Chapter 41

Ted searches frantically through all the papers he keeps in his office. He rummages through sheets of paper, tears open files, uncrumples discarded scraps and receipts adorned with notes. He rips down a library of books flooded with annotations from his shelves. As he tosses old cassettes and videotapes onto the couches behind him, he keeps looking for anything that can aide his cause. It could be anything, from a simple observation to some forgotten object. He sorts through maps and blueprints of the agency and sprawls scrolls and letters alike over his desk. He cross-examines and cross-examines again. Somewhere in it all is some way of escape; some sliver of hope of it. Some chance. He isn't so naive as to believe that he himself can leave. His only reason is Teto. Because he can never be free. That much has been branded into his skin, as surely and painfully as any mark left by hot iron.

There seems to be thousands of notes, perhaps even a million. Determination is all that edges him forward. Whenever a Doll or other members of the agency act differently than intended, it is noted. It is dark in his office even with dull illumination from the lamp on his desk, though he barely notices lack of lighting. His cold fingers fly over faded photographs of employees who've been less fortunate. External hard drives and old journals expand out over the floor until all his walking space becomes limited by clutter. He's got drawings from members of the agency who had once some time ago been children. He manages to maneuver over to his coffee machine despite all the literary debris in his way. Ted kicks off his shoes along with his socks and sets them aside. The office floor is heated and just as toasty as it always has been. Despite that, he shivers as the sleek black machine boils his water.

Ted stares absently into the deep ebony of the coffee machine before he notices his reflection. He tried his best to avoid the image outlined in the dark surface, though seemingly against his will, his eyes began to dwell on his form, reflected by the weak illumination from the desk lamp. There were dark circles under his eyes. They'd passed beyond any hope for potential removal. Now they sat engraved, as if etched in stone. His skin teetered on the edge of deathly pale and sickly white. There was age and a tiredness to his features that labelled him as someone who'd both seen and knew far more than he should. Worse still, was that he was bound to see more. Unless of course he managed to find what he was looking for. His hair had long since lost it's youthful sheen and was tattered in some places, frizzy in others. His hands moved to smooth it down, and even that lacked enough energy to make much difference.

The sight was enough to make him curse his reflection. It was also enough to remind him why he specifically didn't keep any mirrors around. All the destruction he'd dealt himself in his years working here showed in his demeanor. His mind and soul were gripping sanity and sound logic by rapidly fraying ends. If he didn't do this now, he knew he wouldn't have the heart to do it tomorrow; or ever again for that matter.

By some chance, his lab coat found the coat rack, though not before he caught the scent of Lily's perfume on it. His trembling fingers somehow found the strength to make a cup of coffee next before he downed it with expert precision. It burned the back of his throat, but it wasn't enough for him to drop the cup. The hot sensation of the burn caused no lasting damage, and the burn had faded a second later. Four more piping cups of fresh coffee burned in similar ways before he took the fifth to his desk. Soon enough, the cup was empty once more. Ted paced back and forth over all the papers, constantly scanning, deftly observing. Years of management have consumed him and yet he is incapable of gathering his thoughts. Ted's eyes burn, he hasn't blinked for a while.

A bloodcurdling scream startles him out of his thoughts but gets no further reaction from him. Such noises have become the soundtrack to his life. Self-conflict, pain and suffering have become his hobbies. Who he was now and who he'd once been were becoming increasingly disparate from each other.

"Come on," he whispers to himself. Someone other than Rin must have gotten outside the agency before. How though? There had to be a key somewhere in all this data. A figment of the key to escaping had to exist in his memory. Yuma had just simply mastered the art of directing his employees away from what he didn't want them to see. Ted's legs buckle and he grimaces. His cups of coffee haven't had any effect. With exhausted legs, he barely makes it over to his desk. He takes the cup on his desk in both hands and stands before he attempts to down it, just to remember that it's already empty. Only a small drop rolls forward from the base of the cup. It drips, but utterly misses his mouth. Instead, it hits one of the papers at his feet. Ted simply makes it his mission to down some more coffee and stumbles over to his machine. Ordering any kind of energizing foods would take far too long, so coffee is his only alternative.

For a brief moment, he remembered when Lily and him joked about how much coffee they both drank. You know, I heard that apples are a much better alternative to coffee. Ted remembered smiling. Not only is it cheaper, but far more healthy and energizing. They'd had it in them to laugh back then. Now such a thing rarely happened. I'd make the switch she continued as they rounded a corner, her heels filling the hall cheerfully with sound. But I'm afraid that I prefer the tangible drink far too much. Ted gulped the last of the bitter liquid from the beaker, then he started a new batch. However, he didn't idle by the machine this time.

