Please Do Not Leave Me Chapter 28: The Unhappy Existences, a mega man fanfic

Chapter 28: The Unhappy Existences

Specimen 1: Enzan Ijuiin.

The miraculous, unscientific truths proven! Saito, a human, resurrected, and life chosen at will! The new body, immortal, free from the burdens of the flesh! The demon of intelligence confirmed of existence! What else? What else was there to discover, the things that the world was perfectly happy to be perfectly ignorant of? And, most importantly, if life was not confined to the flesh as it always was assumed to be, then what was the endpoint of men? What was the fate of men? What was the purpose of everything?

With such revelations, Enzan constantly troubled himself. His overeducated brilliance did not let go of the madness. I mean, who could? Who can? Who will? At the same time, there seemed to be a hope to him as well: if something as extraordinary and impossible as the restoration of Saito to Hikaris was possible, that what precluded him from making right his relationship with his father? Truly, what was impossible? And, as he was told that Rockman had regained consciousness and was fully restored to Netto, and when he saw one day how much brighter the boy had become, with not a speck of worry in his countenance, Enzan found himself also being infected with virulent optimism. In this optimism, he came to forget and forgive the mistreatments he had to endure in his workplace over the past months. It was a mistake.

"Enzan, how about you take a break? You've worked hard enough."

This was what Mr. Watanabe, the immediate superior and partner of Enzan, said loudly one summer day, as he retreated into the office from the suffocating heat of the outside. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and it was obvious, from his desperation, that he expected pleasantly colder air to greet him and save him. It was not the case. Then, finding out that the office was still not air-conditioned, but was being maintained at a barely endurable temperature with five dusty wall-mounted fans that made droning rattles, he barked at chief Yamada,

"Chief, It's almost 30 degrees Celsius outside. How come we are still not fucking allowed to turn on the air-con?"

"The official thermometer records 28. We are 0.1 degrees away from being authorized to do so."

Chief Yamada lethargically responded. The way he sat on the chair was like a ripe brie cheese molten in the oven.

"Official- you mean that accursed thing at the city hall? The one that-"

"Yes, the one that is always almost two degrees lower in the summer and gets magically hotter by two degrees in the winter, forbidding us from activating air conditioning and heating alike. And yes, I already called them today, and they won't allow us. They said to bear with it for two more days because that's when the official thermometer will record 28.1 C. How do they know that? And then two days in advance? Precisely? Watanabe san, these are all useless and meaningless questions. We know that the sun and the stars obey the needs of bureaucracy. You know, three days ago the prime minister signed the bill that expanded the government workforce. I support that because it means an infinitesimally small increase in my salary, I think, and I like more money in my pocket. I also tell myself that big guys must know what they are doing, and that they will know what to do with the rising government debt. But I sometimes wonder if the bureau is expanding for the sake of supporting the expanding bureau, that there is no stopping this perpetual growth, and that we will all get fucked in the end. Ah, but then, what does it matter? If we are fucked, then it probably means everyone is fucked..."

"Two more days!" Watanabe shouted in utter astonishment. "Two more days! I swear that thing is not a thermometer. That's a fucking transparent dildo specifically designed by the bureau to fuck us all in the asshole!"

"Constantly!" Chimed in Officer Nishimura, playfully. "And you wish it was bigger!"

"Fuck you." If a curse could be thrown carelessly in a direction in a friendly way, that was how Watanabe did it. Ah, do not worry, readers, with all these new names. Only two things you must remember to understand what happened to our Enzan next: the sly Watanabe and unjust chief Yamada. Frankly, even remembering Yamada or Watanabe as names is unnecessary; only remember that Watanabe was somewhat close to Enzan, and that the chief was complicit in the crime.

Watanabe then perched himself on the desk, right next to Enzan; the man reeked of summery odor—pungently drying sweat, a hint of Sulfur dioxide of the polluted Den city air, and 3-hexenals as well as 2-hexenals of freshly cut grass. It was the smell Enzan hated but tolerated.

"I just started. I'll take a break when I need it, but thanks for your concern." Enzan responded to Watanabe, dryly.

"Aaaaah, well that's not what I meant." Watanabe scratched his head. It was his habit that came out when he was thinking, or was attempting to think, with his pitifully small intellect. "I meant how about you take a short vacation, about a week, even paid for the duration! You've worked hard enough, and you probably need to unwind a bit after all those contributions…"

Watanabe smiled. His misaligned row of upper teeth made it seem almost threatening. Wait, that was unfair. In some people, the misaligned teeth only reinforce the impression of honesty and simplicity; it cannot be the proper reason why Enzan detected a veiled threat in that smile… At least it can be said with certainty that to Enzan the smile seemed unnervingly artificial. Watanabe continued in a somewhat nervous voice. Why was he nervous?

"Well, you somehow found that horseshit WWW. By the time you come back, you will have become a superstar. Medals, handshakes, promotions, bonuses, girls—there will be no end to them! And your face will be all over the news! And we can't have you go in front of the camera all tired and sullen like you always are, can't we? Taking time off will do wonders for your sorry mood, and by the time you come back, your emotions will have been rehabilitated. At least try to do so for me… So, what do you say? Just finish the report you've been making and then take off! I'll cover for you. I already talked to the chief about it, and he agreed, so no worries!"

Enzan looked at the chief, over the board that partitioned desk spaces. Yamada gave a small nod without looking at him, confirming the narrative.

Was it his newfound optimism in life? Or was it the summer heat that penetrated his brain? Enzan accepted the offer in goodwill, quickly wrapped up his writing, and left his station. Why did he do this? How could he do this? Did he not know that when a stupid one willingly engaged himself in thought, it was never for good purposes? Enzan, how could you! Enzan!

The vacation, for the most part, went as expected, in both good and bad ways...

First day, Enzan woke up exactly at the usual hour, when the sun had barely risen above the horizon. He checked the clock to see if he had forgotten to turn off the alarm. It was not the case. It was rather the case of his body acting as it had been trained, turning on solely based on internal stimuli—the melatonin cycle of the established circadian rhythm. He went back to sleep, enjoying every last bit of the sense of immorality that he got from not going to work when he should have been, which was saccharine, heavy, and deeply moving. In this way, Enzan was reminded of the gripping power of laziness, and why it was feared as a cardinal sin by the Catholics... It was true. What was true? Everything. The Acedia was a stable equilibrium, and Diligentia an unstable one. He spent the day almost entirely sleeping and staying under the blanket. In fact, he had made it his mission to not set foot outside his studio apartment, and achieved it.

