CHAPTER 21

AWAKENING

Thursday morning brought the same sight to Mrs. Ichijouji's sad eyes as earlier days. "Ken?" she tried, but she received no answer; her son lay in bed, locked in sleep, even more pale than he usually was. "Well," she whispered, her voice starting to crack, "your father and I are right outside, and we're not going anywhere… so…"

She gently shut the door and slowly walked back to the living room. Mr. Ichijouji sat on the couch, his expression unreadable. "How is he?" he asked.

A shake of her head made him sigh wearily. His son hadn't stirred from his eerie slumber since he mysteriously reappeared four days before, and it was becoming unbearable for both of them; in the days that had passed, neither of them had eaten very much, nor had they had much sleep. They maintained their silent vigil on the couch, hoping to hear the creak of their son's door opening.

"I… I know he'll wake up soon…" Mrs. Ichijouji whispered as she sat down next to her husband, her hands clenching and unclenching around her blouse. "He… he just needs… more rest…"

Mr. Ichijouji sighed; his wife always tried to put a brave face on, even when she feared the worst herself. He reached over and clasped her hand in his. "Don't worry," he said, smiling faintly, "he's strong, just like his mother."

She tried to smile, but could only sniffle and shudder. What had happened to her son?… and why wouldn't he wake up? She couldn't even begin to guess.

… … …

I don't know how long I slept… but my soothing blankets of darkness couldn't last forever. Rainbows slowly oozed from the black and wobbled in front of me… round, fluid, floating rainbows… coming from a straw I found myself blowing on… but I wasn't myself… at least, not who I am today. The pudgy hand that held the straw was that of a child; a youthful phantasm of myself at five or six… I was on my apartment balcony, the summer sun warming me just enough to be comfortable.

It all came to me then… what led me down my path…

"Wow, Ken! Keep blowing like that, and you could break a world record!"

That voice… An older boy was standing next to me. He looked like me, but his hair was frizzier and he wore glasses… That was Sam, my big brother. He taught me how to blow these bubbles… Actually, he taught me how to do a lot of things. He was the real genius in the family; only in third grade and already he got the highest marks in class. I was so proud to have him as my brother…

…Well, most of the time. Whenever I was out with my mother, strangers would always stop us, talking about Sam and how wonderful he was… They congratulated him on his genius; they congratulated Mom and Dad for having him; some of them even wanted to introduce him to their daughters. I kept quiet, like a good little brother, of course… but I knew it was all going to Mom's head…

The walks were a rare thing, really… and sometimes she was really reluctant to not be near Sam. Dad was like that, too; always laughing with him and encouraging him. Sometimes, I would say something and neither of them would even hear me. It was like I was just an afterthought… or a ghost. I knew that they loved Sam more than they loved me, and I hated it. I mean, all the other little brothers in the neighborhood got more attention than their big brothers; I was the weird, unhappy exception. If only Sam weren't there, maybe they would have paid more attention to me…

But… I could never stay angry for long… because Sam himself was always there for me. He played with me and read to me when Mom and Dad were busy, and he taught me so much… When we had fun together, it was impossible for me to keep the hatred burning… It made me both happy and sad. I was happy that someone cared about me, but at the same time, it was a vicious cycle: Mom and Dad would worship Sam, who would in turn be so nice to me… and I was too weak to break it. I thought it would go on forever that way… but fate had other plans…

… … …

It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon a couple of years later. I was eight, Sam was ten, and the cycle remained unbroken… Even though I was in school too, and I pushed myself twice as hard as Sam, my grades were mediocre at best, and I stayed in his shadow. During vacations, it didn't matter as much; Sam studied by himself, but with no school, the judging eyes of the world were closed.

I remember it so clearly now… We were in Sam's room, in the afternoon. Sam was looking up facts on the Internet, and I was on the floor reading one of his old graphic novels. Just then, Sam pulled back with a shout and I looked up. The computer screen was glowing with a creepy green light; it had never done that before. I wanted to run, but before either of us could do anything, a beam of bright light shot out onto the floor. It only lasted a second, and then there was a small, black thing where the light had touched. Puzzled, I reached out for it.

"No, wait!" Sam's voice made me jump, "it could be hot!"

I scooted back at the thought. Sam crouched over the thing and held his hand over it, testing its heat. After a few moments, he put his finger on it, then picked it up. "That's weird," he said, "you'd think it would be…" He stared at it, held it to his ear, and shook it, his face a mask of wonder and confusion.

"What is it?" I asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Squirt," he admitted. "It sort of looks like one of the new cell phones, but there're only two buttons… and no speaker…"

I thought my heart was going to stop; my brother, the genius, didn't know what something was. "What do we do?" I asked.

Sam stared a moment more, then opened the top drawer of his desk, dropped the thing in and closed it back up. "I'm going to figure it out," he said. "I'll go to the electronics shop down the street, see what I can find. In the meantime…" he turned to me, looking really serious, "don't touch it. It could be dangerous." With that, he left.

I tried to listen, I really did. I went back to reading the book, but I couldn't concentrate anymore; my eyes kept drifting back to the desk. After a few minutes, I put the book away and crept over. Sam had said I couldn't touch it, but he hadn't said I couldn't look at it. I grasped the drawer and, as if Sam were still in the room, quietly tugged it open.

Staring at the shining, black object, I was tempted even more. It was like it was calling to me… like it was saying it belonged to me and not Sam. I hesitated, then could bear it no longer; I reached down and took it out.

As soon as I picked it up, the thing's little screen glowed with a black light. I was afraid at first, but as I held it, I realized that I enjoyed the feeling of it… That glow was almost comforting. But suddenly, the computer screen lit up again, sucking at me like a giant vacuum! I tried to drop the thing and run, but I couldn't; I could just gasp as my body lurched forward into eternal green.

