Chapter 14

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The speed of light is a constant, often approximated to 300,000,000 metres per second. The figure is a strict boundary set by laws predating those of the universe itself. To attain this velocity is impossible. To any bystander or observer, you are as distanced from a string of photons as anyone else, in their spatial frame, regardless of your speed. The speed of light treats all movement and people equally, no compromises, regardless how determined one may be to attain it. To theoretically attain this velocity, would require an enormous, mathematically infinite bulk of accelerative force, given the inverse relation between ability to accelerate and current velocity. Thus, no human could truly survive, let alone try to reach light speed.

"And you've held back all this time?"

Stephanie blushed, slightly regretting her decision to share her memories of Sportacus with, someone she had called extremely hateful, and explicitly derogatory names not a week ago. Despite her anger though, a surge of protest had ebbed out of her conscience, followed by an obligation to smooth over her animosity for anyone. Stephanie wasn't one to hold a grudge, even over an issue so…personal.

"I...I didn't want to believe it. The process was so gradual…That extra-large smile, the longer dance routines."

Monica stiffened in her bean bag, staring at the now frozen frame of the couple during a short dance.

"Gee, that's some commitment on his part, yep. And he's been this devoted since….?"

"Since day one, the moment he told us he would stay, and the day he became part of the family. It didn't take long to see the effect. The local park began to thrive with activity, school attendance skyrocketed. Definitely, his contribution was…above average."

Monica, having been glued to the screen, realised how hostile she must have seemed, simply by not facing the conversation directly.

"Can't deny he truly cares for everyone. Have you ever wondered why though? It's hardly a natural aspiration to live in the, no offence, middle of nowhere, in an empty airship, to live one's life in servitude to the people? Like, just...why?"

Stephanie paused. Science wasn't her strong point. She found great challenges in even the most simple tasks of interpreting data and drawing conclusions. And now, the most intricate one word question to ever defy the scientific community was rattling through her neurons.

"Does it matter? Have you ever wondered why you're here?"

Monica raised an eyebrow.

"I came to visit my cousin and grandfather during Christmas. I'm leaving in five days, back to Switzerland. I must say, I did enjoy my time here though."

Stephanie's eyes widened, her expression hardly hiding her shock, although it did belie a small relief. Monica had given every indication she would be staying, but now, rethinking their conversation, Stephanie realised that Lazytown was truly home only to a select few.

"I thought you were-"

"Staying? Nah, my boss would miss his hot secretary, and I'd miss my…pay rises."

"So you-"

"God, not a chance from what I've just seen. You think I'd want to stay here? Besides, his outfit really needs some work, not enough skin."

Monica glanced at the clock. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, its light splashing onto a smaller portion of its face, as it navigated through the blinds of the window.

"I'd best be going. Before I do though, I want you to have this. I have no use for it you see, and don't you open it before I leave."

She hugged Stephanie quietly; something Stephanie would likely have pushed her violently for doing so a week ago. The two were simply incompatible with each other, and sometimes Stephanie forgot she was Ziggy's cousin – They shared nothing, and Stephanie would try remembering that.

What felt like moments, but really minutes, after Monica had departed, Stephanie glanced at what she had been given. It was a purple lacquer box, slightly dusty, reminiscent of the jewellery boxes of old. The lid, took some strength to overcome the friction it possessed. Inside, was a fresh triplet of lilacs, plucked not more than a day ago, still bellowing their thick, full shade of light purple; One leaf still clung onto a droplet of pristine melted snow. A scrawl of paper nested snugly beneath the stem.

Plant this little beauty in your flower bed; blue makes any colour better, trust me ;)

-Monica

Annemarie heard the distinctive thunk of a suitcase being lowered onto a mattress. This day was going to come, her lack of anticipation couldn't hold a candle to the inevitability of time. She knocked on the door politely, before tentatively stepping inside, wood floorboards creaking slightly. Robbie Rotten's long, seemingly delicate yet precise, movements, folding each piece of his outfit with precision, and sliding it methodically into his suitcase, were almost mesmerising. Out, sprawled half-open, having freed itself from his loose right pocket, was his wallet, lined with velvet and bound with leather. It seemed quite an extravagant accessory for a self-proclaimed failure, but the detail was lost on Annemarie, as she tried to again, make conversation.

