I'd like to be able to say that events conclude as definitively as they do in story books; however, some things carry on. As cleansing and transformative agent, the fire did mark the end of the organization known as Dark, and its alias, Shadow. Like a plague-ridden body, they were cast into the flames, and they no longer have any influence upon the world.

There may be agents of either association who live, hiding under the umbrella of a political party or large business. I believe they are craven and mindless without Gill, though I may come across one of them at another point in time.

Jiro is here with me now; he has no thoughts of ever straying. I have come to realize that. There are differences in Jiro from the way he used to be. At times, he's moody. His emotions can be unpredictable. He snaps at people on occasion, or is generally cross. I've had to adjust to it myself, because I know it not to be the behavior of a different person than who I spent those pivotal months with, but rather, a part of the flaws of a fully realized human being.

Jiro has always been good at adapting. There have always been techniques in which to deal with temptation and rage. Like Gil's flute, he can circumvent the impulses to harm through different avenues. If we were all that enslaved to temptation, then daily functioning would be too difficult for any of us to handle.

Sometimes, he diffuses his anger through humor.

One afternoon in May, I managed to secure an afternoon free of my usual responsibilities, and spent it out-of-doors, to collect plant leaves for a project. Jiro asked to come along, and Masaru entreated me, as well. However, when we arrived, Masaru seemed more aloof than was his usual habit. He didn't jump on Jiro, trying to provoke a fun reaction out of him, or cling to my side. Instead, he pointed to a rivulet just visible on the horizon, and asked if he could explore. He had a knowing sort of smile as he trudged off towards the stream.

Armed with a pocketful of plastic bags, I waded through the tall grasses to reach a shrub, the leaves full but still tender. Jiro had been wandering off, and I didn't think of him until I was disrupted from my collection by the sound of a raucous splash. I ran through the thickness of the grasses, not spotting the source until I reached Jiro, his legs fully submerged in the shallow end of a pond. His back was up against a rock; it appeared that he hadn't seen the water in time, and had missed his footing along the stones.

His face still registered surprise. He looked so funny, with his legs sprawled out, jeans soaked. I laughed gently and offered him my hand. Jiro glared at me. I could see already what would happen next: he'd make some caustic retort, and regret it later.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes, his anger dimming. "Don't even consider laughing at me," he warned me coolly.

I sank my teeth into my lower lip to keep from smiling. I sidestepped the stones, and traipsed back in the direction of the hedge. As I passed him, I caved, and broke into a grin. I hurried out of his range, but I did so too late. I heard the splash of water, and felt frigid dampness clinging to my back. It sucked the warmth from my body. I gasped and whirled around to see Jiro's grinning face. He was standing ankle deep in the water, wading out of the pond.

By the time Masaru found us, we were both soaked.

My efforts at finding Akira have not been as successful. The little evidence that had existed in verifying him to be a real person seems to vanish at every juncture. I won't relent. I'll continue searching for him until he is found.

Jiro has told me what little he knows about Professor Gill's motives in having a son. I write "motives," because it is clear that Gill used his son as one uses a tool, with the same disposability of any other mechanical artifice. In fact, Akira was the keystone in the operation of the Armageddon God. There is something unique in his abilities that Gill was able to harness, but Jiro himself is unclear as to what it is.

Whatever it may be, I believe that science has yet to define it, either.

Mieko/Bijinder has a long struggle to undergo still. She is under the influence of many conflicting impulses. Getting a grasp on reality would be tenuous for anyone in her condition. Yet, she does come back. Her intervals of lucidity are becoming more frequent, their duration longer. I see her progress more everyday.

For all of my efforts, I am confident that Jiro was right when he spoke to me that night in late March. We won't be remembered. Now, I look at the things my father and Professor Gill wished to attain with their lives. It doesn't matter how many times my work is published, or how many accolades I receive in my field of study. Fame and power will extend my notoriety, but it will not improve upon my character. That's not the legacy I wish to leave.

We'll pass from the Earth, Jiro and I, and have no lasting name in the place we resided. But if the effect of my actions remain for the following generations, then I will be content. That's the impression I wish to make.

In his own way, even Jiro has come to terms with Gill. On one nondescript, early April morning, Jiro and I met in my father's kitchen. I walked in as he slipped on a lightweight jacket. "Oh, there you are," he murmured. "Come on, if we don't hurry, too many people will be up for us to do this."

I felt paralyzed. The closer I tried to move towards the door, the more difficult it became to walk. For some reason, I began thinking of the night I first became aware that Masaru and I were in danger, the same night that Jiro was born. It came back to me so strongly that I could smell the smoke of Father's burning lab, taste it in the back of my throat.

"I can't do it." I declared, suddenly insistent. I looked sheepishly at Jiro. "I know, you shouldn't do this alone. You shouldn't be the one doing this at all. I just-I still can't face him, not after everything that's happened." I felt flustered with shame. I lowered my eyes. "I know it, I'm a bad girlfriend."

The sobriety of the moment broke when Jiro echoed, "Girlfriend," as though he relished the sound of it. I managed a small smile.

He slipped one of his riding gloves off to reveal a hand of flesh; a real hand. He laced his fingers with mine. "This isn't your responsibility. It's mine. After all, I did it to him. Let me be the one to finish this."

"But. Jiro, alone?"

He withdrew his hand and headed for the door. "I'll be back later."

Jiro and I had buried the scant remains of the androids Ichiro and Rei the week after he returned with me. Now, he left again, to commit what was left of Gill to the earth.

The rest you may have guessed already. Father is well; stubborn, but resigned to using his cane. Masaru is getting tall. After a few squabbles between Etsuko and Mr. Hattori, the wedding was agreed to take place in the Fall.

Jiro struggles still. But more often than he fails, he is ruled by his conscience. And so, forever, Gill is defeated.

My small life is now more than I could have dreamt. What possibilities it offers! What hope.