… … …

I don't know how long I blacked out after that, or whether I was just dreaming… but when I came to, I was face-down in soft grass, and there was a sharp pain in the back of my neck, like a bee sting. How did I get outside, I wondered? And where outside was I? I lived in an apartment in the middle of a big city… there wasn't a lot of grass to lie in.

Something prodded my head. "Are you awake, Ken?" a low, wavering voice asked.

I looked up and instantly scrambled to my feet. A big, green bug with bright blue eyes was right in front of me! I screamed and backed away, dreading my fate; why did I have to grab that black thing?! Now I was going to be bug food, and I hadn't even learned to ride a bike yet! "Get… go away!" I yelled at it. "I play soccer… so I can kick!"

The green bug didn't attack me, though. It just stood there, looking at me… and then it opened its sideways mouth. "Please don't be afraid," it said in that wavering voice. "I'm just glad you're up."

I could only blink and stare. A monster bug was talking to me! "Wha… what're…?!" I asked, words failing my frantic mouth.

The bug thing scooted a little closer, but slowly… like it knew how scared I was. "My name is Wormmon," it said. "I'm your Digimon."

Digimon? My tiny mind spun; why did people always answer one question with another thing I didn't understand? "Digi… what?" I asked.

Wormmon gave what could have been a chuckle. "I guess that's not really important," he said. "It's just the two of us here right now, anyway."

Still confused, I looked down at the black object in my hand. Had it brought me here? Was it some sort of magical transporter? Wormmon came a little closer, looking at the thing. "That's your Digivice," he said. "It's what let you come to the Digital World… and it's proof that we're friends."

There sure were a lot of things that started with "digi" around here. What a crazy day, I thought; I grab a black thing and end up lost with a big bug. It wasn't a bad-looking place, though; the emerald-green field looked fresh and smelled great, and the sky was endlessly blue with puffy white clouds, almost like the storybooks that Sam read to me. Wormmon wasn't so bad, either; his eyes weren't dangerous, and he seemed friendly enough. "So, um…" I tried, "where are we?"

"This is the Digital World," Wormmon repeated. "It's a different world from yours…"

"A whole different world?…" I asked. That suddenly hit me with a terrible thought. Sam! My apartment! I didn't know how to get home! "Wormmon!" I exclaimed. "How do we leave?!"

Wormmon looked a little sad. "You want to go already?" he asked.

I winced; had I hurt his feelings? "Err… no, it's not that," I said, "but my brother… I think he'll be worried about me…"

Wormmon scratched at his head with one of his limbs. "Well, if you want to go home, we'll have to find a portal," he said, then thought for a second and shook his head. "I've never seen one before, though…"

I felt my stomach clenching up, like it always did when Mom and Dad ignored me… but somehow, with Wormmon there, the goal didn't feel so hopeless. "Come on," I said. "We can find it if we work together!"

Wormmon hopped a bit, looking overjoyed. "OK!" he said, then turned and pointed at a purple mountain range in the distance. "Maybe there'll be one that way!"

We started off, but I quickly learned that I was a lot faster than Wormmon, even though I only had two legs. I picked him up and carried him and we went faster… and he wasn't slimy or squishy like other bugs I had handled. He was almost plush, like a doll. I liked it. I guess he did, too; he never squirmed once.

… … …

I guess we spent a long time in those mountains, because I remember it becoming night a few times. Even though it was hard and rocky in the places we stopped to rest, Wormmon's soft body on my stomach helped me sleep really well… but I kept wondering about Sam. How long had I been gone? Was he worried? Did Mom and Dad even notice?

Not finding any "portals" in the mountains, we left and wandered to a lot of different places. The Digital World was definitely not like my world back home. I had never seen rumbling gears in cracks in the ground, or phone booths on the beach. I had never talked with mushrooms or flowers, either… though I have to say the flowers were nicer than the mushrooms. It was so wacky sometimes, I didn't even feel homesick. I got to know Wormmon really well, too; we laughed and played and I told him all the deepest secrets of an eight-year-old… and he listened to all of it with genuine care. I was so happy; I'd never had someone to talk to like that before!

It was fun, but there were some scary parts, too. Sometimes the other creatures would get mad at us and we'd have to run away… but one time, we got trapped. Wormmon and I had just come into a rocky canyon when something growled behind us. I turned around and saw a gray rabbit-like thing standing on the road, its teeth bared and its eyes red. It was twitching and jerking around like I had seen toys do when their batteries got put in the wrong way. Wormmon moved in front of me, tense. "Stay back, Ken," he told me, "something's wrong!"

The rabbit monster shrieked and came at us. Wormmon tackled it, and they rolled around in the dirt yelling and snarling. As it turned its back to me, I gasped; jammed into the rabbit's back was a black, jagged gear like the ones I had seen in the ground. The skin all around it was red, like it hurt; maybe that's what was making it jerk around and attack us.

It wasn't time to think, though; the rabbit monster had Wormmon pinned down. Wormmon tried to struggle free, but its grip was really strong. The rabbit laughed and scratched him with its free claw over and over. Wormmon cried out and kept trying to squirm away, but it was no use. The rabbit laughed wildly and kept scratching him, getting faster and angrier.

Something inside me snapped. I had to help Wormmon; I had to stop that monster. My eyes darted around and locked onto a sizable rock on the side of the road. As quickly and quietly as I could, I grabbed it and came up behind the monster. Just before it landed another blow, I slammed the rock into the back of its head, sending it tumbling off of Wormmon. It reeled and got up, then charged again. I saw red. I didn't care how many times it took; I was going to get rid of that monster! With a furious scream I made the rock connect again, this time to its face. It crashed down into the dirt, then scrambled to its feet. I gave a wild snarl and it took off, yelping in terror.