The second day, he could not rest any longer. Originally, Enzan had planned to squander his second day enriching himself with activities that he now perceived as noble and worthy, such as immobility and near incapacitation; however, he could feel the venom of comfort insidiously climbing upwards through his spine, most likely towards the brain cortexes, targeting his industriousness and acumen, and became distraught. He hastily mounted a valiant defense: deciding to not stay home any longer, he put on his usual attire, and ran out. 'To somewhere far away,' he told himself. He aimlessly wandered around the town, walking as his feet led him, taking routes that he had never taken before, all the while being cooked under the sun…he stopped by the city library; he was as red as a boiled shrimp.

Just as he entered, and his flesh was refreshed by the cooled air of the place and the aroma of old papers, he gained a glimpse of someone, who was on the way out with borrowed books in arms—'Flat Earth: Empirical Evidence,' 'How to Win the Hearts of Men,' 'Netbattlers Monthly'—that betrayed the fine taste of their holder. When his retinas captured the image of this person, his eyes became magnetized, and they tracked her with unbroken intensity. He could not believe what he was seeing. Love at first sight? Oh, please. Attraction? Enzan was too smart for that. Fascination? Yes! Exactly! This person—a pink-haired girl—was like a cherry blossom in his eyes, so perfect in shape and color. She was the most beautiful creature that he had laid his eyes upon in his life, and facing the unexpected truth that his ideal shape existed in the world, he became stupefied. She walked past him, unaware of Enzan's gaze. Enzan continued to follow her with his eyes, for his eyes desired more, and a great urge began to bubble inside him. Ah, but what was this urge? The instinct told the officer that the urge could only be quelled if he talked to her-

Enzan could not help but feel as if he had become one of the despicable perverts that he so frequently witnessed in his work. Feeling ashamed, and then defiant, he resolved to prove his decency by continuing into the library and then forgetting about her.

Who was he kidding? Before he reached the first shelf in the history section, Enzan, impassioned, failed to contain himself. He turned on his heels and ran outside, hoping to find her once again- and he did! She was with a group of youngsters, all looking decently cared for and quite characteristic, one of which was

'Netto!'

The boy was there. The girl looked at the boy. Enzan saw how her eyes shined while talking to the boy. He understood what it meant, or at least believed that he understood what it meant. Fear struck him. Then, he felt immensely stupid for having perceived some kind of magical romance a moment ago; it was clear that the magic did not exist from the beginning and that everything had been his fantasy tainted with animalistic motives. Feeling quite dumbstruck, and not knowing how to approach Netto in such a situation, he stood there, in front of the library, and watched her move away with her cadre.

He returned home. For the remainder of the day, he was hopelessly restless. His jealousy was ignited into an inferno, and he could not decide how to label Netto inside him—a new friend or a new enemy? He failed to sleep.

On the third day, he went to ACDC town and spent the entire day there, but made sure that he maintained, at all times, an overwatch over the playground, especially the swings. From his previous conversations, he at least knew about the importance of that location to the Hikari brothers, and that the boy planned to spend time there once Rockman woke up. Armed with this knowledge, he lay in ambush (not in a feral way, among the bushes, though his heart was feral at the moment. He simply espied from a nearby café), hoping to pounce on Netto, surprising him, extracting an honest answer from him…

When the sky was dyed in deep orange, Netto showed up. Enzan, unable to keep his composure, approached him immediately.

"Hi, Enzan!" The boy greeted the officer with a friendly waving of hand. He then spoke into his PET, "Look, Rockman, he is here. I tell you, he is not so bad-"

Enzan had, at minimum, a dozen scenarios meticulously (perhaps psychotically) designed and then practiced to ensure a perfect interrogative session that squeezed out every necessary information while leaving a flawlessly domineering impression of himself. However, when the time finally arrived, his heart betrayed him and his tongue disobeyed him. The spinning question that violently centrifuged his soul was blurted out in a harebrained manner, and he even bit his tongue a little.

"Th, the- girl who had been with you, pink-haired, yesterday, if it is possibly not so rude to inquire you-"

The answer to the question came out crushingly easily. All of his preparations—destroyed in an instant!

"Oh, Mayl Sakurai? What about her? When did you see us? Is she in trouble? You could've said hello to us, you know?"

"Ah, yes, Mayl Sakurai," then Enzan, greatly moved at how perfect the name was also, reverberated it with dreamy eyes and dreamy voice. "Mayl Sakurai! Mayl Sakurai! Who is she? How do you know her?"

"Uh…she's my childhood friend and a neighbor…? Why? You need her or something?"

"Need?" Enzan was almost breathless. He spoke in a voice that was a midpoint between a sigh and a murmur, "Need! Yes, absolutely!" And then, abruptly in a nervous hurry, "But what's your relationship with her?"

"…Friend? Enzan, you are acting strange today."

"Just a friend?" Enzan asked with an urgency that Netto failed to comprehend.

"Yeah…?"

"Truly?"

"Just cut it out Enzan, and tell me what's going on?"

Enzan completely ignored him, entranced by his own suppositions,

"Just a friend! Just a friend! Ha- ha! Hahahahahahahaha!"

"…Enzan?"

Enzan, incurably distracted, and also thoroughly relieved, left the scene without another word. He moved as if wings had grown from his feet. "See? He is a jerk. Told you." was what Rockman said to Netto behind him.

Fourth day. Enzan took the best dress from his wardrobe. Ah, no, it was not the formal tuxedo suitable for the balls of the highest order; he made sure that the attire was casual enough so that he might not be irrecoverably embarrassed should he be turned down by the girl. The deniability was important, lest the girl come to despise him, and he be devastated. He then spent the day finding out the home address of Netto, which was, in turn, the address of Dr. Yuichiro. To obtain this information, he had to break through several security blocks in the network using , which took longer than what he had anticipated, but he persevered and it was accessed.