"Must you really leave?"

"Lazytown's…home…I can't imagine it any other way."

Annemarie captured his attention, and placed herself next to the lanky villain who released the small vest he had been folding. She saw a slight hint of disdain, and disconnection Robbie harboured for other people, as if he was simply resigned to his fate and purpose. At the same time though, it only made Annemarie feel more in touch with him, as if the empathy they shared leveraged all other emotions into the puerile realms.

Without making eye contact for a millisecond, she gingerly ran her index finger through his smoothly combed, pitch black hair, a gesture he somehow didn't abhor at the very feeling of. It felt…different. Usually hair this specific in structure and composition were simply coagulated strands bonded by some upmarket, heavily commercialised hair product. Instead, Robbie's hair parted as effortlessly as Moses had allegedly done to the sea, as if Annemarie too shared that divine power. His silky hair between her fingertips felt like the discreet flow of a serene creek, if but missing the subtle trickling.

"Ugh, stop, before my head lice bite you."

Annemarie reflexively, yet also with a hint of hesitation, recoiled.

"You…really?"

Robbie snorted indignantly, more out of irritation than frustration.

"No, but I almost wish I did, just this once."

…

"Look, just to tie up loose ends – No, no pun intended. You've been a great host. I've needed respite from people for a long time, and I'm glad I found it here."

His eyes darted to a lone pen lying idly on the bedside table. He quickly produced a shawl of paper, ad scribbled from figures on it.

"I don't deny that we'd both like to see each other again, although I'm still not certain as to why on my part. Here's my address, and don't bother knocking – I'll notice you coming. Unless I'm asleep, naturally."

The final remark drew a rather sombre chuckle from Annemarie. In all truth however, she had not anticipated Robbie would so offhandedly and casually invite her to his home. Her mind sieved through her thoughts, and she quickly visualised what such an abode would be, aesthetically. Some…run down shack? A unit? The sound of a leather strap being grasped within lengthy fingers pushed her away from her disconnection with reality. Robbie first stood, donned his coat, which looked far too wide and bulky, somewhat inflating his size. The design was reminiscent of the utilitarian, if someone archaic boiler suit, often worn by tradies. It smelled slightly of acrylic paint, and the intoxicatingly metallic odour of steel shavings. It was a far cry from the sugar-laden scents than would emanate from Robbie's more casual attire.

"I'd best be leaving, my plane won't wait."

In likely the only voluntary gesture he had ever attempted, for the sake of anyone other than himself, he drew Annemarie into a one-arm embrace, and even going as far as to crack a smile, if only momentarily. It would be the first him he had done so in good faith rather than for another's misfortunes, in recent memory. Annemarie, realising she was possibly getting too comfortable, awkwardly drew away, cleared her breath, and showed Robbie out, without another word, with only the biting cold, as she opened the door, as company.

As Robbie walked off, up the small hill next to her cottage, Annemarie watched him, methodically transitioning from tall, awkward and lanky, to the unvarying, silent character as he once more, entered the world he so despised. Suddenly, Robbie paused once reaching the crest of the hill, almost out of sight from where Annemarie stood on her front stairs. Despite the darkness, and only a faint silhouette to see, she still watched him, as he turned his head ever so slightly, before returning to face forward, and disappearing over the horizon.

Annemarie didn't realise until he had done so, that she had been holding her breath.

"What happened down there…?"

…

…

"Sportacus?"

The first memory, after transitioning a chasm devoid of any life or sense of time, was the cold. Not cold as in a nice, refreshing fruit juice – No, this was freezing, and it was washing all over him, poised to consume the diminutive little boy, who had somehow escaped his previous dance with death. After spending precious split-seconds to overcome the frigid exposure, reality snapped back. With some degree of assurance and control in his movements, he kicked downwards furiously, and shoved water behind him, thrusting his body upwards, towards what from beneath, seemed like a raging torrent, coating the sea.