I panted and gasped, the feeling of victory and power something new and amazing in my soul… and then I heard something drip. A red, gooey liquid was smeared all over the rock, slowly making a puddle on the ground. I didn't know what it was, but it scared me. I threw the rock as far as I could and ran back to Wormmon. He was getting back on his feet, his face scratched badly. "Wormmon!" I exclaimed. "Are you OK?!"

Wormmon coughed. "I… yes," he said. "It'll take more than that to hurt me…"

Relief washed over me. "It's OK now," I said. "I… I made it go away."

Wormmon looked over at the red circles in the dirt, then back at me. "Thanks, Ken," he quietly said.

I stood up, vigor renewed. As scary as that had been, I couldn't help but feel energized by it. "Come on!" I said, "let's find that portal!"

Wormmon coughed again and ran to keep up. "OK," he said, "but please, slow down…"

I couldn't stop smiling as we went. I bet Sam wouldn't have handled that monster as well as I had. For one of the few times in my life, I could do something better than him. Just knowing that made me glow with pride.

… … …

After we left the canyon, we came to a really tall mountain where the clouds were turning black. I shivered as I looked up at it; something about it made me feel sick. I was about to ask if we really should go this way when Wormmon jumped up. "Ken, look!" he said, pointing at the mountain's base. "I think that's the portal!"

We ran to where he pointed, but I didn't see any portals; there was only an old TV set on the ground. "No, Wormmon," I sighed angrily. "That's not a portal; it's just a—"

The TV's screen flickered to life, and my heart stopped at what was on the screen. It was Sam's room! I mean, it had to be; it had the same bed, the same chair, even the book I had been reading still on the floor! It was just from an odd perspective… like we were seeing what his computer saw. "No way!…" I gasped, kneeling and staring at it. Maybe it was a portal! Maybe this could get me home!

Wormmon sighed. "I guess this is where we say goodbye," he said. "When you get back, no time will have passed from when you left. It may seem like days have gone by, but they haven't…"

That was awesome news; Sam and my parents wouldn't be worried at all! What a relief!… but then I turned back to Wormmon. As overjoyed as I was about finding a way home, my heart ached at the thought of leaving him; after all, he was the first person I'd met who saw me as Ken, and not "Sam's brother." "I… Can't you come with me?" I asked.

Wormmon shook his head. "Your world isn't meant for Digimon," he said, "but… I'm sure we'll see each other again someday."

That wasn't the answer I wanted, but I could understand; we couldn't have pets in the apartment, and if I brought a bug as big as Wormmon into the house, Mom would faint. Sadly, I realized we really would have to part. "I hope so too," I said.

Wormmon scooted closer. "I'm really glad we're partners, Ken," he said. "You're so nice… and gentle."

I scooped up my little friend for one last hug. "I won't forget you," I said, trying hard not to cry.

"Now, just point your Digivice at the screen," Wormmon said, "and it'll take you home… Goodbye, Ken."

"Bye, Wormmon…" I said softly, and put him back on the ground.

I raised the Digivice just like he said. The TV's screen flashed green, and I felt myself being pulled, just like before. The next thing I knew, I was sitting back on Sam's rug. The afternoon sunlight was gone, replaced by dark gray clouds… A storm must have been coming. I looked down at the Digivice with wonder. Had all that really happened? Was I really right back where I had started?

"KEN!" a familiar voice made me jump. I looked up to see Sam standing over me, looking both shocked and furious. "What just happened?!" he demanded.

I blinked, then beamed at him. "Sam! I'm back!" I said, holding up the Digivice; just wait until I told him about where I had been, and what I had seen! He'd be floored! "How long was I gone?! Did you see it?!" I asked. "This thing's—"

I didn't get to finish; the Digivice flew to the ground and my hand stung. I looked up and saw that my brother's eyes were filled with rage. "Didn't I tell you not to touch that thing?!" he yelled, loud and breathy. I cowered on the floor, unable to take my gaze from his glare. Sam had never looked so angry before… it was scarier than that monster rabbit. I wanted to explain, but my mouth wouldn't move. I could only whimper. "I can't trust you with anything," he snarled, snatching up the Digivice. He threw it back in the drawer and slammed it shut, making my ears hurt.

"I… I'm sorry…" I managed, "b-but…"

Sam didn't even look at me. He just stared at the closed drawer, his hand tightly gripping his chair. I didn't dare say anything else, but I just couldn't leave, either. I could only sit there and watch him.

Finally, he gave a quick, angry sigh. "What if you'd gotten hurt?" he snapped. "What would I do?… What would Mom and Dad do?!"

I changed my gaze from him to the floor. They wouldn't do anything, I thought; they liked Sam better.

Sam glanced back and frowned. "Why're you still here?!" he growled. "Get out!"

I slowly got to my feet and shambled out into the hall, slumping against the wall. Sam came out and shut his door behind him. "I need to cool off," he grunted. "Don't even think about going back in there." With that, he turned and stomped for the door.

The cogs in my mind finally stopped turning. Now I understood. Sam didn't like me any more than Mom or Dad did; he was too perfect to like me. He wouldn't even listen to what I had just gone through… and that was my Digivice; Wormmon had said it was. He had taken away MY Digivice! I could complain to Mom and Dad, but it wouldn't do any good; Sam was a saint to them! I felt the rage boiling up inside me. I hated him. I hated Sam. He was the cause of all of my problems. As long as he was around, I would be only an afterthought, a shadow… a ghost.