He left his house in the afternoon, when the strength of the sun just started to wane but the heat of the day was strongest. His feet stopped in front of a florist's place.

'A rose? Too pretentious. A white rose then- ach, rose is still a rose! Lilies for purity? Ah, no, that would be too much. It is a flower fit for knights and ladies…and I am not her knight! At least not yet… Baby's Breath? Too frivolous. Won't do. Orchids? Too…ugly…distracting. Gerbera! Now, that can't go wrong…but…'

A stack of sunflowers at the corner demanded his attention. They loudly beckoned him. Enzan complied. They were so brilliantly yellow, so uniquely flamboyant, so gloriously large, that he could not resist. The more he studied them, the more immaculate they appeared. They requested to be picked up, to become friends in his journey, and then to be handed to her who was in his heart. They were so polite. They were so curious. They were so gentle… Among the pile, Enzan carefully chose the sunflower that was loudest, and brought it to the florist. He put it on the counter, hesitantly, not sure if it was the correct choice, and also afraid of the disapproval by the expert of a great aesthetical standard. The florist looked at it rather intriguingly, scanned the officer with a raised eyebrow, and then considered the case carefully… Enzan's heart raced like that of an gymnast before judges. In the end, the florist wrapped it up and gave it to him with a thin smile. Aha! The florist approved! It was the correct choice! Enzan made the payment and flew outside.

It did not take long for Enzan to realize why the florist looked at him in such a way before permitting his purchase; he felt rather stupid walking down the street with a large sunflower in his hands, and the wrapping around it was very awkward…but the flower encouraged him, in the way how its petals moved in the summer breeze, and reminded him why it was the right choice. So Enzan continued on foot to his destination, pendulating between confidence and diffidence. Eventually, the diffidence won, but he also could not be a heartless monster who whimsically abandoned friends. As a compromise, he discarded the wrapping and tossed it away when he found a trashcan. Much better! Simplicity suited the sunflower very well. Very well!

He arrived at the Hikari house in the late afternoon. A teenager in one late summer afternoon with a sunflower in hand, nervously moving back and forth in front of a house, clearly unable to muster the courage to press the doorbell. Pedestrians glanced at him from the corner of their eyes, smelling something sweetly exciting brewing in the air, but continued on their path, not wanting to be rude or be perceived as inconsiderate. Ah, summer and youth…what a beautiful sight!

The way he could get everything he wanted yesterday was truly serendipitous. Perhaps fueled by the confidence stemming from that small success, Enzan had acted impetuously. He vaguely predicted that he would be able to cross paths with Mayl, the neighbor of Hikaris, and that he would be able to hand over his 'gift,' maybe invite her to dinner if the stars aligned. It was only after reaching the gates of Hikari house that Enzan realized he had no social connection to Mayl, and that he could not suddenly present himself to the Sakurai house without permanently damaging his reputation. So he continued to hover around the front gate of Hikari house, not knowing what to do.

There was nothing to worry. All problems resolved by themselves, starting when Netto came out of the house and noticed Enzan. They exchanged short greetings; there was no mistaking that the boy was headed someplace, and in a hurry at that. When the officer asked, "Where are you going?" He was told that the boy was going over to invite Mayl for dinner. Sensing that Fortuna was leading him on, Enzan asked (more accurately, blurted out) if he could join. Netto ran inside. Ah, the anxiety! The uncertainty! The officer contemplated if he was too sudden, his visit too unnatural, and his presence too invasive. He awaited with sweat on his palms, hoping for the best, fearing for the worst. It had been only one and a half minutes since Netto had gone back in, but his heart was accelerating by the second. What to do? He could not run away now… Then, the door opened again, and

"Come on in!" was the invitation he received.

Inside, Enzan immediately saw the mistake that he had made; he was a sudden guest, an intruder uninvited, and he had no excuse nor a gift. Of course, he still had the kind sunflower in his hands, but it was reserved for…

…

The sacrifice had to be made.

"My apologies for intrusion, Mrs. Hikari. Please, accept my apologies."

And Enzan supplied Haruka with the sunflower. She graciously accepted it, for it was the only proper thing to do, and she even genuinely liked the choice of introduction that Enzan had made—a sunflower for the summer! How fitting! She courteously excused Enzan, expressed her pleasure in finally meeting the person of whom she had heard many times, apologized for the lack of consideration on her part for not inviting him sooner, and then led him to the table on which was a venerable feast.

The sunflower complemented Haruka excellently. So much so, in fact, that Enzan found himself suddenly unable to imagine Mayl with the sunflower. The flower also seemed happier with the new settlement: it was placed in a pale blue vase that was as delicate as the flower itself in both shape and color, forming an admirable combination. Therefore, Enzan concluded that how everything came to be unpredictably coordinated was how it was destined to be, how the world had to be, how the things should be.

Between the pleasures of the sumptuous dinner and being acquainted with Mayl, the evening passed quickly. The girl was nice and seemed to like him, somewhat. The girl seemed to like Netto more, definitely. But because even someone as skeptical as Enzan could see the absolute absence of romantic interest in the actions of the boy, and also because on the face of the girl was the resigned acceptance of the status quo, the pleasure of the evening remained undisrupted. Yes, Enzan felt secure.

At the end of the night, Enzan was sent away with leftovers so abundant that for a whole week afterwards he had no need to contemplate on what to eat.

Fifth day. Emboldened by the successes the life had so generously gifted upon him the past four days, he went to visit his father. Regretfully, his courage failed him when he arrived at the front entrance of the building of the company that his father ruled with an iron grip. Even more regretfully, he met his father before he could leave the place in the customary demoralization. Enzan was led to the highest floor, the top of the castle, the office of the thief among the thieves, the throne room of an unfeeling king. Here, they conversed.

…Conversed?

[Redacted]

Enzan returned to his place. How he navigated through the city—he did not remember. What little happiness that had taken root inside him yesterday, Enzan found it all drained, gone, shriveled, dead. He attempted to intake a cup of water, trying to regain some calmness, perhaps to reclaim a little bit of control over his life, but one sip and he could not continue anymore. Even water tasted as bitter as bile. He sat, pulled up his pants, and inspected his shins. On them were horizontal red marks, now swollen and painful; the marks of the punishment he received today. He was still a failure. He was an inadequate creation barely tolerated by his father.