He broke it. His diaphragm greedily sucked in air, before hypoxia could do its work. Waves lapped at his face, threatening to send him back into the depths. At that point, time seemed to stop entirely, as the waves from the initial disturbance dissipated. The floating pieces of fuselage and seats didn't register, nor did the incessant cries, which, after about a minute, began to falter in amplitude. The adrenaline surged within his bloodstream, easily drowning out any other senses. Everything was in slow motion to Magnus, as he panned his head, towards a light source that seemed to smudge over his vision as he peered at it. Without any hesitation, he kicked furiously against the water, dodging remnants of the aircraft, all while keeping his mind focused only on the light in the distance. His arms flailed about, struggling for purchase against the thick medium in which he battled.

He was almost out of breath, as his lungs screamed in pain, when three arms grasped him, at various points of his life jacket, and hoisted him out of the water, before awkwardly plonking him in the middle of a soaked life raft, with five others. Instinctively, he curled up into a foetal position, attempting to regenerate the heat the sea had sucked from him. His teeth chattered violently, and he was losing his touch, both physically and mentally. The pain hadn't registered yet, nor did the thoughts of anyone else at that moment.

The rain and gale-strength winds passing gave enough cause for Magnus to lift his head off the life raft. He looked around, vision blurring, as his brain began to hibernate from the cold. Was this the end? His father had always narrated his childhood, which had caused Magnus to brim with expectation. Now though, the realisation that this would be the end finally broke past the adrenaline barrier that had censored his mind. Lacking any other reaction, Magnus began to cry, ever so slightly, onto the already soaked, frigid surface of the life raft, with only some waves, and his few fellow survivors within to silently witness the traumatisation of a child.

"Don't be afraid, I'm sure they're in another boat. All we've got here is hope, you and me. Hold on."

A young teenage girl within the raft, who touched by the traumatising sight of the youngster weeping his eyes into the raft, gingerly took an almost motionless boy into his arms, embracing him as if he were her own. Magnus already knew that she was just some stranger, but in the little life raft they currently populated, she was everything to him, if merely a figure to lean against. And maybe cry upon. When that had subsided, the tiredness and monotony of a flat horizon soon put the energetic Magnus to sleep, accompanied by a dream so welcoming he never wanted to leave it.

Another light; then a voice, somewhat broken over a loudspeaker. Another light, as the two powerful beams combed the area, panning towards and away from the diminutive life raft that floated lifelessly among scattered, minuscule debris. Frost had formed on the some of the edges of the debris, while the more gruesome products of the incident had disappeared. The incessant noise of a motor flooded over the occupants, followed by a localised flurry of waves that rocked the raft as well as the mechanical whine of a winch, being the first sounds other than wavelets lapping the raft for some hours.

His lips burned from the salt that had flooded them during the entire time he had been asleep. The reassuring grasp of a rescuer's arms, and then, an uplifting feeling, literally, as they were hoisted from the water, concluded his ordeal. Or so he thought.

"Wow…"

"There's more to it, believe it or not. I lost more than my parents that day, I lost hope. That boy, I remember her face so well, as if it were yesterday. That pained, yet sisterly face of reassurance, and her ginger hair, encrusted with salt and spray."

"What became of her? She lost her parents too, right? How come-"

"You've never heard of her? Oh, that's an easy one."…

Something was wrong. The incessant beeping, the distorted and urgent shouts from figures, the cold, unforgiving sting of a needle. Thunk. Doors opened slightly, and a small bump in the stretcher quickly translated into an unpleasant thump into his rib cage. His insides felt they were burning, and then, a feeling of invasion as the cool, yet unfamiliar feeling of liquid being artificially pumped into him. It was strange, but before he could be more aware of his surroundings, the blurry vision once again overcame him, and he decided to succumb to it.

"We need to get a kidney for this kid, I'm telling you. There's waaay too much salt, his are beyond repair."

"I just got word from Iceland. Organ banks are fresh out of kidneys, any ideas?"

"Well we can't just keep him on the dialysis forever, I mean, look at him."

The doctor paused, stared back at the peaceful, resigned face of the small blond child, with his thin left wrist impregnated with tubes to circulate his blood. It was a painful spectacle, despite the two both being accomplished doctors, having witnessed almost every gruesome medical situation.

"Hey, um…*whisper*."