I shot up, my tiny frame shaking violently. I had to do something. I had taken care of that rabbit monster; I could deal with Sam. I ran to the door, stuffed my feet into my shoes and took off. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I was going to make Sam know just what I thought of him!

I raced two blocks down—the limit to where I could go on my own—and I saw him: he was leaning on the post at the crosswalk, and the light had just turned green. I had to stop him. "SAM!" I yelled.

He didn't look pleased as I caught up. "I can't talk to you right now," he said, looking away. "I'm too angry."

I sneered. He wouldn't be talking all high-and-mighty to me for long! "That's just fine!" I snapped. "I hate you, too!"

He turned back, puzzled. "HATE you?" he asked. "No, Ken. I just—"

"Yes you do!" I shouted; I wouldn't let him weave his calming lies any more. "You're smarter! Mom and Dad like you better! You can do everything! I don't matter at all!" I glared at him like he had glared at me, and he flinched; it felt good to see. "I'm WORTHLESS, and it's all because of YOU!" I yelled, the voice not sounding like my own anymore.

"Ken, take it easy," Sam said quietly, starting to sound a little scared. Good, I thought; now he knew what it felt like, that self-satisfied twerp!

His fear empowered me to do what I did next. "I WISH…" I screamed at the top of my lungs, "I WISH YOU'D JUST GO AWAY!" With that, I rushed at him and shoved with all my might.

Maybe if I had paid attention to the traffic light, things wouldn't have gone the way they did. For a split-second, I saw the white semi and Sam's pallid face… and then there were blaring horns, squealing tires, a terrible thud… and then silence. Four seconds later, a shoe rolled back onto the curb, and Sam's glasses tinkled to pieces on the asphalt.

My body shook just as violently now, but not from anger. I turned to stone looking at what was before me, my mouth dry and hanging limp. What had I just done?!

… … …

The days after that were a hazy, dark blur, and nothing good came of them. There must have been a funeral, but I've blocked it out of my memory. A small table went up by the window in our apartment, and a picture of Sam was put there, draped in black ribbon and surrounded by white flowers. His was the only smiling face in the whole world, it seemed.

Weeks went by, then months… Two years passed to the day. Mom cried all day on lots of days, and Dad was always consoling her, though he cried a lot, too… and nothing changed for me. Though Sam was gone, I still was ignored; they preferred to drape themselves in grief for him. The love and attention I had hoped for just didn't exist. I guess that's what turned me so bitter towards the world… I had wished for Sam to disappear—and I had done the gruesome deed myself—yet he kept his grip on my life.

As my parents did their ritual of crying on the couch, I walked into his room and shut the door. It hadn't been changed in any way, like it had become a shrine. Things snapped into perspective right then. Nothing I could do would ever make me shine brighter than my dead brother; I was cursed to be a ghost in the shadow of another ghost. Wild fury rose up in me. I had to destroy this place! I had to wipe out any trace that I ever had a brother! My eyes darted to the computer; I'd start by deleting the hard drive.

As the computer booted up, though, I noticed there was one new letter in the e-mail program. All of Sam's friends knew he was dead; it was probably spam. Nevertheless, I decided to look. What difference would it make if I deleted a manhood-enlargement ad before the rest of it?

As I opened the program, though, I almost jumped out of the chair. The letter had no sender, but its title was blunt enough: "For Ken Ichijouji." My eyes instantly darted around the room. Who knew I was at this computer?! Was this some kind of joke?! My interest thoroughly piqued, I opened it. It read in plain, size-twelve text as follows:

I am terribly sorry for the loss of your brother. It must have been hard to take…

I swallowed hard, my spine starting to tingle. How would anyone know about that? Nobody I knew even remotely cared that Sam Ichijouji had a little brother… but this was the first letter to ever come to ME about this… Though I was frightened, I was compelled to keep reading; there was something to this letter, like it could help me somehow… It went on:

…but don't despair. Your brother is in a better place than this world. He has found rest…

But when his soul became free, yours became trapped. You now bear the burden of both his destiny and your own. Now that your parents have lost their perfect child, YOU shall be expected to carry out the dreams that Sam can no longer fulfill. This world shall become unbearable for you… The pressures on you shall be too great…

But all is not lost. There is another world that is much more appropriate: a world where your soul, too, can be free. A world meant for you and you alone.

Open the drawer. Raise the Digivice. Your kingdom awaits you.

Filmy sweat was all over my body now. Who in the world was this? How did he know about the Digivice… or that it was in that drawer?! I looked around the room, almost expecting some stranger to be standing right behind me… but there was nobody.

It was a disturbing letter… but it felt like I had been waiting a long time for it. I opened the drawer and a cloud of dust rose up; Mom hadn't bothered to look open it herself. I stared down at the black item inside, my soul contorting itself in dilemma. That thing had done an amazing thing and a horrible thing for me: it had introduced me to Wormmon, but it was also what had made me kill Sam. My hand shook and twitched over it, beads of sweat plopping onto the dusty screen.

I swallowed hard and licked my salty lips. Yes, I had killed him over it. He had no right to take it from me, or yell at me, either. It was mine then… and it was mine now. Reservations gone, I clenched the Digivice in my hand. I had forgotten how good it felt.

The computer screen glowed green, and the words in the e-mail seemed to float and shake, like they were cheering for me. I raised the Digivice and left Hell behind.

… … …

Where I appeared this time was far different from before. Instead of a blue sky and green grass, I stood in a dark chamber, computer terminals all around and dozens of flat monitors floating on a nearby wall. Each one showed a different landscape, none of which I recognized. The only thing I did know in that room was the little green bug who came racing up to me. "Ken! Ken!" Wormmon chirped happily. "You're back! I knew you would be!"

