Chapter 9 –Past / Future (Part I)

"Would you like to know how I received my scars?"

Yomotsu had revived some time before, but he had not been sure of it. Those words were the confirmation, a confirmation missing for a man whose state of consciousness could not be marked by seeing the real world. Dreams and sleep sometimes were so very similar to Yomotsu, for they occurred in the very same darkness in which he walked—and so the situation of him being tied to some sort of seat felt like just another vivid conjuring of the mind, until the gruff voice reminded him of what had happened.

"My emotional scars, I mean. Physically, I'm soft as a baby's bottom."

Yomotsu realized that a burlap sack had been secured over his head and, ironically, had been tied in place by a thin rope around his neck. It was like some mockery of his Transformation Mask; only, instead of feeling empowered, he felt like the captive he was.

"I watched my parents get shot in front of me, after we left a concert. I was shuffled from orphanage to orphanage, until finally being sent to an orphanage in England with an especially prestigious reputation. I was brought there by a very nice old man, who sort of reminded me of a butler. I was so hopeful for a new start… But it was in this prestigious environment that I became the subject of taunting and bullying. I grew hard and strong, because I had no choice. I ran away from the orphanage and lived on the streets, only to find out that it was no better than where I had come from, that it was far worse… I was born in the streets, molded by them."

A little silence passed, before Yomotsu said, "I was orphaned as a child, as well." His voice was muffled by the bag. "So don't think you can blind me with pity, although I do see the injustice in your situation. The difference is that I never left the orphanage until I was simply too old enough to remain there any further. I have never had the face of my mother to conjure up when I am feeling sad. All I have is her voice, and even then, that is always being buried under the layers of new memories with each year. There were photographs of her taken, plenty of them, and I hear she was beautiful—but how will I ever know?"

Batman sighed. "One never knows the value of the past, until they reflect on who they've become."

Yomotsu tried to shuffle in his seat, but his squirming lacked results. He could not get comfortable in the slightest, but he figured someone being kidnapped rarely felt too comfortable. Even now, Yomotsu was still in the early stages of evaluating the worth of a past largely unknown to him. He had only one hope, and that was Miss Olivia Walkins. So much was on her old shoulders. She promised him information, and she promised him free housing—and all he could do in return was give her a little company from time to time. What she gained from this deal, truly, he was not sure; he was also not even sure what he was going to gain from this in the end. All that kept cropping up were vague warnings that seemed to have no reference to the past or even the future.

"Can a man become a symbol?"

In this manner, the one called Batman gently slowed Yomotsu's thoughts to a pause. He now had the clarity of thought to realize that they were in a moving vehicle.

"If we put on a mask, we become a character," the Batman said. "You see people in the streets, even in a small town like this one. All across the country I have walked, and all I see are people—and they all look the same. They all are walking around, held up by the symbols in their life and by their idols. They are so weak. Life is chaotic, and in the darkness, they thirst for one of their own to step up and face the injustices of the world on their behalf. Not just any one among them can rise, however; it must be a man without a face, a man who is both every man and not a man at all. What they need is one great force for justice, not disorganized and incompetent heroes, vying for the public's approval."

Yomotsu took a deep breath. "And so," he said quietly, "You kidnap a rival hero, thinking your actions are justified because you are bringing unity to an otherwise complicated world… But your evil deeds will not triumph, and no mask can hide your real character!"

Suddenly, the vehicle came to a grinding halt. The caped crusader's breathing was erratic and loud to Yomotsu's ears.

"T-there's a man, standing in the middle of the road!" The kidnapper unbuckled his seatbelt. "A-and—and it looks like he's on fire—!"

Yuri had been on his computer. His belongings had been emptied out of the suitcase and put away accordingly: his suits were hanging neatly in his wardrobe, various pieces of technology sat on top of a dresser now full of other clothing items and mementos, and the wall decorations were lit by the faint blue aura of the room.

None of the photos were of Vidalia. When he tried to think of her, the appearance was always a little muddled, but when the right situations arose—the blur went away, and he was haunted by vivid recollections. Now, as his eyes moved up from the laptop screen and towards the waterfall, he experienced what was less a full flashbulb memory than a distorted, grainy, half-muted recording.

The note had come in the mail on a beautiful day. When he saw that it was from Vidalia, he wanted to read it right away, but he was otherwise occupied with business he had to attend to first. The work went fast when he knew that his reward would be a long awaited message from Vidalia, who had been away on a vacation with some of her friends for about a month.

Yuri had been promised a full recount of their experiences, but he knew that this letter could be only a preview of that at most. In no way could Vidalia have summarized it all in something that could fit in a single envelope. He had an unexpected eagerness when he opened the letter, and that made the feeling through his body all the more cold when he put the message down.

"When you see the rain, think of me."

Those were the words that would constantly nag at him. "Your Persephone, in dearest love, Vidalia," concluded the letter. He read it a few times over, before reaching for the phone. It rang before he could reach it and dial a number, and on the phone was one of Vidalia's friends. He barely knew her, but she told him the most important news of his entire life, what would be one of his most personal pains. Vidalia had written the letter to warn Yuri in advance, and already she had jumped from the top of a waterfall.