Sixth day: Enzan did not recover. By the evening, his body began to show signs of unseasonal upper airway infection.

Seventh day, Enzan medicated himself and spent the day bedridden. No one knew him. No one visited him. No one shared his misery.

Eighth day, Enzan reported in for duty. Contrary to his hopes, his body recovered faster than his soul did, and he could not find any excuses to prolong his absence. Knowing that Officer Watanabe was going to invariably comment on the lack of improvements in his mood, but also finding no strength in him to feign a refreshed expression, Enzan entered the office without hiding the turmoil painting his face.

Nothing went as expected. No one questioned Enzan on how he spent his vacation, not even Nishimura the perpetually upbeat; the unhidden unrecognition of Enzan governed the place. Was it a Freudian dream? Was it not real? That could not be true; nowhere in his subconsciousness was a fear of becoming invisible from society, and even if he was truly invisible at the moment, he would have rejoiced, for he could not be bothered with the responsibilities of reciprocating social interactions in his current mood. Based on the behavior of others, it was obvious that invisibility was not his current condition—he was the most visible person in the room. He was so visible, in fact, that it was evident that everyone deliberately avoided Enzan in every way, almost fearfully avoiding eye contact at the cost of being rude, which was a socially expensive behavior—often prohibitively expensive. Something was wrong. That something was forcing everyone to behave in a way that was impossible in everyday settings. That something had to be extraordinarily ignominious to render insolence more affordable than politeness. But what was this something? Chief Yamada and Watanabe were not present. What was going on?

Enzan very slowly processed to his desk, like a dust floating in a stale air, and proceeded to connect to the network. As he navigated the computer and reached the main homepage of their department, he could feel the air of the office freezing in a kind of anticipation. Soon, he discovered the reason: on the front page, Yamada and Watanabe were featured as the paragons of justice, the men of the hour, the embodiment of police spirit. Yamada and Watanabe, the busters of WWW, or so the article claimed. When Enzan looked up, there was a complete stillness; like deer watching a wolf proudly cresting above a ridgeline, everyone was.

"Nishimura."

The man did not return the call.

"Nishimura, you were always close to Watanabe."

No one could object.

"Nishimura, surely you know what's going on in here."

Enzan's voice was calm, yet it reached the furthest corners of the department with clarity. That was how quiet the place was.

"Nishimura, can you tell me what's going on in here?"

Just as it is impossible to specify exactly what startles a deer into suicidal paralysis one moment and then into a tempestuous sprint the next moment, so it was impossible to say with confidence what exactly triggered the movement. But it happened; Nishimura was electrified. The man grabbed his phone and bolted towards the exit.

"NISHIMURAAAA!"

Specimen 2: .

I admit. It is erroneous to believe that the god of navis could have been contained had Yuichiro not given Forte the promised reward—the copy of the dream virus, which was the gateway to the greatest evil. There was still a reservoir of this program in the undernet, there were the bloodsuckers, and there was the inevitability that someone somewhere sometime was bound to reestablish contact with the god, rediscovering what Yuichiro and Wily had already found out. However, I maintain that had Yuichiro not kept his promise, then the course of history would have been vastly different, at least delayed significantly. Would this different history have been preferrable? The answer to that question, I cannot say with any confidence nor can I formulate an opinion. Most likely, Rockman's life would've run in parallel to Netto's, never intersecting, and the apocalyptic predictions of Yuichiro might not have materialized. Ah, but what's the use in speculations of a nonexistent past?

While Rockman lay asleep in Yuichiro's server, with the black heart—the product of the marriage between the dream virus and Saito. bat.—incubating underneath the navi emblem, the doctor decided that the garden had fulfilled its purpose. Therefore, he sought to burn it down to the ground and all of his victims discarded. The decision did not originate out of some disgust or a practical need to erase his trace, although those would've been perfectly valid reasons. He did so out of a deep fear and recognition of his inability to combat temptations. Saito. bat., which he had critical reasons to suspect to be tainted by the god, was accepted, applied, and then allowed to settle, all for the unholy preservation of Saito Hikari. The worst part was that he was still not ready to let his son go… One day, when he became self-conscious about his bloodshot eyes and emaciating figure looking back at him in the mirror, he realized that he was on an expedited track to destruction. He became greatly shocked. 'What am I doing?' wondered he. 'Yuichiro, what do you seek? What do you hope to receive? Don't you see that no one is capable of surviving this entity?' admonished he. Previously, he even had a plan of expanding his garden to study this god further…how optimistic was he! Oh, how vainglorious was he! He promptly jettisoned all plans pertaining to his garden.

Within a few hours of Yuichiro's repentance, Forte received the command of exterminatus. The navi obeyed with malevolent happiness. He methodically made a sweep through all cells and terminated all individuals inside. This was how he accomplished the deed: he brought out about a dozen navis from their cells each time, neatly lined them up, and placed a bullet in each head. And then, to make sure of the total irrecoverability of any data, he collected the defunct bodies into a pile and burned them. He routinized the procedure and repeated it at leat two-hundred times; because he had quite an obsessive work ethic, which he gained from his maker, Dr. Cossack, he exactly enforced this procedure on all navis he processed. To several uncooperative ones, he used a sword to amputate them into submission (which he did with the enthusiasm of a gardener vengefully trimming tall growths), uncompromisingly lined them up with the cooperative ones into an execution line, and then made sure that all parts of his protocol were followed.

Now, to say 'cooperation' invokes images of conscious and informed decisions. In this case, most navis were already as zombies or husks, or, to describe more accurately, as voodoo corpses coming and going as commanded. To describe what kind of thought existed in those minds is a complicated subject. Thoughts constantly tried to exist but failed. In some miraculous occasions enough 'neurons' synchronously fired and formed a word or two, but never developed beyond this stage. Those still with some semblance of consciousness mostly welcomed it; the prospect of eternal nonexistence was vastly preferable to the dreams they were having. It was the navis yet to be given a dose of the virus who desisted and had to be amputated.

