I don't think I have any pre-chapter commentary today, business as usual.
Comment Reviews:
Ebony umbreon - We may never knooooow...
TheAmberShadow - Eh, I have absolutely no clue. I've heard arguments saying they do and don't have a mother, and both seem valid to me. We'll have to wait and see. RHYMES! I LOVE RHYMES! The fandom is called Detective Conan (also known as Case Closed). I've also been thinking about writing for Danny Phantom. But I dunno. Can't seem to get the ideas in my head into words. And thank you for calling me smart :)
LegoTerraWarrior - Thanks!
BedazzleDewDrops - I'll take a Q&A into consideration. Thanks!
Anonymous7 - Again, I gotta give the credit to LTW. They requested that Sakura sing it, and so it happened. I don't know where this story would be if not for that creative genius. Hah! I WISH I could get a vacation. Summer's coming up, though, so at least we have that right?
And...enjoy!
Dreams were strange, he quickly discovered. If he weren't sleeping while having them, he'd sooner believe them to be bizarro acid trips than 'dreams'.
They say dreams are one's subconscious reaching out. At this point it was safe to conclude that his subconscious was freaking messed up.
Clasping his head, he groaned. The floor was cold, even with the added padding of the futon. The sensation of ice crawling under his skin was both intimidating and endearing. Probably because he used to be MADE of ice.
Perhaps some tea would do him good, or a nice cold glass of water.
He rubbed his eyes and turned on a light as he made way for the sink. It had a new look to it, which starkly contrasted the aged metal of the rest of the house. It was shiny, and the paint was clean. A small film of dust coated it, but that was all. Maybe it had been added later on, probably more recently.
The whole house, in fact, swelled with that new-meets-old vibe in a way that distinctly set him on edge. Or maybe it was the fact that everywhere he looked he was stabbed in his now mechanical heart with a tingly de ja vu feeling. He couldn't tell for sure.
He tried to force the dream out of him with a few light slaps to the face, also serving as a method of waking him up. His hand reached out and snatched a coffee mug on the cupboard shelf, and brought it down to the faucet.
For a house disguised as a tree, it was pretty well-furnished. The main area was a small study, with a desk and a few time-bitten pages tucked away. This was where he kept his futon. But a closer look revealed walls lined with doors that led to an impressive network of rooms and crevices. The only ones that didn't look recently added on were the bathroom and the kitchen, but even then those rooms seemed newly refurbished.
He placed the watery mug in the microwave and let it heat up, trying not to question how he knew how to use a microwave in the first place. He had learned to stop questioning these things over time.
One thing he couldn't help but contemplate, however, was the dream.
More specifically, the numbers within that dream.
921-657-9008
921-657-9008
921-657-9008
Again and again, pounding in his brain to point of almost bursting through the robotic flesh consuming half of his face.
He wanted to banish the numbers from his mind. But he NEEDED to know what they meant. Anything suspicious could be something to help him realize his past (or his future, even, considering he used to be a Visionayr). This sequence of numbers didn't feel like some run-of-the-mill acid trip illusion. It felt real, it dug to his cyborg core and told him to...
What was it telling him to do?
Whenever his eye closed - the robot one didn't have eyelids and always stayed open - he could see it. He could see a shaky hand pressing buttons to correspond with the numbers repeating in his mind.
The microwave beeped, and he ran to hush it, and he took his drink. He drank it, he thought about his options, and he acted upon what he felt was the best possible decision.
He let his legs and arms slip into autopilot, using all his mental power to keep a steady grip on those numbers.
921-657-9008
921-657-9008
Repeating it under his breath, repeating it and repeating it until they morphed into meaningless syllables that only served to remind him of the sharp images from his dream.
The streets in Jamanakai were eerily quiet, dark, and damp. A street light hung low over a red pay phone, with its paint chipped off and a less than desirable finish. The buttons were at the point of popping off, and one was well on its way.