Even those almost happy times had been ruined by Yuma. Any real chance at friendship with Lily had vanished when Yuma had made him the equivalent of his right-hand man. Ted's position in the agency was only rivaled by Yuma, simply because Yuma had all the power. In a sense everything else was Ted's jurisdiction. Yuma had made it so. Ted hadn't wanted anyone to suffer, and now he held the position where he dictated and observed all the agonies of the agency.

Lily had been absolutely livid when he'd gotten the position. She'd been the perfect candidate for it before he'd ever arrived. Ted could still hear her screaming at him in a complete outrage. Her repeating threats and endless curses plagued him. She'd hid her face in her hands as she'd informed him how much she hated him; she'd repeated it over and over again, perhaps a hundred times at different intensities before she'd stormed out. During it all, he hadn't spoken a word. Even if he had wanted to express his own anger and frustration. He hadn't even wanted the position: ever. Lily could damn well have it. Ted didn't take any pleasure in reporting all he'd learned to Yuma after any sessions of torture. Knowing that he had to see more of Yuma than everyone at the agency kept him from sleeping at night and getting out of bed in the morning. He did, but he did it all for Teto.

He'd met so many people, people with devastating histories, often aggressive, always afraid, compulsive, paranoid, always with some sort of self-mutilation and suicide attempts in their background. He'd carried out various experiments and methods of torture as Yuma's schedule for the day ordered. Ted had pushed strangers and employees alike until only the thinnest of barriers separated them from psychosis. All who had wronged Yuma in some way suffered agonies by Ted's hands. They had been systematically abused and tortured; they had suffered executions; they had lost their children; he had been forced to watch good people be subjected to rape. All had witnessed terrible things or been forced to participate in them. He'd fed lies to all the prisoners and given them false hope only to strip them to their core. Ted had overseen that the closest of friends sold each other out so that they would not have to be tortured themselves. People had become less than animals at his hands.

All of this was for Teto's sake. Ted couldn't risk becoming useless. Those who became useless at the agency were sentenced to physical, mental, and spiritual throes. He knew because he'd dished it out. Under the influence of the agency, nobody died that Yuma did not want to kill. Death was not quick and trivial. Escape was not viable. The mark of the agency on Ted's wrist like so many others kept him here. Ted knew enough to stop anyone who tried to remove the mark. Most had tried burning it off while others had taken more drastic measures. It would never work though. A portion of Yuma's blood was transferred into theirs when they arrived. That's what kept everyone here. Without consent the gates would not open, and if you tried to climb it, a barrier would stop you. So how had Rin gotten out?

Ted stopped moving when the coffee machine went off. He went to walk towards it but his foot touched something wet next to his desk. On the floor was a folder with a simple name: Ia Aria. Ice-cold shivers ran up Ted's back and out along his arms as he kneeled to pick up the folder. He rose, angled the lamp, and flipped it open. The ticking of a clock in the room was suddenly all too loud. Ia Aria, Ia the Aria of Planets, Ia VY2 are what Ted had read. They are all her names and Ted knew this already. Wife of Yuma VY2 and mother of Rin VY2. That's where Ted stopped. His head was pounding and his heart was racing. He sat down in his chair and was careful not to rip any papers as he pulled his chair in closer. Mother of Rin, he read again.

With feet as heavy as lead, he's up again. Adrenaline courses through him, gets him in his lab coat, socks and shoes, then he's out the door. His office is not that far from the science wing, he is the head scientist, after all. As he walks, he tells himself it's probably a coincidence, a strange coincidence, but at the same time he realizes that some of the pieces of the puzzle may fit together.

Ia Aria - Mother of Rin. Those words alone have the power to aide him with enough energy to act on his wild assumption. Ted makes it to the lab and pays little attention to his surroundings but he does notice he is alone. He locks the door behind him before stalking over to electronic door that holds innumerable chemicals, samples, formulas, and results. Ted steadies his hand before gripping the door handle. It reads his prints, temperature, and heart rate before there is a click and it gives way. He's inside the room and out with two precious samples; one belongs to Yuma and the other belongs to Rin. Two precious samples he's never bothered to group together before. He chides himself for not attempting the combination sooner as he collects two transfer pipettes out of a nearby drawer.

In less time than it took for him to collect the samples he'd set up a microscope. Ted collected Yuma's blood in one pipette and Rin's in the other. He dropped several dots of Yuma's blood onto a microscope slide and worked each knob until it focused. He sees nothing of Yuma's blood that he hasn't seen before. That's before he adds a single drop of Rin's blood onto the slide as well. The effect of her blood is immediate. Rin's blood reacts to Yuma's blood like oil and water. Ted adds more of Rin's blood but it only pushes Yuma's farther away. Unlike oil her blood takes up all the space to the point where Yuma's strains to take up any space at all on the slide.

If it wasn't so late, perhaps Ted would've laughed. He would've laughed himself right into his prospective madness. After so many years he'd discovered the only loophole. Only years of discipline, management, and raising Teto kept him from laughing into unadulterated dementia