Chapter 5.1 was actually written months and months ago, right after chapter 4. However, I didn't have the time to finish 5.2, and therefore didn't upload it. I doubt I'll have the opportunity to finish it up in the near future, but since I happen to be uploading something else, I suppose I should put this up as well ...

Chapter 5.1: The Mind Has a Thousand Eyes

Shion's wakefulness had not gone unnoticed. In the next room, Jr. was tossing and turning fitfully, and was himself on the verge of getting up for a walk when he heard the door to Shion's bedroom slide open. He listened carefully; the footfalls were too heavy to be MOMO's, and they fell with a certain confidence and ease, suggesting familiarity with the layout of the house. He groaned; he had gathered from the visions in the Encephalon that Shion had painful memories concerning her parents, and for whatever reason she was roaming the house at this hour, there was no question that his appearance would be intrusive. He sighed and sprawled onto his back.

There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight. Too many disturbing images raced through his head. Had so much happened in the last twenty-four hours?

He rolled out from under his covers and crept to the window. Resting both elbows on the ledge, he gazed out into the night. Despite all the muscles in his body screaming for respite, his mind was refusing to give him any peace. Insistent and unbidden, memories of this long day intruded before his mind's eye ... the smell of raw fear and the babble of terrified voices as they fought through the press of bodies fleeing, mindlessly fleeing, the eerily soundless assault of the Gnosis ... the broken wail of a little girl sifting desperately through the powdery remains of the parents he had been too late to save ... Damn that Albedo! Damn him for summoning the Song of Nephilim and toying with them like they merely existed to affirm his superiority. Unconsciously, he hammered his fist against the window sill and jumped at the sudden sound. He looked around quickly, guiltily, hoping that he hadn't woken anyone up. But no one even stirred (everybody's probably dead tired, he realised), and he returned uneasily to his thoughts.

The Song of Nephilim. Yes, and then there was that ...

He clutched at his head and shut his eyes tightly, concentrating, willing, forcing the memories to sink back into their depths. But cruel and stubborn are those memories which we despise, and the more we fear them, the more brazenly they flaunt themselves. And in spite of his best efforts, surface they did. The despairing jolt of MOMO'S telepathic plea for help ... the blank, lifeless stare of that kirshwasser at the entrance ... the rictus of savage pleasure on Albedo's face as he tore through her ... Her cries of anguish had torn through him like a white-hot blade. Jr.'s knuckles whitened as his hands caught the window sill in a merciless grip; his arms and shoulders tensed as if the sill was Albedo's neck and he could rid the world of that piece of vermin by snapping it. The memories flowed onwards, ever unstoppable, and he shuddered as he recalled those burning eyes, that giddy, spine-chilling laugh of a man drunk on some sensual delight ... and, and ... the tear of pain and shame that rolled down her face as he had just stood there, watching helplessly ... guiltily. For he knew he was at fault too – as much as Albedo had enjoyed tormenting MOMO, it was obvious that he had done as much to torment him.

How he wanted to stomp and yell in sheer frustration! This fragile, peaceful silence – how he wanted to shatter its foolish complacency and with furious curses drag its cowardly hide out from under the covers! He seethed and he fumed, and it rankled him all the more because he couldn't vent without being a very, very inconsiderate house guest.

Jr. groaned and flopped against the window, arms dangling as he wearily rested his chin on the ledge. His body was too tired to sustain that much anger for long. Maybe after a few winks and breakfast.

Have you forgotten what you did to us?! It's all because of you ... Left behind in that horror, did we have any choice but to submit to it?

Albedo's accusing words rang out in his mind. Jr. surrendered with a grimace, and let the memory wash over him.

So you finally admit to it, you coward! Albedo had spat out those words sneeringly.

And again, in the privacy of his mind, in the deep calm of night, he could not but face the absolute truth: it had all been his fault. Albedo was right. He was such a coward. He had not known how to control it, the surge of fear that clawed at his heart, that tightening of the chest – so tight he was unable to breathe. He had lost it; he had panicked, and by panicking, everything was lost.

How could I have known? He railed bitterly at the cold eyes that stared at him from his memories, dead eyes that were always weighing him, judging him and pronouncing him guilty. But how could he have known what fear was like if he had never experienced it before? Were URTVs so different, so inhuman, that they could be expected to feel nothing in that final moment between existence and nonexistence? Why had Dr. Yuriev bothered to make them different if their sole purpose in living was to destroy and be destroyed? How fair was it to wager so much that was priceless on the shoulders of those so naïve to the world? It's not fair!!

Why had his one failure have to be so unforgiveable? Why, when other children – normal children – had the luxury of running away from their fears, into the embrace of warm, soothing voices that reassured and taught and chided, and the luxury of time to come to terms with their fears?

Yet those eyes still bore into him, and in their silent glare was another unassailable truth: no other URTV had severed their mental link. Of all hundreds of them, he had been the lone coward. Why? Why was he different? Was it some genetic destiny he had lost when he gained his unique powers? Guilt and shame surged through him, bile more bitter than any rage.

That he should have lived to this day, was it wrong?

Jr. sighed, and shifted uncomfortably. It was going to be a long night. Suddenly, he paused. The walls must have been exceedingly thin, for he seemed to hear a faint sound coming from next door. He cocked his head, straining to hear it clearly. There it was again. Frowning, he tip-toed to the wall and kneeled down. He could now distinctly hear muffled sobs. Had Shion returned without his noticing it? Probably not. It sounded more like MOMO.

And it troubled him – all the more so because he should have expected this. He had been too lost in his own fury and self-pity to notice; how long had she been crying all by herself, scared and distressed and so very alone? Phantoms of memory became so vivid when the real world was sunk in darkness – how well he knew. Jr. rose swiftly to his feet, and slipped out of the room.

He took a deep breath, then tapped softly on the door to Shion's bedroom. The sobbing cut off immediately. He cracked the door open just enough to let his voice carry through. "MOMO?"

"Jr.?" MOMO's voice whispered tremulously.

"May I come in?"

There was a sudden rustle of bed sheets and blankets, and of skin rubbing against skin. MOMO was probably wiping her face, he surmised.

"Sure."

Jr. slid the door open and stepped inside. It was too dark to make out her expression clearly, but unshed tears sparkled in the moonlight. He almost reached out to wipe them away. But instead, he asked anxiously in a low voice, "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you up; I didn't realize I was being so noisy." She rubbed her eyes vigourously.

"No, that's alright. You didn't wake me up; I-I couldn't sleep either. Would you like to go for a walk?" He scratched his head. "Well, I know you must be tired ... but perhaps ..."

"Thank you, Jr." she smiled weakly, "A walk would be very nice."