I looked down at him, then up at the monitors again. I thought I would be delighted to see him again, but I found that I could care less. "What IS this place?" I asked.

Wormmon glanced around, not looking sure himself. "Well…" he began.

Not letting him finish, I walked past him to get a better look at the screens, but something else caught my attention: a large, black throne in the center of the room. I went and sat down in it. It wasn't too hard, but wasn't too soft, either; it felt perfect.

Another revelation came to me, the electronic message repeating in my head. The world on those monitors was meant for me to control. This would be my world, and nobody would ever take it from me. Not Mom, not Dad… and especially not Sam. Just like the Digivice, it was mine. A delighted grin spread over my mouth.

Wormmon looked up at me, concerned. "What's the matter, Ken?" he asked.

I looked down at him. What a small, helpless creature he was, even unable to stop something like a rabbit with a gear in it… If there were worse monsters in this world than that, I couldn't let them get him. I would keep my little friend safe by destroying anything that got in my way. I killed for him once; I could do it again. Force was how to get ahead in the world, and that was exactly what I was going to use.

"Ken?…" he asked again.

I smiled down at him, though he seemed to shrink away. "It's going to be 'master' from now on," I said. "Starting now, I'm the new ruler of this world! I'm going to be… its Emperor!"

"Emperor?…" Wormmon asked, looking nervous. "But… would the Digimon like that?…"

I scratched my chin. The Emperor of all Digimon? No, that was too long for a title, but I could condense it. "The Digimon Emperor…" I said out loud. "Yes… That's who I am… the Digimon Emperor!"

I chuckled. Then I giggled. Then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. I laughed so loud and for so long, I almost couldn't stand the sound of it myself. But for the first time in a long time… maybe the first time ever… I was happy.

… … …

The living room clock struck twelve noon, but the Ichijoujis hardly heard it. They stood beneath Ken's bed, hoping for any sort of sign of his awakening… but he still lay motionless, as quiet as a corpse. "I wonder what's wrong with him…" Mr. Ichijouji said, shaking his head.

Mrs. Ichijouji sighed sadly. Upon her husband's questioning look, she turned to him. "I was just thinking…" she said. "Do you remember when Ken was ten? About the same age as Sam when…" She paused to regain her voice, then went on. "That's when I noticed there was a big change in him… He threw himself into schoolwork and his grades got a lot better…"

Mr. Ichijouji nodded. "Yeah, I remember," he said.

She hung her head. "I was so happy…" she said. "It was… it was like our Sam had come back… but…" She paused again. "I never thought about… WHY he changed…"

Her husband looked at the floor, then back at her. "Do you think… he was trying to be more like Sam?" he asked.

She closed her eyes. "We did pay a lot of attention to Sam…" she said. "Sometimes, I think I even forgot Ken was there… Maybe he turned like that… so we would pay attention to him…" She looked back up at her son. "And now this's the result…" she finished sadly.

He scratched his head, a wave of guilt washing over him. Maybe Ken had wanted to play and have fun like the other kids, but felt he had to become like Sam to win their attention. He couldn't deny that he loved the thought of being the father of two geniuses; he had never thought about Ken's feelings either.

Mrs. Ichijouji suddenly hit upon another thought. "What about Sam?" she asked. "Maybe… maybe we did the same thing with him?…"

He stared at the floor again. From the moment they had seen how smart Sam was, they had always been at his side, encouraging him to do better and better… but had they pushed him too hard, too? He couldn't remember Sam having friends over to play, or going outside much on his own. He swallowed hard, realizing the truth: they had loved the press so much, they had never considered Sam's feelings, either. He hadn't been their son; he had been a show poodle, just like Ken.

Mrs. Ichijouji choked back a sob. "We're horrible parents!…" she whispered.

Mr. Ichijouji sighed. As usual, she was right. He just wished it didn't hurt so much knowing it.

She turned to the bed, tears in her eyes again. "Ken… please wake up…" she choked.

… … …

I'm drifting again… I guess I was getting ahead of myself. I thought I heard someone calling to me… but I'm not ready to leave yet.

I guess there was one thing I was better at than Sam was… I was a great bubble blower, out on that balcony. I blew them bigger and bigger, each one a brilliant rainbow of emptiness… almost a reflection of myself. Maybe I blew them to show Sam that I really could do something better than he could… but then, who taught me to blow them? Who cut the straws and mixed the water? It wasn't my parents; it was Sam. Even my greatest accomplishment could be deferred to him.

Still, he never tried to take the credit. He enjoyed watching me do it. He'd stand out there on the balcony with me, watching with amazement. "Wow," he'd say, "you're awesome with that!"

I offered the cup and the straw to him. "Here, you do it!" I said.

He gave me an awkward look. "Well, OK," he said, "but I'm not as good as you."

"Come on!" I urged. "You're the best at everything!"

He chuckled. "Well, I guess I'm decent," he said, "but my technique isn't as good as yours. You're gentle, so you can get perfect, big ones. I blow too hard and mine pop right away."

Gentle? Me? Oh, Sam, if only you knew what would happen later…

I watched the bubble on the tip of the straw. It appeared, then swelled up like a big, happy balloon… and then it was gone. Flecks of water splashed on my face, making me wince and turn away… but when I turned back, I was alone. The balcony was empty and silent. Where did Sam go?!

I looked around the fusion of past and nightmare, my little body trembling. I called for him to come back, but there was no answer… because he won't come back. He's gone forever… and I'm the one who made him go away.

Instantly the balcony was gone, replaced with the seething crosswalk, and… I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn't. My gaze was glued to my brother, twisted and gnarled in the road, glasses gone, one shoe off, a red puddle pooling around his head. His eyes, wide and limpid, stared lifelessly into mine. I wanted to run, but I couldn't. I had done this. I had killed him. Maybe… I had killed myself, too.

