1. Abandon Hope
Note: If you're not familiar with the caste system, it's essentially a social order-the highest caste is treated with the utmost respect, and is typically wealthy, holding most of the political power. They are usually priests or warriors, whatever the society values most. The lower castes are largely ignored, or even abused, and the lowest caste is often forbidden from even interacting with other castes.
Izzy's fourth floor apartment was cramped and poorly maintained, a model typically reserved for the Laborer caste, the Numemon and Pagumon. It was clearly a temporary residence, the only furniture of note being a battered wooden desk (on which rested a familiar pineapple laptop) and a few folding chairs. Sitting in one of these, brooding, Joe held a cigarette between forefinger and thumb. Apparently, Izzy had picked up the habit during the past ten years, bought the packs off Gazimon, claimed it helped him think. Besides, he reasoned, Digital entities didn't have lungs or other organs, so no permanent damage could result. Then again, he didn't think Digimon could age, either, until he had seen Etemon at his last concert. He looked terrible, a tired, flabby wreck of a Digimon, and, during his rendition of My Way, he had forgotten the words-a song he had sung hundreds, if not thousands of times.
"Gennai?" Joe intoned, staring at the floor. All day, he listed names, Leomon, Centauromon, Piximon, and gotten the same response. Dead, vanished, imprisoned. He looked up, Izzy stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He still wore those ridiculous gloves, though he had long since outgrown the rest of his trademark outfit, and wore a simple burlap tunic. Of all Datamon's societal reforms, clothing had been the most alien, and the most difficult to implement. Eventually, as always, the populace had gotten used to it.
"Enough." Izzy announced. "Let's not talk about the past. It doesn't really matter, anymore. What's done is done."
"Then…what about the future?" Joe stood, discarding the unlit cigarette. "Why did you come back? We're hunted men, Demidevimon gave up searching, but there's still the bounty…"
"Isn't it obvious?" Izzy began to pace, in neat, concentric circles, that stoic, almost comically determined look on his face, the one the Digidestined had often worn into battle.
"God, you don't mean…have you gone completely insane!? Etemon…Etemon is the undisputed sovereign of Server, and File Island as well! He'll crush you like a bug!" Joe erupted, palms open and arms outstretched. Tentomon eyed him askance, but was silent.
"Look, Joe, I just need some closure. Just need to feel like I did something for them, for T.K, and the rest. Didn't just forget them. Call it vengeance. Call it retribution. Call it whatever the hell you want." Izzy shrugged, kneeling to retrieve the cigarette Joe had tossed aside. Fingers shaking, he lit it. Scowling disgustedly, Joe walked to the door.
"This is lunacy. There's no way you can make a dent on Etemon's empire, not by yourself. It's hopeless…"
"Then why are you here?" Izzy accused. Joe stopped dead, speechless. He began to stammer incoherently, as Izzy watched with a triumphant smirk.
"I…I…what I mean, is…I'm not sure." He finished, looking deflated. "It's been too long. I don't why I do anything, anymore." He sank into his chair. "Listen, I know…Etemon's days are numbered. Soon, he'll be Digi-dust, and that'll be that. His empire won't survive his death."
"Exactly." Izzy concurred, exhaling a spout of toxic smoke. "He was never the true villain, and it was never my intention to overthrow him."
Joe sighed with relief at that, but still seemed pensive. "Then what…?"
"Like I said, I had to do something. Something symbolic, maybe, something beautiful and tragic…"
"This whole world is tragic, everything about it. Why make it worse?"
Izzy went on, as though he hadn't heard. "Demidevimon wears the crest of hope like a medal about his shoulders. Snatched it from T.K's throat, before the corpse had stiffened. In the old days, he used to parade around town, flashing the damn thing for the whole world to see, like it was something to be proud of. Like he was a goddamned hero for killing this little kid. Now days, he hardly ever leaves the palace, none of them do." He gazed out the window once more, his hand on the sill. In the distance, like some impossible mirage, stood Etemon's inverted pyramid. "I'm going to walk up to him, shoot him, right in the face, and pry the crest from his cold, dead…I've gotta stop. Scaring myself." He turned back, a pained smile on his features.
"Gomamon." Joe announced, suddenly, surprising even himself. "And Sora."
"Eh?"
"Sora. They told me she was still alive…don't know if I believe them, the Pagumon, but if there's a chance…"
"Then you're in." Izzy held out his hand to shake, clumsily, as though unfamiliar with the gesture.
