Existentialism
In the beginning there wasn't much else but the unending void that surrounded our life overtly like a blanket. However, it was in a satisfactory belief that such ideals were upheld by the neighborhood believer - Ichigo.
Unlike many of the others, she, like Alpha, had never changed. And yet she felt different in so many different ways that she could not fully explain the truth of the matter. In fact, her body felt like it had come from a different aspect of their physical dimension altogether. Who was she? Was she real? These were questions that entered her mind to and fro like a mantra.
However, quite physically she couldn't bring to bear the fact that her body was... frail. Destroyed in the idea that her mind was shattered. What happened? She thought to herself now. Did Zero-Two and Hiro survive? The fictitious world she had surrounded herself with in the dreams of stuffed animals; of kitties, dogs, pandas and rabbits that would coddle her when she was in her darkest moments had come crashing down like a building.
And yet, it was so strangely beautiful. The fullness of her gait as she walked down the familiar hallway that in, some way, existed. Who willed it to exist? If no one did, then certainly it was being upheld by some secretive force that was invisible to the naked eye? Was she alone?
But the existential threat that these questions posed were, undeniably the most foundational shattering ones of all. She herself couldn't tell what ended, and began. The poor fact was that her friends seemed to be completely oblivious to the indelible reality shatter that could forever shake their idea of reality.
And yet; as her pale hand grasped the handle of the door to her classroom, she pushed the door open with a heave, before stepping into the familiar 16x16 room that housed desks, a whiteboard, and a full on display on the back wall. For which her eyes dropped upon the familiar sight of chaos - and the blonde clone at the back of it all.
Hiro, who sat uncomfortably close to Zero-Two offered a wave - the horned girl was instead drawling over the raven haired boy.
But one thing itched at the back of the blue haired girls' mind - who was she exactly? And what place did she fit in the grand puzzle of life? Was she an outcropping, destined to be used to find the inner pieces to the puzzle, or was she to be in the inner one - molded by the outside and yet intrinsically independent of all such devoid thought?
It scared her.
Then the television turned on - the RGBs' flashed to light rather immediately, color coming to the frame as Ichigo sat down in her seat, and folded her hands. The small girl let out a quiet sigh, before then setting down a bag against the desk.
Mr. Clarke was idly pressing an index to the chalkboard, pressing up and down at the various etchings of mathematical equations, talking about Pythagorean Theorem and other nonsensical topics that, in truth, no one would use at the end of the day.
"Now, on to our next topic of discussion in School in the History Block. Simply put - Ulrike Meinhoff and her Red Army Band in West Germany, and the threat of Socialism in the Western World in-" Mr. Clarke was cut off, his cyan-blue visor wavering over Ikuno.
"Um, excuse me? But Socialism and/or Communism has never been tried fully yet! It's not fully realized in any country, nor is the Soviet Union a true-" Ikuno drawled on and on for about a good minute, before Clarke raised his hand and hushed her.
"Next, we're onto the Red Army Band. They conducted numerous terrorist attacks against Capitalist and Western leaning politicians in the 1960s and 1970s. Curiously, Meinhoff's husband was a moderate Socialist, who divorced his wife in the early 70s for her Far Left Extremism." He finished off with a placing of the book Hans und Grete, a book about the Baader.
And yet, everything about Ulrike Meinhoff is true. From the very fabric of her reality to the unsettling attacks she committed against regular, ordinary people. If Hiro were the hero of this tale, then Zero-Two would undoubtedly be the Meinhoff.
But in the deepest, darkest depths of silence stood Dr. Werner Franxx, the German responsible for the procreation of his 'daughter' Zero-Two and the feminine figure of the Franxx. For which, really no one knew why such a creature was... dear to him. Twice divorced, once by a human, once by a klaxosaur of whom he found himself still in love with - in a crazy sort of way. He was holding a cane - standing at the edge of a cavern with his beard flowing through the sands of time - or, that's what it felt like.
Across from him stood the Klaxohime - for Zero-One. A toothy smile protruded from Franxx, before he turned his head back down to the depths - to accept his fate once more. No more - no more could he live like cattle in a world that he had no control in. The world had no say over his existence. For which - he pledged to make sure lasted as long as time itself.
So he jumped. And death opened it's arms and embraced him fully; one less mad man who created his monsters plagued the world. But stock? It dropped.
"Tonight on; the 26 show! Learn how we, as a people - destroyed the largest threat to mankind!"
Klaxohime was sitting on her old, rugged sofa as her old telephone had begun to ring and rapture. Tiredly, the non-human continued to watch her television show with her blue eyes - wonder gleaming from it like always. Human ingenuity. It could bring them to great lengths to the Lunar Orbit within sixty years - but it couldn't oust the corruption inside of every person.
This made her chuckle. But the DAMNED PHONE KEPT RINGING. It penetrated her ears like a needle - or like how the surgeon operated in Saw. Her skull was splitting! And yet, her tendrils couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone... Until, she found herself unconsciously getting up on her own two feet - and finally answering the call. "Zero-Two, if this is you, you better tell me I have grandkids or I-"
She stopped. The voice on the other end began to speak. "Dr. Werner Franxx is d-"
"No." She hung up - and went back to watching her show. Tiredness fell into her eyes, as she resettled and finally - with a droopy sort of yawn, went to sleep on the sofa.
Nine Alpha was back on his way home. His cocaine taken, his strap secured - a duckfoot flintlock pistol, which had been securely fastened inside of his coat with a leather belt. Every step he took led to a clack clack, as his boots pressed against the stone cobble that lined the backroads. He wasn't home yet.
He had one last stop to make.
For which, his own pale hand rapped twice on the oak door of a huge house - populated by only one person. Gary.
Fucking Gary. The idiot kept going on and on about how he was the superior life form - Alpha supposed he used Reddit or 4chan, or something like that. For which - he knew this was to be the right thing to do. On all social medias, Gary went around naming himself "VIRM". Shitty name.
And when Gary - a 4'11" ginger haired 230 pound lard opened the door a second later - Alpha had unloaded all four rounds of the duckfoot straight into his face.
"Fucking loser."
Author's Note;
Probably should've written this back with the new chapter that came out, what, a day ago? Consider this a sort of "part 2" of Chapter 7. Yeah yeah, I know, CITF is "back". I'm going to try and do a monthly/biweekly thing of releasing chapters.
Secondly, you may have noticed that writing has changed. Don't worry, this is the same author as before, just a few years wiser and older. If I must be honest, I've thought about coming back to this and "Taste Buds" for a while now - but with a new spin. Maybe even a new story if people would like that.
Not only that, but I've missed doing this. Writing stories for the masses; even if some people don't read it! It's blatant fun just to write a story that I myself care about.
Though it's not all fun. I'm aware of the problems that had ensued after the first few chapters of this story; and I sincerely apologize for such negligence that occurred - and to my fellow writers who I fell into a bad habit of antagonizing.
If anything, this is all just for fun and redemption.