Chapter 7: Dizzy Maniac
The images he saw were memories he had long buried deep within himself, flashes of others who were now dead. Rock had long thought the bodies left in his wake would not bother him anymore but that was an idealistic hope, one that proved false. As he looked on at the other people in the market, he watched them going about their business from his seat. The bowl of noodles sat in front of him. He hadn't touched it, nor was he feeling particularly hungry. He was more concerned with the people around him. They did not pay him any mind, but his eyes followed their every movement. There was nothing of note about them at first, but after a while, they all shared the same thing in common. In his mind, a red cross appeared on all their faces. It wasn't that they would die in this city, it was that they had already done so long ago. Some were like Revy, accepting their fates and living without the fear of being killed, something she claimed would set you free. Others pressed on to survive through the worst, though in doing so unwillingly accepted their own doom. They had resigned themselves to living in this city, to continuing on as one of the walking dead.
As he watched them all, multiple faces flashed before Rock's eyes, faces he was not sure he wished to remember. Gretel, the young Romanian girl with a hole in her head; Yukio Washimine, the heir to the Yakuza leadership in Tokyo; Gregor, the member of Godswrath whose death had been ordered by Rock personally when he succumbed to his inner darkness completely; Hunter Woods, the man who almost ended Hotel Moscow and the Triad, the man Rock tricked into thinking he was escaping the city, only to be lead to his death. Rock's conscience was heavy indeed, weighed down by the souls of those who had been killed because of him.
The first two had been out of his control, but the butterfly effect that rippled from his actions served to sever their ties to the world of the living. However small his part in their deaths, he still carried that weight every day. The last two, however, were dead because of Rock's direct interference in Roanapur's affairs. He was responsible for the death of a soldier, a good man intent on fixing the city's problems. During that time, he had been in a very dark place. The darkness inside him had fully taken root until his mind was no longer his own and his actions were fuelled by misplaced intent to aid the corruption of the city. But now, after successfully wrestling with that side of himself and returning to his old self-for the most part-he was sickened by the things he had done. In retrospect, he had blood on his hands. He hadn't pulled the trigger, but Gregor and Hunter had been killed by him, however indirectly.
Rock clutched the front of his head and leaned his elbows on the table in front of him. He was sweating profusely. Yukio Washimine told him once that he was in the twilight, that he still hadn't committed either way to the light or the dark, the bright, warm day, or the cold, dark night. But when he decided a soldier's life needed to end because he cared more about protecting the rotten cesspool of a city he called home than saving people, he made that commitment. He began to wonder if it was too late for him, if he had gone passed the point of no return. Yukio did the same thing. She accepted what was expected of her. She rose to the challenge and tried to lead her clan to glory, but Rock had seen through her in the end. Whatever she told herself, the real reason she had done those things was to be with her bodyguard. Ginji, the manslayer, was a Yakuza assassin. And Yukio had been in love with him, that much could be seen by a blind man.
She could have run away with him. She intended to, at one point. But that never came to pass. Her actions led to her bodyguard's death. Her own suicide followed. She was unable to go on without him. But Rock hadn't let the darkness swallow him because he was following anyone into the unknown, because he intended to run away with some mistress who lived in this world. He had done those things because that side of him liked it. Deep down, he enjoyed the game, he revelled in gambling with lives. But the real Rock, the one who had come back from the brink, the one who now sat in the market with a sickness in his stomach that would not pass, hated who he had become in this city. He could feel his sins dragging him down every day like chains linked to his body. He pushed the bowl of noodles away from him. He wouldn't be touching his food today.
"Goddammit," he whispered, clutching the sides of his head more and more until his nails started to break the skin. The longer he sat there, the more vivid the images became. He saw bodies, blood, tears, death. He saw himself standing on a pile of corpses, wearing a black trench coat and laughing. He saw Revy ready to shoot him on numerous occasions. "GODDAMMIT!" he screamed, slamming his fists down on the table and knocking over the bowl. Some of the others in the market turned to see the source of the noise. Most of them shuffled off to the next street. "No matter what I do, it's still not good enough. I try to help people, and I fail. I try to play the game, and I fail! Why do I have to SUFFER LIKE THIS?!" He grabbed the bowl from the table and threw it at the wall. It smashed into pieces. Anyone who had been close enough to notice his outburst immediately left the area.