… … …

The Ichijoujis jumped as their son shot up from his bed with a gurgling cry, his eyes wide and feral. "Oh!" Mrs. Ichijouji gasped, a smile finally coming to her mouth. "Thank God!"

"Ken! How do you feel?" Mr. Ichijouji asked. "What happened?"

His answer was absolute silence. Ken just stared at his feet, his hair hiding his eyes. "Ken?" Mr. Ichijouji tried, putting his hand on his shoulder. Ken didn't react at all.

Mrs. Ichijouji's smile vanished as fast as it had appeared. "What's wrong with him?!" she asked.

Mr. Ichijouji frowned. "Maybe… he's just disoriented," he suggested, pulling back. "If we give him some time…"

No, that's not it… I'm dead. I don't know who anyone is… not even myself.

Mrs. Ichijouji wasn't content with just waiting. "Should we call a doctor?" she asked. "I'll call a doctor!"

Mr. Ichijouji put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head; he didn't think that would help any. He turned and looked up at his son; maybe something else would bring him around. "Ken," he began, "while you were sleeping, your mother and I were thinking… that you were trying to be more like Sam, and we didn't stop you…"

Sam? That name… That sounds… familiar…

Mr. Ichijouji shook his head. "We're sorry," he said quietly. "We should have… encouraged you to be the son you were, instead of the one we lost…"

Mrs. Ichijouji shuddered. "We're so sorry!" she choked. "Can you forgive us…?"

Forgive? Forgive what? What have you done? Who am I to forgive you?

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please… just… be yourself…" she sobbed.

Why is she crying? I don't understand… She's done nothing, but she's crying… I've destroyed so much, but she's the one who's sad…

A sudden wetness on his cheek made his hand slowly reach up to it, his fingers rubbing it around.

Wait… I'm crying?… But… corpses can't cry… can they?…

Mr. and Mrs. Ichijouji felt a gleam of hope as Ken turned ever so slightly, looking at them out of the corners of his tear-streaked eyes.

Maybe… maybe I'm more alive than I thought…

… … …

The steady hum of afternoon traffic mixed with the flapping chop of a helicopter as I stared out the window, still clad in the wrinkled uniform I had worn for days. I had been up for a few hours, wandering around the apartment, but I was still dead.

The sun was shining and the sky was turning a powerful orange, but it could have been dark and rainy and it wouldn't have made a difference to me. This place had no answers for me, nothing I hadn't seen or known before. Would I remain dead in this place forever? Something ached inside me; my body didn't want that. If only the rest of me knew what to do, where to go… and why…

"Ken, dinner's ready," a woman's voice came, and a hand clamped on my shoulder. I wasn't expecting it, so naturally I jumped and whirled around. This woman I once knew looked surprised, then a little sad. "It's OK…" she said, "you can eat whenever you're ready."

Eat? The dead don't eat. As I turned away, my eyes fell on a photograph on a table. As I reached down and picked it up, a wave of unpleasantness rose up from my stomach. It was a picture of Sam… the same picture that had been draped in black, sainted by my parents.

"Oh…" the woman said quietly. "That's Sam, your brother…" She paused, and when she continued, her voice was thick with emotion. "We were all devastated by the accident, but you were affected the most…" she choked.

My hands trembled violently. Accident? That was no accident… This boy was dead because of me, and I was dead because I had killed him. Who in their right mind would dare to call it an "accident?" All at once, I felt my eight-year-old hands thrust into his ten-year-old stomach, heard the horrible sounds, saw the terrible results of my action… I slammed the picture down, strode past the surprised woman and returned to my room, shutting the door behind me. There was nothing here but guilt and regret. I had to go… but where?

Something gleamed on my desk. As I looked down, my stomach swelled again. On the computer keyboard lay the black thing… "Digivice," I heard myself whisper. All at once, dozens more memories crashed through my brain… images of a little green bug that followed me everywhere, each image looking sadder and more forlorn than the last. A bug that I had beaten, whipped, insulted, until… Another name escaped my lips: "Wormmon…"

My eyes locked onto the Digivice, and I snatched it up and pointed it at the monitor. I knew where I had to go.

… … …

Mrs. Ichijouji had been surprised by the reaction her son had to the picture, but she wasn't ready to stop trying to connect with him. She prepared a cup of his favorite tea and put a few cookies on a plate and went to his door. "Ken?" she asked, opening it slowly. "Maybe you don't want a big meal, but—"

The platter crashed onto the floor of the empty room. The computer's screen glowed, just as it had when he had vanished the first time. Her legs failed her as she sank against the wall, letting out a mournful wail.

… … …

I appeared in an empty wasteland. There was no life… and not a sound, save the wind. I started walking. I didn't know where I was headed, or why… but my body ached as if it longed to go that way… and so I went.

I walked for hours, and over many terrains. I trudged through a rocky canyon, into a deep valley, down a hill of broken trolleys, through a dark forest… My feet burned from the walking, but I didn't care; at least I was feeling something.

Finally, the trees gave way and I stopped, the sight before me dazzling my blank eyes. A great, green plain loomed up before me, with giant buildings made of soft, colored blocks in the distance. The trees around it had little toys hanging in the branches. All along the ground sat colorful eggs, and every so often a little wooden cradle, like an open-air nursery. Something about the place stirred my heart, and made me speak. "What is this?" I asked aloud.

"Hello!" a high little voice answered me, making me jump as badly as when then woman had touched me. I whirled around to see a small, white jellyfish—a Poyomon—sitting in a nearby cradle, its beady black eyes staring at me. "This is Primary Village!" it went on. "It's where all Digimon are reborn!"