"W-Wait! I didn't say anything about…but, what I meant was…I…but I…" His head sunk, he sighed. "I'm in." They shook, and Tentomon buzzed up, clutching something in his forearms. Izzy took the object, which gleamed in the light of the window.
"When I said I'd shoot him, I meant it. The technocracy, the highest caste, is mostly Gazimon. They posses genius intelligence, but are rather weak, and so they designed these sidearms to give them a combative edge." It was a pistol of some sort, futuristic but bulky, with a rectangular barrel. "It fires a brief burst of concentrated, raw data-enough to disrupt or even destroy a smaller target. It wouldn't faze something as large as a Monochromon, but they have other weapons for that. You have to admire their ingenuity."
The only really inconvenient thing about humans, he reflected, was that they grew. Digimon never grew, only Digivolved. From there, they shrunk. The girl, however, was growing at an alarming rate, and unpredictably. This annoyed Datamon to no end, he disliked the unpredictable, preferred the sterile, the formulaic. There was nothing in life that could not be reduced to an equation, or expressed as a formula. He grimaced, looking over the recent data, and occasionally glancing up at the girl. Soon, he would have gathered all the necessary information. Her use would be at an end. As he turned to go, the compound doors hissed open. Through the steam their operation released, he could make out a wiry, bipedal figure, a Gazimon, one shattered ear hanging limply at his side. Spencer. That Digimon was an oddity among his race, a simple, trusting creature with an honest face. Intelligent; though naïve. In other words, ideal for his purposes.
"Report." He demanded absently, careful never to look straight at an inferior Digimon. Datamon was without caste; he transcended the system.
"Lord Etemon is very sick. Heart failure, we believe, from over-consumption of cholesterol-enriched substances, though he will not submit to a physical. Rather, he continues to eat. If I may be allowed my opinion, we never should have introduced him to bacon." While he spoke, Spencer made an effort to peer around Datamon's cylindrical form. The Director had interposed himself between Spencer and a massive specimen tube, which sensors indicated was currently occupied. Upon hearing his news, Datamon clicked in an agitated fashion and motored off into the recesses of the lab, leaving Spencer momentarily unattended.
"Do not touch anything, I will be back momentarily." He called in parting. Spencer knew better than to ignore that command, but Datamon hadn't said anything about looking. And so look he did. And he saw her.
She was human, that much was clear. The Crest Wars had come before his time, and he had never seen one of that species outside of a textbook, but nonetheless recognized her immediately. She resembled the master's first clone, the original, perhaps? She had a kind of fragile beauty about her, a butterfly crushed between two panes of glass, an iridescent beetle preserved in formaldehyde. Her coarse, brown hair still curled slightly at the edges, and her eyes (a faint brown, almost red) shone dull, lifeless. She wore a creased surgical gown, common to test subjects. She…it was a she, wasn't it? She looked right at him, through him, unseeing for a moment. And smiled. And suddenly, he felt…he searched for a word. There was no term in his extensive vocabulary to describe the emotion, it was something so totally alien in Datamon's sterile realm that at first he refused to acknowledge it. Still, the word forced its way into his consciousness, insistent, until he spoke it aloud. Love. He felt love. No, he was in love, that was the term. His peers would mock him, he knew, but there was no need for them to know, no need for anyone to know, save himself. He almost smiled. And then, all at once, Datamon returned in a cyclone of activity, and the moment was shattered.
"…Data, I must have data! How can I be expected to operate without information?" He was saying. As always, his voice was calm, calculating, even when he seemed so incensed. "Oh, are you still here? Off with you, I have much work to do." He snapped, turning to Spencer. And the Gazimon ran, as fast as his sinewy legs would carry him, that fleeting smile playing over and over in mind.
They left in the early morning, before the scorching sun had risen, and the streets were choked with commerce. New Cairo was a stark, futuristic metropolis, characterized by vast open spaces and efficient architecture. Now, the sun was behind the pyramid, placing them quite literally in Etemon's shadow. Izzy had refuted Joe's suggestion of a taxi, preferring to walk. His destination was only a few blocks away, a subterranean shop, one of the hundreds that lined the main street, staircases sloping down to dimly lit foyers.
"Hope's Arrow." Joe read off a sign, on which the words had been inscribed in ivory paint. "What do they sell?"
"Hope." Izzy answered, as though it should have been obvious. "It's a shrine." He amended, when Joe still looked quizzical.