"Are you kidding me!? I'm not losing my job over this one…"

"Look, we have almost 12 hours to get it done, are you willing to save him? Besides, if we do get nailed for this, I'd be more than happy to stand up in front of the magistrate."

…

"Alright…I'm in."

Magnus remembered waking up, listening to the incessant beeping of an enormous machine next to his bed. There was some mumbling in the distance, as two indistinguishable figures conversed. Without really decrypting their slurred speech, he could derive their apprehensive, worried tones. The gentle throbbing as blood was artificially helped along its path around his body kept him barely awake, and the bright lights stung his vision. It had barely been 2 hours since he had been plucked off the life raft, and now, he was waking in some alien environment, attached to a machine that was quite literally draining him. Before he could draw any conclusions on what might happen, (being a small child, hospitals weren't exactly familiar to him), both doctors left, leaving him with only the company of the hum of the dialysis machine, and the thrum of the air conditioning.

"That girl, she was unconscious out of that life raft, but they kept her on a ventilator, in hope next of kin could be contacted. There weren't any, they didn't survive. Her body had been completely coated in frostbite symptoms, and they weren't sure if she'd make it."

Cortana's mood pulsed slightly, indicated by the lightning fast, but still noticeable, dimming in the light within the room.

"She died. She died because no next of kin could be contacted, and the hospital didn't have the resources to treat her severe hypothermia."

…

Cortana paused for a microsecond. She had hypothermia? Hang on… She rechecked Sportacus' vital signs, then began to localise to various sections of the body, analysing each scrap of data that she had at her disposal. Wait, glucose intolerance? Diabetes right? Cortana rescanned his vitals. Again. Wait what?-

"The surgeons gave me her kidneys. I remember finally being disconnected from the dialysis machine. I didn't notice until my first sugar meltdown, some weeks later, they told me the transplanted kidneys couldn't remove glucose from my blood. I've been looking for her name, but even now, she only exists in my memory, and maybe the others who survived that day. She is the sole reason why I am here today, why I could pass on that change of fate to others."

Cortana waited that extra split second to answer.

"Don't torment yourself. Be thankful, but don't kick yourself over it. I think you're the last person I'd expect to be hearing this. Accept what went down that night, and if anything, do it for those who admire, respect…even love you. It's been about 4 months now, let it go."

"Pixel, I'm telling you. This is our chance to get on the world stage. Do you know what this invention means?"

Pixel widened his eyes in blank loss. Stingy rolled his eyes in exasperation, at how innocuous his friend was. Sometimes, he truly believed he had his own language and imaginary friends.

Of course, Cortana may have been proof of that.

Pixel tentatively reopened the conversation once the background noise faltered.

"Stingy, this isn't a new concept…-"

"Are you kidding me!? Do you know much coverage we'd get? The press would be all over us, and we'd have the pharmaceutical companies on their knees and giving us…Well you get the idea."

"And you will do this…how?"

"Look, you leave me with all the red tape and marketing crap. I'll get the patents and handle all the licensing and whatnot. You just do exactly what you've been toiling away for since we've met."

Pixel shifted back, uncomfortably, within his otherwise sumptuously relaxing chair. Stingy could be atrociously narrow-minded and methodical if he set his ambitions on anything. It was the businessman's streak. But at the same time, it was also an aspiration to live up, to his expectation. Stingy had never really been intended to have entered the world in the first place. His father, an influential businessman in the spotless streets of commerce, had left him to his mother, weeks before his birth. Having only seen his old man some few times annually, yet getting a glimpse of his world, out of Lachlan, Stingy was born. And Pixel decided he'd just ride the train – for now.

"Alright, but promise me you'll buy me a bag of chips; it takes some effort to compile the software in these cameras properly."

Stingy rolled his eyes one last time. Pixel's horizons were ridiculously low. Lacking ambition, despite the potential that yearned to be released. It was as If Elon Musk were trapped in the body and conscience of a dull and naïve teenager.

"Buy you a bag of chips? Pixel, the only chips I'll be getting you are ones you can cash in."

Thanks for reading guys, I'm so sorry I've been deviating from uploading. Hopefully I can squeeze another one this week, stay tuned!