I blinked a few times, not believing what I was hearing. How could something come back to life when it died? "But…" I managed, "Digimon… don't die?"

"That's right," the jellyfish said. "Digimon never die; they just get reconfigured into DigiEggs and come back as babies!"

My breathing quickened. I dared to hope. Maybe… maybe Wormmon was here somewhere?! Then maybe I could find him, and make up for what had happened! Then maybe… maybe if I found Wormmon… maybe I wouldn't be dead anymore, either!

I raced around the village, looking at each egg and every cradle. The babies all looked up at me in surprise, but none of them looked like Wormmon. There were lots of different eggs—polka-dotted, spotted, heart-stamped—but I didn't think any of those could be my friend. After all, his egg was… Wait… I stopped and looked down at the green and yellow egg before me. Had I ever seen Wormmon's egg? I didn't remember seeing it… I picked up the egg and ran my hands over it, hope sinking out of my soul. I didn't know what Wormmon's egg looked like… just as I didn't know who I was.

"HEY!" a shrill voice came from behind me. "I know YOU!"

My heart leaped as I whirled around. "You do?!" I asked.

A small, purple baby Digimon with a puffy, beard-like swell—a Yuramon—glared at me from its cradle. "You're the Digimon Emperor!" With an angry cry, it leaped up and swatted at my face with its antennae. "You killed me three times in a row!" it yelled.

My mind played a hundred memories at once: memories of lashing whips, flying rings, tall, black obelisks… the Digimon Emperor. My knees shook. I felt sick. Yes, I was the Digimon Emperor. I was the tyrannical despot who had enslaved, tortured and murdered hundreds upon hundreds of Digimon… and all because I had blocked out the fact that Digimon were living creatures… because I didn't want to think about Sam anymore. "Oh, God…" I groaned aloud. "If I hadn't let my brother seep into how I saw things… maybe I wouldn't have done what I did… and Wormmon would still be here!"

"What a load of pooey!" another cradle huffed. I turned to see a little three-pronged red blot—a Punimon—sneer at me. "You don't want to find Wormmon for HIS sake! You're just trying to make YOURSELF feel better!"

"Like any self-respecting Digimon would want to hang around the Digimon Emperor!" an angry black blob—a Botamon—snapped from another cradle. "No way Wormmon would want to be with you again! You murdered him!"

My whole body spasmed, and the egg lurched out of my grip and smashed to pieces on the ground. A chorus of high-pitched shrieks rocked the nursery. "NOW look what you've done!" the Punimon shouted. "You killed ANOTHER one!"

I sank to my knees, overcome. Truth is the most horrible weapon of all. Just like Sam was gone forever, Wormmon was too… and again, it was all because of me… my hatred. I hated Sam because he made me feel useless. I started off working to protect Wormmon so he WOULDN'T end up like Sam… but I ended up hating him too, because I made myself believe he was useless. I was a murderer twice over.

As the babies' angry noises got louder, I reached down and picked up pieces of the broken egg, looking at the hands that held them. A textbook in those hands made me a genius. A whip in them, though… I wasn't a murder twice over; I was a murder hundreds, thousands of times over. I was a monster. I shook my head wildly, tears starting to spill out of my eyes. I didn't want to be a monster. I had never wanted to be a monster! "I'm sorry…" I said quietly. Then I said it again, louder. "I'm sorry!" Then I screamed it to the whole world, hoping they would all hear it… hoping Wormmon and Sam could hear it: "I'M SORRY!"

"Get out!" the Botamon shouted. "Get out of here!"

I looked up at the furious little babies, almost seeing my young self in them… and the hatred as well. "Please…" I whispered. "Please… forgive me… Give me another chance!…"

"You bastard!" the Punimon snapped. "You come in here, you try to take over, you break our eggs, and you want forgiveness?!"

"It's too late!" the Yuramon huffed. "We all know what you are!"

A terrible, thundering, high-pitched chorus rose in the village. "Get out! GET OUT!" the babies yelled. "Get out and never come back!"

I got to my feet, trying to reason with them. "I'm sorry!" I pleaded. "I'll never hurt you again! I'll—"

My answer was more angry yells, and then the babies all started foaming at the mouth. Hundreds of stinging bubbles pelted my whole body. I couldn't take it; I raced back into the forest from which I had come, stumbling and falling at least three times, gasping for air between sobs.

I cast one more look back at Primary Village, then resumed my corpselike shuffle through the woods. I was doomed. How could I ever make up for what I had done when this world wouldn't give me a chance?

For another several hours I wandered, until I felt my feet growing soggy through my shoes. I looked up to see the penetrating blue of the ocean; I had walked all the way to a beach. My feet ached and burned through the cold water; I needed rest. My eyes fell on a nearby palm tree that sat in an outcropping of grass; that looked as good a spot as any. I sank against it, groaning at the simple pleasure of transferring my weight to another object.

The tree had other plans; it jerked back, sending me onto the ground. I just lay there, staring up at the empty sky. With the wind in my ears, and too tired to do much else, I quietly let myself fall into dreamless darkness.

… … …

It must have been several hours before I came to, and immediately I jumped up in alarm. I was adrift in the ocean! The tree and the grass were still with me… but the land they had been on had split from the shore, rocking up and down like a little boat in the water. My skin sizzled with sunburn, and my stomach complained loudly. I probably looked like a tattered old castaway…

I saw the island was making ripples in the water, so I knew it was still moving. I turned the opposite direction to see where it was going and I froze. In the approaching distance, the ocean of blue gave way to an ocean of yellow and brown: a vast desert. Something long and black jutted up from it, and even though it was hazy and far away, I could tell it was huge. Somehow, I knew I had seen it before…

My little island came into shore and I dragged myself off, stumbling towards the giant object. This desert was wide and empty; there wasn't another living thing in sight. I could have died out there and nobody would have known… but I didn't care. I pressed on, not even looking at the object, but at my feet shuffling in the sand.