However, on one instance he deviated. He was always very curious about the modifications the dream virus made to the highly customized netnavis. Yuichiro had only begun to acquire them, and alas, the garden came to an end before any data could be collected from them. What a waste! To Forte, the data was important, for he had to reconcile the two pieces of knowledge: that the dream virus was necessary for meeting with god, and that any netnavi who had it administered inevitably perished. Forte envisioned a future in which he conquered this god. To accomplish this, the god had to be faced. To face this god, he had to harness the core qualities of the dream virus while avoiding its toxicities…and he was a high-functioning custom netnavi, similar in many parts with these new subjects. Therefore, he made a compromise. Instead of executing them like others, Forte decided to harvest maximum utility. He tied them up and delayered them. First, he skinned them alive. Second, he removed the programs layer by layer, from distal to proximal, while making sure that he could communicate and observe the spontaneous responses made by the subjects. What were these responses? Mostly screamings…beggings…questioning of Forte's motives…the usual stuff, hardly useful. Yes, he continuously communicated with them throughout the whole procedure in an attempt to make measurements of various dimensions. Or was it one of those unrestrained bouts of sadism that tended to dominate Forte occasionally?

While the behavioral results were disappointing, the physical results were fascinating. Unlike the primitive netnavis whose interior more or less liquefied, which was to say that the programs mixed into one megaprogram and then ceased to function, the interiors of these complex constructs showed a reduction in sizes without merging. Also, in the case of the former, the failed megaprogram was blackish with blue-green streaks incorporated into its parenchyma; in the case of the latter, the shrunk programs were dark-colored and twisted but still solid, maintaining recognizable shapes. Around these sclerosed organoids, he could observe a scant amount of blue-green liquid separate from the system. What did these differences mean? What truths could he infer? Why were there clear differences in morphological pathology? Forte was unfortunately not equipped with the necessary knowledge to interpret the data correctly. Nevertheless, he made the recordings and stored them in his innermost parts—in places dangerously bordering his core. A reckless choice? The only choice. There was no place more appropriate, for gnosis could only be contained in unseen places, and he intuited that it was the knowledge that only he had to know, impossible to be shared, unless the other was also a fellow tormented in the same enlightenment. For this reason, he did not share the findings with Yuichiro. Although the man was in possession of the same enlightenment, the torment was no longer with him, for he was leaving behind it all. Forte's assessment was a correct one; had he shared it, Yuichiro would've surely deleted it.

"Here, your wage, our promise." Was what Yuichiro told him as he handed over the promised dream virus upon the completion of exterminatus. The man was eager to part ways. Forte was rather reluctant, for he still had questions lingering unanswered, but did not express it. His hubris forbid him from admitting that he still needed more, and that the study consumed him. They parted ways.

Forte returned to his usual hideout in the undernet. Well, it is the truth of every ecosystem that in the absence of the apex predator, the next in the hierarchy rises into unfettered arrogance. As such, he found out that his place had been occupied by unnegotiable migrants whom he did not know. It was also in a state of general disarray, reflecting the abased character of the occupants. When one of them noticed the presence of Forte…well, how to describe it? This individual, whom Forte later called an insect, did not rise nor greet the guest. That insect even had the impertinence to show unfitting lordliness. The rest of the crowd joined and jeered, making particular mentions of how pretty he looked, promising that they would violate him real good, and that they would all have such a great time. Then, the most despicable creature crawled forth from behind the crowd. This creature had three grafted arms, hunched back, twisted body of severe scoliosis, asymmetrically sized and shaped eyes, mouth so distorted that could not be closed fully, and a voice like the barkings of a Chihuahua, expressing impish desires. He enthusiastically screeched that once it's all over, he would take Forte 'all by himself and give a really good care.' It must have been the standard way of processing an intruder by this group; everyone roared in disgust and interest, clearly not approving of the habits of this creature but also expecting a certain amusing outcome, wanting to witness how Forte would be degraded.

So what did Forte do? He put each word back into the mouth where it came from. To the one who showed the highest interest in Forte's anus, he tore off the arm and shoved it up in its master's anus, or in the general area where it was projected to be. He might have made a new one in that careless insertion, but it was close enough. To the one who discharged the foulest insults, he shot off the mandible and then extracted the core through the throat. To the dumbest one, he ripped open the upper half of the 'skull,' took out the eyes, and then implanted them into the 'brain.' Forte actually liked this work of his—so metaphorical! A modern art! To the insect who haughtily remained on a chair, lording over others, he removed all four limbs so that the insect could never leave the seat ever again, pulled out the core, and put it in the mouth—a proud heart in a proud mouth. Lastly, to the foulest creature, whom he had left to be enjoyed last, who was now cowering in a corner, he approached.

"Hiiii- so- so- sorry-! I, I, I'll neve-"

In the most submissive posture the creature retreated, saying many words of insincere repentance. Forte grabbed him by the head and then lifted him. Oh how loathesomely it squirmed! Forte had a sword on his right arm; it was moved like the ribbon of a gymnast in a short flurry. In this action, the anterior side of the creature was skinned, and the cry for help and mercy doubled. Music! Forte then smashed its face into the wall and proceeded to smear it along the surface in a leisurely gait. When Forte circled the room once, painting the entire place with the residues of this foulest creature, he noticed that half of the creature's head had been ground away, and that this thing inside his grip was no longer moving or making any sound. Forte tossed the body away.

It was fun while the violence lasted; now there was a problem of his place having been unrecognizably vandalized.

"…Maybe I should've kept one alive…" To clean up the room.

Forte decided that this mess was better left as someone else's problem, not his. So he left.

