The flames rose softly in the fireplace, pushing the penumbras out of the room. The heat they emanated filled the whole room with an almost supernatural warmth. Makishima Shougo left the book he carried on the small table adjacent to his couch, staring into the dark as if he could see or hear something that was part of another dimension. At one point he heard slow footsteps in his direction, and he knew who was automatically as a peaceful, old melody made its way through the room, accompanying his walk. That mansion needed an owner to give it meaning, not just hunting dogs in the garden to show off its power.
"Always reading Bertrand Russell. I expected nothing less from you, Makishima-kun."
Makishima let out an amused smile at the comment, and he tilted his head toward the newcomer. As a public figure he used to wear formal clothing in order to maintain his reputation, however, when he was with him, he was accustomed to wearing more casual outfits. In that case, it was a black sweater over a light blue shirt, with simple dark pants and leather shoes. He had always been of refined manners and conveyed this in his distinguished appearance, but also in his posture and movements. La Traviata flooded the room in an ecstasy when it gave way to the Italian protagonist voice. Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici…
"You know me well enough to realize I can't resist."
The older man drew a half-smile, as he walked to his desk and lit the lamp on it. He liked to wipe every inch of his shotgun with a cloth, especially after one of his fox hunts. Despite the distance he could see a faint glow in his large green eyes—which were constantly wide open and never blinking.
A single glance was not enough to make a person realize that, in reality, Senguuji's entire body was artificial, except for his nervous system and his brain. Essentially because of this he had been able to live for more than a hundred years. Many respected him for his wisdom, others hated him for his dehumanization. The truth was that, to Makishima, Senguuji was even more human than several of his peers, and he could not help but be curious about him.
Nevertheless, his ambition was boundless and he dreamed of living many more years, until he achieved immortality. As Makishima watched him, he could not stop thinking about Dorian Gray. A person who sought to live in the present, to remain young forever like a diamond sparkling in its full glory. The day society reaches immortality, if it ever does, will be the end of humanity and of everything that made them human—for you can only appreciate life when you know the uncertainty of death. After all, games are always more frightening, difficult and entertaining when they have a time limit, which is why Makishima loved that game called life.
He imagined Yashiro's youthful figure in the couch in front of him, even wondering if she would think like him on various subjects that had not yet been exposed; he felt that behind that distant gaze lay a fascinating temperament. Would Yashiro be like a chess queen, willingly hiding her true potential? Or was she just a pawn like the others? Whatever the case may be, he must plan the move which could best harness the force of her attack. That way, as they got new pieces involved in the game, they would be closer to checkmate—to the fall of the king.
Such thoughts eventually lulled him to sleep with complete pleasure, and he pictured the ruins of the Sibyl System, or a dominator on display, in a world where the human being would have transcended in such a way that he was able to govern himself, without the need to believe in anything else. He would do everything in his power to achieve this, because he would not wait for someone else to do it, he would neither pray for a hero nor trust in the afterlife or resurrection. Death was something natural that every living being had to accept. And human beings, out of desperation, just as they created cars and buildings, they also created gods. Nevertheless, he hoped that a few centuries later this would never happen again; for the sake of humanity, of nature and of life itself, they had to progress, to evolve.
The society in which they lived was plagued by people who were incapable of thinking and deciding for themselves, since they allowed a god like the Sibyl System to decide everything about their miserable lives, granting them their most desired pleasures without consideration; he could not bear to see them turned into simple pets that wagged their tails when they were fed, he could not accept that they preferred to remain prisoners like birds in the great cage that the system had created—was that the price they had to pay for their well-being?
To abandon all traces of individualism, knowing that this has always characterized human beings and has differentiated them, to a great extent, from all other living beings? How could they prosper without brilliant minds? What progress would they make if the population was represented by beings of no value, mediocre beings, who did not think about the future and lacked ideals of their own? They were only people whose personalities turned out to be projected by the system, they lived a life that was not living, they were dead in life.
Humanity was always in search of order and peace, getting its hands dirty in the process, razing everything in its path, sometimes believing that it was corrupted by society, as Rousseau thought, who claimed that his fellow men were innocent and kind and only wanted to survive, when in reality the problem had been themselves from the very beginning, due to their nature, and in that Makishima agreed with Hobbes, that man was a wolf to another man; human beings shared an equality at birth, but then they surpassed each other individually by means of intelligence and the use of reason; while Aristotle understood man as a social animal, Hobbes argued that society emerged from an artificial arrangement based on self-interest which sought security out of fear of others, so that the State or Republic emerged.
What better than to deprive each person of everything that made them human? Wasn't it more beneficial to turn them into simple cattle instead of leaving them in their natural state? How could they reconcile lives worth living if creating meant breaking the rules, having real value was being a criminal? The Sibyl System regulated people's behavior to make them similar, suppressing all individual morality. It could not find any difference between people who deviated from the law to create something and people who deviated to do harm—or perhaps, even sometimes there was no difference—the system only regulated, and like all systems it was imperfect.