The suicide never brought Yuri closer to her friends. He fled from them, rather. He avoided any contact with anything that was so absolutely connected to Vidalia, but her scent saturated his life for years on. "When you see the rain, think of me"—and so she cursed the future in store for him, cursed him to see her fall whenever he saw water drop from the sky. Vidalia, who had given him so much, who drank wine with him and filled his life with the womanly love his mother failed to provide—soon everything attributed to her was either cast out or turned sour before him. Yuri soon drank more, and he drank alone.

Years later, he looked down on the computer screen. He searched through all of the information he could find on Yomotsu. He was able to trace the 12th's exploits back to Sakurami City in Japan. Some articles detailed his strange appearance in Graceville, but Yuri could not find anything about Yomotsu before he took on his identity as the 12th. The man appeared out of nowhere, and whatever past he might have had certainly was buried deep.

Yuri went upstairs, concluding the research as pointless. He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of grape Fanta. After cracking it open, he took a few sips—he was starting to become a fan of this carbonated beverage. It was no fine wine, certainly not a cup of tea with honey, but it still had some depth of flavor. He proceeded to the bathroom, set the can on the counter, and turned on the faucet.

Yuri cupped his hands below the stream of water in the sink and watched it pour for some time. Then he splashed some water on his face. When he looked up, he saw a morose reflection. For some time, he just looked back at it and let his thoughts drift into nothing. It was like a state of sleep.

Then, when he went to dry his hands, he hit something with his arm and heard a little fizzing sound. It took him a few seconds to register that he had knocked over the can of grape Fanta, which was now spilling onto the soft white carpet. Yuri, wide-eyed, rushed to pick up the can and set it back up on the counter, this time further from the edge. Most of the liquid had emptied out of it already, and he could not help but freak out when he saw the massive stain-producing spill. A flashback then struck him while he was so utterly defenseless; he recalled how he imagined himself spilling the wine at Olivia Walkins' place. He brought his hand up to his forehead and realized, with dumb horror, that his forehead was still wet from the water he had splashed on his face.

With this foreboding sense lingering, Yuri rushed to Yomotsu's room. He needed to learn where he could find something in the house that could quickly help clean this up. He feared most of the damage had been done, but there was still some chance of lessening it. Yuri found that the door was open, to his surprise. Yuri called out, "Yomotsu! Yomotsu!"

There was no response. Keeping himself still some distance from the door, he called, "I just spilled grape Fanta on the carpet, and I need help—!"

Yuri expected to hear a half-awake Yomotsu cry out, "YOU DID WHAAAT?" However, no such thing came from the room. There was just silence. Yuri worried about both the spill and about his housemate now and decided that privacy mattered little in a crisis such as this. He peeked his head into the room—and saw that it was totally unoccupied.

Yomotsu was not in his room. The home was scoured, and soon from the dark walls Yuri's worried calls were resounding. After a while, the stain faded from importance, and Yuri was eyeing the front door. "He must have went for a walk," he speculated. "Or else, just like the other night, he is off in pursuit of a criminal…" Yuri approached the door. "But he is not even a NEXT… He has no powers, and he can't even see the threats that lurk in the darkness. He is a defenseless fool..." He reached to open the door, only to be reminded that the doorknob had been broken off when they first met. Yuri immediately went to the window, opened it, and began to carefully advance outside.

Rather immediately he saw a dark object under the streetlight. He crept over to the spot and picked the thing up. It was a sharp metal object in the likeness of a bat's shape. From inside his suit's pocket, Yuri carefully fetched and put on a tight white glove, with which he picked up the piece of evidence. For the time being, he advanced his search for Yomotsu no further; he had a strong hunch that a quick study of this object would prove more helpful than wandering around the town at night.

Sure enough, after analyzing the object with the technology he had brought with him to Graceville, Yuri was able to use the fingerprints on the object to identify its owner. Once he read up on the individual, there was no doubt in Yuri's mind that this person was related to Yuri's sudden disappearance. There was only one matter left to attend to.

Yuri glanced toward a black trash bag still sitting on the floor. It was the only item he had brought that had not yet found a home. He looked upon it sadly, but he knew this was necessary. There was still a purpose for the red moon, albeit a revised one. He bent down and removed from the black plastic bag a colorful suit and mask.

A NEXT—a human born with superhuman powers. They appeared only in the past hundred years or so, and ever since the first NEXT was discovered, they began to draw out sharp reactions from the people. Some became heroes, while many others were designated as mere freaks.

"The cord of your future is about to be snipped short, Bryce Wayne," Yuri murmured, as he walked down the street. The end of his white cloak was burning blue and green. Underneath the cloak, he was wearing his old suit and bellbottom-styled pants. Yuri's face was concealed under a horrific mask. "The death of Thanatos was but a farce! Now witness the rebirth of true justice!"

Lunatic ascended.