He wasn't sure who he was blaming, exactly. After all, his predicament was his own fault. His anger and frustration were very undirected. He supposed he was more disappointed in himself than anything. His soul was becoming weary. He was sick and tired of witnessing the worst this world had to offer him, again and again. The thoughts of Yukio Washimine's words hurt the most. In some strange way, he felt like he had let her down even more than before. In the end, whatever budding rapport he had with her was completely destroyed, due in no small part to her insistence that they were enemies and nothing more. But other than that, Rock knew one thing for certain. He knew that if Yukio had survived, perhaps if she had seen the error of her ways and reformed, she would hate what Rock had become. She would be disgusted by the things he had done. And he hated himself for that.
I've heard it said that people are like dice. And like dice, we can throw ourselves in any direction.
Had the die already been cast? Was it too late for Rock, after all this time? Was his soul so decayed that there was no redemption, no atonement for his sins?
After a few moments, Rock took a seat once more. He reached into his pocket and produced his wallet, opening it and fishing out a small picture. It was her, the Japanese girl. Yukio. Towards the end of Balalaika's negotiations with the Washimine Clan, things had taken a sour turn and Hotel Moscow were at war with the Yakuza. Rock made one last bid to save Yukio, to give her one more chance to come back from the night and have a peaceful existence. But there was no way to achieve a desirable resolution. She was dead and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Rock didn't believe in happy endings. He had been living in this city long enough to have that cold, hard fact burned into his mind. But that didn't change the fact that his sins were suffocating him now. Then again, that was the old Rock, the real one who had managed to climb out of the abyss, who felt that way. He had a conscience, a set of morals and principles. The other Rock, the one who spoke to him sometimes on the darkest of nights, let nothing get through his exterior. Perhaps it was that Rock who should be sitting here right now. It would make dealing with these memories so much simpler. He shoved the wallet back into his pocket.
"Oh, look who it is!" Rock did not register the voice right away. When he did, the woman who had spoken was already sitting across from him, her feet propped up on the table and a cigarette in her hand. It was Lexi, the American they had rescued from the pirates only two days ago. "The market is usually crowded. What happened, is the circus in town or something?"
"Something like that," Rock answered meekly. Lexi's smile disappeared and she leaned forward slightly.
"You alright, Rock? You look like you've seen a ghost." He saw many ghosts, day and night, the ghosts of those whose deaths he held himself responsible for.
"Let me ask you something," he began, reaching one arm over to her and snatching the cigarette from her hand, stuffing it into his own mouth. She looked surprised by that before giving him a smirk. "Do you think even the worst person can find atonement?" Lexi squinted at him. She did not think less of him for asking that question, nor did she see fit to berate him. That was a welcome change from how Revy would normally react.
"What do you mean?"
"No matter what we do, we all have black marks in our records. That comes as part of the package deal of living in this city. But is there a road to redemption? Can even the lowest of the low climb back up to the light? Or are we doomed to rot the second we slip even a little bit?" Rock was fully expecting her to be left speechless, to show surprise and confusion by his rambling. But that was not the case. When he looked up from the table, she was deep in thought herself. Rock's words resonated with something inside her. She knew exactly what he was getting at. That scared him a little, enough to snap him out of it. Then, it was Lexi's turn to speak.
"Sins, huh?" she asked quietly. "Yeah, we all got 'em. There aren't a whole lot of people left who haven't done some pretty fucked up things to stay alive. But we've all got our reasons. You think life is as simple as good and evil, Rock? Those are ideas, just empty words to give people a sense of ideals." Lexi closed her eyes for a moment. She saw the baseball bat smashing against her prepubescent face, the bedroll in the alley she slept in, the men who beat her for what they described as 'unsatisfactory work.' It all disappeared once her eyes opened again. "I don't believe in sins. Not the way the religious nuts do, anyway. They'll preach peace and love and try to make you believe in the grace of a God Almighty. But where's God when you've hit rock bottom and all you need to climb back to your feet is a helping hand? Sins are just things you've done in the face of danger to keep yourself breathing. And if that's wrong…well, there ain't a whole lot that's right, is there?" As she finished speaking, Rock looked at her wide-eyed. He had not expected any of that from her. Then again, he had no idea the things she had been through. There was no telling what was going on in her head. She rose from the seat and offered Rock one more smirk before heading in the other direction. "Cheer up, Rock. The world is full of possibilities. All you have to do is seize the day."