The coins in his hand grew heavy with each step. He couldn't. He didn't even know who he was calling, if it was a real number, if anyone would pick up. But dangit, he'd gone through all the trouble of getting dressed and going out into the frigid night to the nearest pay phone.
"It's too late to turn back," he assured himself as he dialed up the number.
921-657-9008
It really wasn't too late, but he told himself that to keep him from chickening out.
The dial tone. Now it really WAS to late.
The person on the other end of the line picked up the phone, just a bit too early for him to have time to prepare emotionally.
"Hello? Who is this?" The voice was static-y but elegant.
Now or never, Echo. "Um yes," he stammered. "Apologies for calling so late in the evening. I'm afraid I don't possess a logical excuse but...I saw your phone number in a dream I had and thought it meant something."
"A dream."
"Yes, a dream. I'm sorry, ma'am, shall I just hang up and stop troubling you?"
A snicker. "It is fine, really. I was just surprised, since I just got this phone a few hours ago. What is your name?"
Of course she had to ask that. "People call me Echo, though my actually name is something even I do not yet know. And you are...?"
A pause. Did he say something wrong?
"Echo?"
"Do I know you?"
Another giggle, this one happier. "I-it is ME, Pixal."
"PIXAL?!" His heart skipped a beat. What were the odds?! But she...she was gone! How? "You're alright!"
"Yes." Her voice softened, and she continued. "What happened to you?"
"I could ask the same of you. You were gone, and I was worried, and I searched everywhere and..." His mouth ran faster than his mind, which is saying something because his mind was speeding down his mental highway.
"Yes. Of course. You probably want to know about that."
Her tone was disappointed and uneasy. She had a secret to keep. He had no clue how he knew that, but he knew that there was a secret she was keeping from him that she wasn't keen on sharing. He deserved to know. His face and heart had been taken from him because of this secret. But...
"You don't have to tell me, Pixal, if you do not want to. Only when you feel comfortable opening up on your own."
"Thank you, Echo. What happened to YOU, though?"
He ran his fingers through his tousled pale hair with a reminiscent smirk. "I searched for you, and was kidnapped by the Masters. I should have waited until sunrise to go out - I know as well as anyone that the night is when the Masters prowl - but I wasn't in my right mind, I suppose."
She knew all this, she had figured it out. She wanted to scream at him through the phone all that she had gone through just to track him down, and how horribly sorry she was to have caused this. But she pursed her lips and allowed him to finish.
"They...they took my heart, Pixal," he said. "They gave me a mechanical one, and replaced half of my face with machines."
"That is awful," she murmured.
"And..." A frightful, traumatized pause. He was alright now, he was with Pixal. He was safe. "...the Serpentines raided the base. They took all the Creatures, probably to poach them, and told all the human prisoners that they'd set us free if we agreed to work with him."
Yes, yes, this was all very familiar. She knew all this. Griffin told her everything about the raid after a good day or so of food, rest, and hospital care.
"So are you with the Serpentines now, Echo?"
He shook his head on instinct, then added on with a hollow "Not anymore. I went in with the Anacondrai team, and escaped as soon as I could." He skillfully neglected to tell her that he didn't join the Anacondrais because purple was his favourite colour, but because purple reminded him of her. She had her secret, and he had his. And his secret was that he was in love with her.
Pixal was better acquainted with the Anacondrai than she would have liked. "So you...did you get tattooed?"
"No, no," he said. "I slipped away to a nearby town before the initiation process could begin. The moment they turned the other way, I made my escape. Now I'm here, trying to raise enough funds to buy the bus fare needed to return home."
"Do not worry," she promised. "Tell me where you are, and I will come to you as soon as I can."
So Echo told her where he was, but asked her to stay on the phone with him for just a while longer.
He stood there, leaning against the pay phone long after his knees buckled and gave way. The wobbling of his thighs were numbed by the overwhelming ecstasy of speaking with Pixal once again.
They sat there, laughing and talking about all that came to mind, until the sky was bright and all of Echo's quarters had been spent.