A new place that was both inconspicuous and a local vantage point was surprisingly difficult to find. Worse, the undernet was not what he remembered it to be; oh so rapidly the world progressed, adding to the difficulty of his search. How out of touch he became after what was only a temporary disconnection! Forte found out that in such a short period of time, the undernet came to be noticeably populated—overpopulated in his opinion—, and that almost all of the added individuals were abandoned netnavis. Forte also found out that the deeper parts of the undernet were presently preoccupied with the following things: ever-circulating rumors about dreams and what good it was supposed to do, unverifiable stories about 'bloodsuckers,' desire to exact revenge against humans, and the discussions regarding the heralds of god. God! Forte had some knowledge of that subject, and he desired to know more… He also surmised correctly that this must have been the doings of WWW, probably Dr. Wily, based on the pieces of information Yuichiro inadvertently gave him during their cooperation. So, for a few days, he, instead of looking for a shelter, vigorously chased the rumors. These were his discoveries:

1. Merchants, in general, discussed the dream with contempt. They thought it was good-for-nothing spyware or a kind of ransomware. As for the inhabitants, some were desperately in search of it, believing it to be the key to happiness, or an end without disobeying the last wish of their operators. Most were rather ignorant, treating it as one of those worthless rumors of the undernet. He also deduced, based on some 'interrogations,' that the distributors of 'dream' disappeared some time ago, and that now there was no way of getting it. What about the dreamers? There were testimonies of them squirming en masse in B54, which was unverifiable, nor was Forte willing to go down to the extremely anomalous depths to see for himself… Some dreamers died in the upper levels, and there were witnesses; the dreamers either suicided or collapsed, but all were under the spell of incomprehensible derangement. The bodies were disposed of by being thrown over into the sky, which was the common practice.

2. Bloodsuckers? No one knew anything. Every story was different and bore the hallmarks of fabrication. Forte formed a hypothesis, but the logical links were so weak that he effectively gave up his research into this topic.

3. Desire to revenge against humans! This was an interesting shift in the popular opinion. When he was still a resident of the undernet, which was before the work with Yuichiro, the most widespread sentiment among the abandoned netnavis was the desire to be reunited with their respective masters. How did the terrible longing suddenly shift into a general resentment and need for vengeance? Before, netnavis were an expensive, novel commodity; only those who were practically interested invested in them. As the netnavis came to be more generally supplied to the public, the average experience shifted from that of a respectable aide of life to that of an extortable livestock. Perhaps it is easier to say that the difference was similar to that of between a Roman slave and an African in the cotton fields of the American South…except that the netnavis always came with a preprogrammed devotion for their owners. It seemed that the netnavis found a way to circumvent their programming by convincing themselves that the death of their cruel masters meant the eternal possession of them, which netnavis interpreted as an acceptable approximation of love. 'Well, well, well! Yuichiro might agree with you lot!' mused Forte.

4. Heralds of god: the undernet collectively remembered three of them. All three were mighty custom netnavis who came one after another without any chronological overlap. They preached about a god they had found and called for the general worship of this being. They, however, also undermined their own messages by periodically bursting into beggings for help while violently claiming that this god must be killed. Then why were they remembered? What was so special? Well, they preached the coming of a new world in which netnavis were going to be as men and men as netnavis. They preached the coming of a new order in which they would inherit the cleansed Earth while the sinners would be given nothing but the desolation of cyberspace. They promised emancipation. They declared freedom. The picture of the future they painted with their tongues was so marvelous and fantastic that it deeply touched some netnavis and, as a consequence, their memories lived on, albeit faintly. And when was the last time three netnavis consecutively got crazy in the exactly same manner? Disappointingly, the end of all three was the same; they all hurled themselves into the sky, demanding either forgetfulness or death be granted to them. Some deluded 'followers' were said to have dived after them, believing it was the answer to everything, forever lost into the wicked bottomless sky.

From these findings, Forte made the following conclusions:

1. Dream was from WWW. Wily must have distributed it in the undernet to recruit subjects for his experiment, of which nature also must have been quite similar to that of the garden of Yuichiro. It is likely that Wily, running out of server space, or not wanting to keep his data in the base that could be raided at any moment, sequestered them in the deepest parts of the undernet. But how did that mad doctor gain access to the lowest parts of the undernet, the place that even Forte had yet to penetrate? He once tried, and the mindbreaking anomalies he saw…never again!

2. Given how the custom netnavis in the garden begged for the soul and expressed the desire to eat flesh and drink blood, he could reason how the bloodsuckers were an offshoot of Wily's experiment. However, what they were exactly, what Wily found, how Wily dealt with them, and if any of them was still left were all mysteries. Therefore, there was a possibility of bloodsuckers being entirely different things.

3. This seemed irrelevant to the matter of the god of the navis. The drift in the navis' perception of their masters was a social phenomenon that had nothing to do with Wily. But…why did he feel that it was somehow related? Why?

4. Heralds! They could be unsubjugated customers of the dream virus, or escapees from Wily's cells, or pawns of god who were contacted by that hideous light through some other means. While distinguishing from which case they arose was important, it was also impossible. At least the alignment of their messages revealed a part of the agenda, or propaganda, of god.

Armed with these discoveries, but also unable to make any more progress, Forte became agitated and constantly migrated. He destroyed many on his path; it did not take long before he reclaimed the reputation as a venerated predator of the undernet. Was it beneficial to him? Maybe. Maybe not. It was not his intention, and therefore his notoriety was of no consequence. Forte constantly occupied himself with the thought of expanding his knowledge and committing the deicide, the greatest killing, the greatest deed. However, the goal was not to usurp the unholy throne of this deity; the goal was to make the god account for what had happened to him and Dr. Cossack, for there was a time when he needed god but was not provided... Then, he remembered.

'Rockman…Saito…you were special to Yuichiro, which I can understand, and you were special to god, which I cannot understand. Why? What are you? What is human? What is soul? How do you have it and why does that make you desirable? If you truly have something that is called a soul, then surely you are special. I'll give you that…but that does not mean you should be desirable. Why is soul desirable? And if men have it, then why is the soul in a netnavi body particularly more desirable, above all? There are plenty of men on Earth; pick off one dozen or one hundred and the world will not notice…why does this god not do that if the soul is all that it needs? Or is it that your soul is special, not the state your soul is in, and therefore you are singled out by god? I cannot make any more meaningful deductions with these questions remaining to be clarified and… I need to see you. I have to see for myself. But how? Yuichiro never let me see you nor told me where he kept you… Think, Forte. There must have been some clues…hmmmmph…maybe…just maybe…now…if my guess is right, then perhaps…

'In his server. That's where you must be.'

Having reasoned thus after subtracting impossibilities, Forte rose from his corner, tightened the sand-colored cloak that he always shrouded himself with, and went forth.