After another hour of walking, and my skin burned even more, itching beneath my stinking gray uniform. I could have sworn my littlest toes had snapped off and were rolling around inside my shoes. As I came into the shadow of the object, I craned my head upwards to see what it was… and my body underwent a massive shock for another time that day. It was the Gigas… the Digimon Emperor's… my base.

A large, gaping hole in the hull beckoned to me, the darkness inside a tempting respite from the blazing sun. I stared at it a long time, then shuffled inside, my eyes glazed over. At least there was one place in this world that still welcomed me…

As my eyes adjusted to the blackness, I saw smashed walls, collapsed ceilings, and broken Mekanorimon strewn about. I shuddered; Kimeramon really had ravaged it. Why had I let it go this far?… Why hadn't I listened to Wormmon?…

I stopped and leaned against a wall, tears flowing and sobs gasping whether I controlled them to or not. When Sam died, I forgot about the Digital World completely… and then when I was reintroduced to it, I wanted to protect Wormmon so he wouldn't go away like Sam… but in my zeal to protect him, I hurt everyone else… and then I forgot about him, and only the desire to inflict pain remained… Those babies were right. Sam and Wormmon were gone forever…. and so was Ken. I was now, and would always be, the Digimon Emperor… and the Digimon Emperor would always be hated.

I looked up into the blackness that was the path to my throne room. Yes… the Emperor would be hated by everyone… until he was destroyed. I got to my feet and staggered down the lopsided halls.

Someone else must have been in the throne room before me; when I tried to access the last computer, its database had been completely wiped, per my security system. Well, that was fine by me… It was probably better that it was gone; that would stop others from making the same terrible mistakes…

I looked over at my throne, which still sat rigidly facing the broken screens. Another spark of hope ran through my heart; all was not lost. I walked over to it and pushed at it with all the strength I had left. With a loud groan, it toppled over, taking a hunk of the floor up with it.

I felt a smile come to my lips as I beheld the small, gray laptop. In it lay the plans to my second trump card, something I had worked on before I started Kimeramon; something I had planned to mass-produce for my minions. Like a deranged ape, I squatted before it and typed wildly. If nobody would forgive the Digimon Emperor, then I would just have to kill him… and this was the way to do it.

… … …

The sun was halfway into the horizon as I stepped out of the wreckage. Though the Mekanorimon had no souls of their own, I silently thanked them for having the parts I needed. With the same program I had used to create my robes, I had crafted the second guise of the Digimon Emperor.

It was nothing special; just a hefty, metallic block mounted on a shackle-like cylinder on each arm, and a long, shining tube rising up from my right shoulder. It wasn't as flashy as my original costume—and it definitely wasn't as lightweight— but it would do the job.

But it needed to be tested. My eyes scanned the desert and locked on to my target: the tall, wretched blackness of a Control Spire… the last one my craft planted before it buried itself here. Re-energized, I raced to it and raised my new tools.

On my right arm, a twenty-millimeter, six-barreled, air-cooled, electrically-fired Vulcan. Streams of plasma bullets tore into the spire, chipping away its sharp edges and making it sway in the desert breeze.

On my left arm, a heavy anti-tank grenade launcher. A gray sphere the diameter of my upper arm bounced out and exploded against the foundation, taking out a giant chunk and making it tilt.

And finally, in the shoulder cannon, a high-energy, inverted magneto laser with three different strengths and 360-degree rotation in all directions. A green beam sliced through the black tower at a diagonal and the top hit the sand before the bottom did.

I stood over my fallen child, tired and satisfied. I knew what to do now. I was going to make things right. The Digimon Emperor would kill the Digimon Emperor.

A staticky chirp caught my attention. I turned around to see a television lying in the sand nearby, its screen depicting my room. My dedication to destruction gave way to tenderness. There was one other thing I had to make right first… No… two things.

… … …

Nothing could stop the weeping of Mrs. Ichijouji this time. Her husband was consoling her, as he often did, but this time he didn't even know the reason for it. "Please, dear," he said quietly, "what is it? What's the matter?…"

"G-gone!…" she choked through the sobs. "He's… g-gone!…"

He swallowed. Ken was gone again? "What?" he asked. "But…"

The creak of a door made them both freeze. Ken emerged from his dark room, looking haggard and unkempt, like he had been walking for hours.

"Ken!" Mrs. Ichijouji cried, shooting up and running to him.

"What just happened?!" Mr. Ichijouji demanded. "Did you go somewhere?"

She's crying again?… I… I think I understand now… She… missed me… They both missed me… They really do care… I thought they didn't, but… Someone in this world cares about me… accepts me… loves me…

Mrs. Ichijouji forgot to breathe. Ken looked right at her, his eyes ornamented with a gleam that had never been there before. Tears started to form in them as he took a shuddering breath. "Mama?…" he asked in a wavering, soft tone.

Both Ichijoujis gasped. Their son was looking at them again… and speaking!

"Mama…" Ken said again, his eyes spilling over. "Could you… give me… a second chance?…"

He didn't even need to ask. His mother threw her arms around him and sobbed happily. His father, tears in his eyes now, too, lay a hand on his shoulder.

Through the tears and the joy, Ken looked past his parents at the windowsill, where the picture of Sam stood, smiling at him.

It'll be fine now… You don't have to worry anymore… I'm gonna make things right, Sam… I'm gonna make things right, Wormmon…

I'm gonna make things right…