"Datamon took up religion, I take it? Not surprised."
"No, no not that at all…it's a…personality shrine." The door swung open, and Joe was confronted with the same pair of wide, innocent blue eyes staring from every surface.
"T.K…" He whispered, as the door slammed forcefully behind him. Opposite him, surrounded by candles and braziers of incense, was a life-size, hand-painted portrait of the boy, waving and grinning ecstatically. "Why have you brought me here?" He demanded, staring resolutely at the floor.
"We need to plan." Izzy explained. "You've been away some time, you need to be familiarized with the situation, and immediately. This seemed as good a place as any. Besides…I thought you might like to see this. It's kind of heartening, I guess, to know that they still care. They're all over the city, you know-we've each got a few shrines, though Matt has the most. You're a close second, and I have two or three which I'm rather proud of…" He trailed off, seeing Joe's expression. The eldest Digidestined stood on the threshold, paralyzed with the effort of maintaining his veneer. It pained him, that much was clear, but he felt it necessary. It wasn't healthy to run from your fears. He told himself that, over and over. "Look, if it really bothers you…" Izzy offered, making as if to exit.
"No!" Joe shouted, his voice harsh. There was a long, tense silence. At last, he spoke. "The situation."
"Right, the situation." They both gazed at T.K's portrait for a moment, then Izzy began. "Etemon has ruled, as you said, undisputedly. Probably because his only enemies find it more convenient to manipulate him. His official title is Lord Etemon, Sovereign Ruler of File and Server, but everyone just calls him The King. Demidevimon has come up in the world-after the Crest War, Etemon promoted him to Official Royal Emissary. He has no tangible power, though he holds sway with the king, which makes him a force to be reckoned with. The other real power is Datamon. No one will acknowledge his existence, especially in Etemon's presence, but the technocracy reports to him. It's hard to say what his ultimate aim is, but for now, he's content to pull the strings at the palace. The Gazimon call him The Director. Then…there's the S.S., or Social Services. Gazimon, mostly, technocracy rejects. They're the police force and intelligence division, patrolling the streets and maintaining the dark network. They're not as much of a threat as the technocracy, they mostly wield nightsticks. Remember Kokatorimon, the cruise ship captain? Well, he's been appointed honorary director of the S.S, and the Director of Urban Development. Datamon may have designed this city, but it was Kokatorimon who built it, or more accurately, supervised the building. I doubt he could even lift a brick himself. You thought Etemon had put on some weight? Kokatorimon's a perfect glutton, so obese he can hardly walk, let alone fight…not that he needs to with his Petrifyer attack. Still, the real enemy is the dark network. We can't approach the palace without being detected; in fact, the city is the only place in entire digital world that isn't wired. However, the sensors range only extends so far, vertically, and it only collects data in pulses, every fifteen minutes or so. Last week, I was able to knock out an auxiliary power plant with Tentomon here." He indicated his Digimon partner, who seemed to blush.
"If we can punch a hole in Datamon's sensor net, we can tunnel under the palace, into the tombs. From there, we can make our way into Etemon's sanctum." Tentomon explained, sketching a rough map into the dirt.
"There's another threat." Joe intoned, gazing at the diagram. "Something you forgot."
"What?" Izzy glanced up, startled.
"You said that Datamon was successful in cloning Sora. That he controlled Birdramon. That means…Gomamon…"
"Joe, I…listen, I'm sorry…but Birdramon and Ikkakumon are Etemon's personal guards. We shouldn't encounter them if…"
"But we have to save them. Gomamon. And Sora…if we find her, she'll want Biyomon back…"
"You're right." Izzy admitted with a sigh. "Damn, this is becoming more complicated by the second…but you're right, we can't leave them there. Not if there's a chance. We break in, kill Demidevimon, retrieve the crest of hope, rescue Sora…and Gomamon…and Biyomon…this is hopeless."
"Then I guess we're in the right place." Joe remarked. Slowly, walking on hallowed ground, he crossed to the portrait. It was worn and faded from the million hands pressed against it, but T.K's face still shone radiant through the grime. There was a slight smudge where some enterprising Digimon had planted a kiss on his acrylic cheek.
Author's Note: I saw a documentary on the last days of Elvis. It was really depressing, and I don't think I'll ever think of him (or Etemon) in the same way. The other main inspiration for this work was The Man In The High Castle by Philip K. Dick, a post-World War II scenario in which the axis won, though there aren't really many parallels between the book and this story, aside from the basic premise.