In ancient times, for a Greek it was preferable to die than to be exiled, since the dead were still part of a family in which they were remembered and worshipped, but the exiled, being excluded from the community, also ceased to be part of humanity. Aristotle said that a man who did not need his community was a god or a beast, a being superior or inferior to man, but never a man. And for the system, Makishima was just a shadow. Since he was a child, he had ceased to be human, and yet he felt more human than all those wandering faces. He had nothing, he had no one, but his ideal of freeing society from the Sibyl System. He could fail, but he was willing to make the sacrifice. Would Yashiro be, too?
The sound of the music was gratifying and calmed his thoughts, at the moment; for one way or another he was returning to the same thing, and it was the innocent and mysterious face of that teenager he hardly knew, which seemed to have much in common with him and at the same time nothing, like two opposing forces fighting in the same body. So small, so fragile… but her way of thinking and seeing the world had captivated him to a level that he could not understand. È un fior che nasce e muore….
"While you blame the Sibyl System, I blame the people."
Makishima did not realize that he had clenched his fist so tightly that he seemed to be on the verge of injuring his skin. Those words were insignificant to him and yet he could not stop thinking about them—people were victims, he repeated himself constantly, and the Sibyl System was the culprit behind it all, why couldn't that girl understand? Why not destroy that imperfect system once and for all and free society at last? In questo, in questo paradiso ne scopra il nuovo dì…
"It's society the one that must do it of its own free will."
He focused his gaze on the fire. Even though he did not usually express his emotions physically, those words transformed his appearance, triggered something inside him… he longed to have the girl in his hands to shake her and prove her wrong, to hold her neck until she finally accepted the way he intended to change society; all those people were not willing enough to decide on their lives, and they could not simply wait for them to open their eyes, because they well knew that would take time, for every year that passed, the situation in which society found itself was even worse; someone had to lead them such little lost lambs in the field, and Makishima was willing to do so.
He was aware that, if he really wanted to influence a whole mass, he needed the help of other people. And he had the feeling that they could take a lot of advantage of the girl, if he could convince her first. He was madly curious to know how far she would be willing to go, if she really had value—would she disappoint him like all the others before her? How long would it take for her to break down in such a case? Would he finally find a tool that would never wear out?
"I sense an unusual tension in you," Senguuji brought him back to reality.
The small flames seemed to dance together to the music, and Makishima stared at them for a long time, to concentrate on something other than the image of Yashiro. He found it surprising that in all that time he had been reflecting on that young woman, even to the point of forgetting reality. There was something about her that made her different from all others, her essence somehow subjugated him to a level that he could not comprehend. It had never happened to him with another person and, therefore, he did not know how to act on it.
"I found a very sharp Swiss Army knife, but its various functions can't be used by simple persuasion."
Before those words, the older man left his shotgun on the desk with an almost exaggerated sweetness, as well as the cloth that he had used until then to clean it, even though he was actually doing it out of a mere hunter's obsession. His transparent gaze remained fixed on another dimension, until after a few seconds he squinted, focusing on his guest with a wise and somewhat amused smile, as he closed one of his hands to hold his chin. It was the first time he had addressed him with such boldness, but Makishima did not dislike it.
"You mean it's a difficult person, huh?" Senguuji analyzed the words, pausing briefly to search his memory. "You mean that girl you were telling me about the other day?"
Makishima frowned subtly as if he had been insulted, denial being enough for the old man, who found it unusual to see him so unsettled about one person, as he was always too focused on his ideals, and if anyone was able to throw him off, even for a few moments, he was definitely very skilled and Senguuji might even praise him. Makishima tended to be overly careful about spending his precious time with others, and he chose well who to spend time with.
"Ouryou Rikako is also an interesting piece that is part of the act, but I got the feeling that Yashiro isn't just a pawn—she's a player like us, or will be one day."
The last comment completely silenced him, he seemed unable to control his own words, or he had lost himself back in the deep, deafening sea of his mind, in pursuit of that person who so perplexed him. He was really ready to watch the flower grow until it finally perished, like a game whose end thrilled him utterly; he wanted to be the gunpowder in her gun, the inspiring whisper in her ears. And he wanted to be right beside her to watch her corrupt herself to the core. He really was a most unique boy, and when Senguuji was with him he felt stronger, younger, unstoppable…
"About the materials you asked for… they're all yours," Senguuji recalled, pouring himself a glass of wine and toasting in the air towards the guest.
Makishima turned his head to him and after a few endless seconds, he broadened a grateful smile, without a word. Music reigned in the room again, intoxicating them with true delight as night fell.