In the dawn, when both Yuichiro and Netto were asleep, Forte infiltrated into the server space where Rockman lay. It was an easy task; so easy, as a matter of fact, that Forte wondered why he had not tried this out sooner.

In the middle of the cuboid space was a white elevation on which was Rockman. Its shape was an average of an altar and a surgical operating table; having the elements of both, from afar, it looked simultaneously hallowed and sacrilegious. Was it representative of exactly how Yuichiro saw Rockman? An object of worship and curiosity at the same time? But in that arrangement, Forte could see the immense care and attention Yuichiro gave to Rockman, and then became markedly irritated. It was the kind of life Forte wanted but never found, for from his birth he was- 'No, no! It's no use hoping for impossible things. I have accepted. I'm better than this.' -oh how he wished Dr. Cossa- 'I am better than this!' Forte chastised himself. Fine. Whichever was the case, Rockman was there, and Forte came near.

Forte studied the blue netnavi, and quickly found him to be perfectly pale—astonishingly perfect—, and perfect I say, for his face was pale enough to capture the beauty of an ephemeral existence but not too pale as to be unseemly. It was the paleness often sought and praised by the Victorian gentlemen and ladies; it was the paleness that accompanied the idealizations of Aphrodite and Athena. Because Rockman was perfectly pale in this fashion, Forte could not help but consider if it was the source of god's singular interest…

'…Probably not.'

Forte then noticed that the outline of Rockman was very ambiguous, almost androgynous.

'Isn't his waist too thin by 7.35% compared to the standard ratio? And then, his neck, shoulders, and the general proportion-'

It was Saito's poor health and development, engraved in the genes, being reflected even in the reconstructed body. Why was it so captivating? The observation of Rockman's body troubled Forte. The care the blue navi was receiving invoked jealousy. The thought that was repressed a moment ago resurfaced.

'Maybe, if I was like you-' Forte looked down and scanned his own body, built in the unobjectionable efficiency of lean masculinity, the display of practicality as expected from a scientist as thoughtful as Cossack. It was a fine choice, really, but… '-would then Cossack have cared about me more? Would he have, like Yuichiro to you? And I would not have minded any change for him, even if it meant getting weaker…'

Forte battled the amassing regrets. They were numerous and strong. They were not good for him. He, attempting to turn the tide of the battle, checked the log. He needed to be distracted and then regain productivity. Thankfully, there were some entries worth noting, all hand-written with a digital pen. They were all Yuichiro's writing.

-Netto describes the black program to have been transferred by oral route.

-Scan shows functional heart organoid. The core reshaped into the imperfection that I wanted to avoid… The heart looks good in the scan.

-Today, I took a peek under the emblem. It could not be pulled out; the netnavi maintenance protocol was no longer functional, but I was able to establish very limited visual contact with the heart. The heart is black. (Followed by an ineligible scribble. Even Forte, who knew how to read Yuichiro's unfriendly cursive, could not decipher it. It was the trace of trembles arising from severe distress).

The last entry was barely intelligible. Forte had to correct it using his compiled samples, and then estimate.

-Saito, where did everything go wrong? When did everything go wrong? If I lose you again, then I (Scribbles like an unwound yarn spread across a white background. Undecipherable).

'…So you never had the courage to open up your son, huh? Even sinners know how to be good to their children…'

Forte closed the log and proceeded to the physical inspection. It was nothing invasive or special, as he did not want to leave his mark on the navi. He was not yet ready to make an enemy out of Yuichiro.

So…

…

Ahem. I really have no choice, don't I? I have to describe it all, don't I? Fine, I'll do it. Yes, it is…um…interesting. Important? Maybe. I don't know. What? What was that? Stop babbling and get to the point already? That you can sense something juicy ahead? You want me to spill it? Ach, I know, I know. I should not keep it in my heart. What happened was….

Forte began with palpation. On Rockman's face—the irresistible whiteness that had been inviting his attention—he placed his hands, and then, very gently, very softly, very carefully with concentration, he drifted his hands, feeling and remembering its shape. Ah, the pleasantly firm forehead, delightfully elastic cheeks, and wonderfully velvety lips! But his answer was not here. His hands then continued to other places: ear covers, helmet, neck—the thin and supple neck that was like a doe's—, shoulders—pleasant to grip, each fitting exactly into his hands—, upper arm, forearm, hands, climbing up retracing the path taken, armpits—incredibly soft! And…inexplicably aromatic? Very faint smell of indescribable nature, almost sweet or fragrant. Was this it? The answer? Was the god of navis simply desiring to bury its nose in here?—, and then-

'Yuichiro, you pervert. What have you made? Why did you make it like this?' remarked the pervert doing perverted things.

The palpation continued. The chest that had been expanding and contracting rhythmically, according to the rate of breathing, the soothing heartbeats-

'What? Why? Why does a navi has beats and breaths? What else have you included, Yuichiro? What have you done?'

Forte also found two small protrusions on the chest hidden under the suit. He curiously fondled them a little (little?)—circling his fingers around them, poking them, pinching them in various strengths and angles, twisting them—and then realized that they were the nipples (what was he expecting?). Feeling very stupid, he went downwards. The waist was concave and the belly was smooth as the underside of a trout, delightful to touch. Lastly, there were the pelvis, tender thighs, boots, and… … … between…the legs…the groins and-

'Everything is soft! So soft! As much as I know how stupid I sound…but is this the reason? Is this the answer? That he is smooth and soft everywhere? Is that why this god wants him so much? No, that can't be it. I refuse to accept that as an answer. But-' Forte resumed touching. The tactile sensations were nearly addictive, and to say that is was refreshing was no overstatement. Then he found something at the pubis. 'Hmm? What is this? Underneath the suit, something even softer and-'

Something that felt immaculately delicate and enigmatically shaped just under the suit, between the legs. Forte tried to make sense of it. He manipulated it investigatively and thoroughly, using various approaches. Netnavis did not have a separate layer underneath their 'suit.' To do so was a waste of resources, although there were unsanctioned programs originating from the undernet that could define and then render the 'nakedness' of the navi. The human-like nakedness imparted thus was, to the navi, no different than the original skin in concept. Of course, some custom netnavis created by deranged perfectionists could have another layer under the suit, and such navis could truly have the concept of nakedness; Cossack was one of such people and Forte was one of such netnavis. However, in none of the similar cases did Forte hear about the fully rendered genitalia. Again, there were undernet programs (one of the first illicit add-ons made) that could give genitalia of choice to the navis, but that was purely for the visual satisfaction of their masters, and even then only a temporary installation, always deactivated before resuming normalcy (the resource consumption by those add-ons was atrocious). Therefore, Forte, not perceiving that it was the penis and scrotum of Rockman that he was molesting, and sincerely trying to understand, fervently maintained his effort. After a while, he finally understood. He hurriedly disengaged and blamed Yuichiro.

