunman many, many, many times, but this time Papa knew he would beat him. He had your mother and a huge army behind him, and we had made our own discoveries and improvements to our gunmen. Simon thought that he didn't need many reinforcements, because he thought the people in that capital were the strongest, and that the people outside the capital couldn't possibly be as good as they were."

"Simon was wrong, though!"

"Hah, yes. There was a massive battle. Papa thought Simon would win, but then Papa remembered that he needed to win for the people that supported Papa, and the people who didn't want to be controlled by the capital. So Papa gathered up his strength and-"

"Papa?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Did your gunmen look like this?"

Her hands are covered with dust, and a scribble has been scratched into the earth. It's something similar to those cartoon robots she watches on the television, but has a pointed teeth, shaggy hair, and a stick-figure representing myself clinging haphazardly to the outside. I smile.

"That's close, yeah! When you're older, you come to the capital on the anniversary and see Papa's gunmen."

"They have your gunmen? Why?"

"They've made a memorial with my gunmen, so everyone can come and see him whenever they want! They have Simon's gunmen, and tonnes of other gunmen for people to come and see."

"You had the best gunmen, right?"

Your father doesn't have the best gunmen, he has the best people around him. That's what won the war, Lena. People working together."

Sakarn reaches down to where we're sitting, and gently massages the back of my head. Hmm… The celebrations are such an intrusion. We could ignore them, send Lena to the other children and enjoy each other's company… My transport's visible, now. The ceremonial ships. No gunmen, of course. A symbol of battle and war. We've moved passed those, and no one wants to be reminded of the past.

Sighing and standing. It's time to leave. Lena makes an annoyed face, but stands with me.

"Lena, darling, don't you have something for Papa?"

Her face goes blank, but suddenly brightens.

"Yes, Mama! Papa, don't leave! You need to wear my present!"

She sprints back to the house, carving a path through the long, swaying grass. I laugh. It's a good afternoon, and the evening promises to be bearable, despite the fanfare and pomp. It was always nice to stand beneath my loyal gunmen and shake the hand of the digger boy, see his mouth tighten but graciously accept his own defeat. The animosity has faded away, leaving behind a somewhat-mutual respect – and, most importantly, the knowledge that I won. I saved them, from themselves, and bested him.

"Papa, here!"

Lena jumps and shoves something down onto my head, giggling. She backs away, looking at me shyly.

"I made it myself, from the flowers by the river."

One of the flowers gently brushes my forehead, the scent intoxicating. I'm smiling, again.

"It's beautiful."

"Really?!"

"Yes-"

Her mouth's moving excitedly, but nothing seems to be coming out. The whole scene flickers, the noise dies.

"Huh?"

A deafening blast comes from nowhere, accompanied by a bright green machine streaking along the sky. That machine, that's…

No. Gurren Lagann.

Please, no.

It's sickening, watching decades of memories and relationships disappear, watch your daughter babbling and not being able to hear her, not being able to speak to her, not being able to… Fuck. It was a stupid dream. We can't reproduce. Stupid, stupid.

Sakarn. My bride. Was she just another dream, another fantasy? She turns to me, her hands outstretched for an embrace that won't ever happen. Her eyes are watering, her mouth trembling. Her face displays the thoughts and emotions running through me, but there's no time for this.

Gurren Lagann roars, an emerald streak on sapphire skies. It's coming back to me – the mission, the alliance and friendship with Simon, protecting our corner of the universe against the forces of the Anti-Spirals.

"It's… It's time for goodbye."

Sakarn can't hear me, and neither can Lena, but they seem to wave me away, encouraging me. It's time. My voice catches.

"I love you."