'Wha- wha- what the heck?! Yuichiro! Why would you put this here?! What's the use?!' Forte blushed, quite uncharacteristic of him.

Forte circled Rockman, trying to cool down, trying to regain calm. He did not understand why he was getting uneasy instead of feeling disgusted at the inefficiency and the mysteriously human anatomy of the blue netnavi. But he was, and he needed to calm down…

'Ah, yes! The log indicated that the dream virus was passed onto Rockman orally. So if I-'

Having found himself a point to reconcentrate, Forte immediately began to study Rockman's mouth. Using his hands, he pried open the lips; he did not see any particular irregularities inside. As the next step, Forte inserted his fingers and felt every corner of the mouth. They swept the teeth, stroked the tongue, scratched the gums, and massaged every bit of mucosae. Nothing special! When he took out his fingers, they were wet and glistening. Forte sucked on his fingers, like a food critic sampling a Michelin-star appetizer, and tasted that residue. Still nothing! Everything was disappointingly normal! The only work left was to investigate the heart, which was too invasive at the moment.

"I don't get it. What's so special about you? What is it that you have and I do not? But I'll figure it out. I'll never give up. Then, whatever it is…whatever you have, it will be mine. I'll watch you. I'll understand you. I will understand you better than you understand yourself. Even if the soul is real, and that soul be the key to the killing of god, and your identity be the soul…even if my goal depends on your uniqueness… Heh, even so, nothing changes. Then I'll simply have you, and you will be mine…one of these days..." Forte murmured.

The morning arrived in full force. Rockman seemed to be waking up, so Forte left. His next destination was already set.

Specimen 3: Dr. Wily

One bed with a rotting wooden frame. One table of equally hopeless condition. One plastic chair of the cheapest variant. Rat-piss stained walls—the source of endless musty odor. There were two doors: one to the restroom, and another to the outside, the external corridor that all rooms shared. From the restroom perpetually seeped in the stench of decomposing blood and other organic materials, which continuously rose from wherever the drain was connected to. Because the stench was so similar to that of a resected bovine digestive tract, Wily went as far as conjecturing that there must be a slaughterhouse underground just beneath him… Another immediate problem: Blattella Germanica roamed freely; Wily spotted many adults and juveniles alike. The presence of small, nearly translucent juveniles meant that the population was robust, that presumably every seam in the building was filled with them, and that the rodents and the roaches must be locked in perpetual hostilities over the disputed territories of interstitial spaces (the empty space between the floor and ceiling of adjacent floors). It was a room of a motel on the outskirts of Den city, a decrepit place that even the sinners of Sodom and Gomorrah would not tolerate, the corner of the world that even God had forgotten, and now the new residence of Dr. Wily.

Had it not been the unquenchable desire to continue his study of the god of the navis, the crushing reality of the complete defeat would've finished him many days ago. As a matter of fact, the desire grasped him so dominantly that the condition of the current residence did not trouble him for a second; he had to reach the entity. He had to study the subject of eternity. He had to obtain it, for Tadashi had failed to so. He had to succeed in that which Tadashi had failed; he had to prove his superiority over Tadashi. There was no other option, and the goal was clear…but what hope did he have? The last penny in his pocket he just used this noon, getting himself a row of riceball (questionable; was it even real rice?) and a bottle of potable water. Oh, those and a cone of mint-pistachio ice cream. Should he have refrained? Like a good adult? Ah, but readers, without the refreshment of the ice cream, and a moment of denial that it offered him, he would've gone crazy in this unventilated, oven-like motel… Ah, but it is also true that he almost cried after finishing the ice cream, feeling useless and hopeless. Since then, nothing was left in his possession save for the laptop that was resting on the desk. Starting the next day, it was predictable that he would be chased away into the streets. So much for the study of eternity, when his tomorrow was unclear! What to do? What's to be done?

Wily was occupied with himself thusly, when someone intruded into the laptop screen. The intruder did not announce his arrival nor sought to accomplish a secret task. He nonchalantly observed the old man until his presence was naturally noticed, refusing to do anything but stare enigmatically until then. Readers, I need not tell you how, upon recognizing this stranger in the laptop, Dr. Wily shrunk and then cowered into a corner with many undignified gestures and shoutings. "Hiiiic! I- I am sorry! I won't do anything like that again! I, I'm sorry! Sorry!" was his initial response, for the record. The lion that ruled over many was no more; there was only a rabbit of infinite cowardice.

"You deuce. It's me, Forte. Don't tell me you don't recognize me." Announced the intruder.

Upon realizing that he was not found out by the netpolice, and that the arrival of this purple netnavi could only be the signal to the reversal of his fate, Wily rallied. The speed with which the old man switched to enthusiasm was so quick that it was abjectly despicable…

"Forte! The child of Cossack! Well, it is you, I see! I understand that you are not with the— I mean, I know how much you hate them, but I must ask—netpolice? Of course, of course, you are not! But I had to ask- can't trust anyone nowadays! But that's good…so…what brings you here? As you can see, I have nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

"You still yet have knowledge." Forte commented.

"Knowledge! Yes, I know many irrelevant things, irreverent things, simply by the virtue of education and long life, but what is their use? What's the good of all knowledge when they cannot be applied? I have nothing! I have no means of applying my science! And I will never reach Tadashi! I will never best him! I will never prove-"

"So?"

Wily stopped, surprised at the ignorance of the netnavi. He then looked down with unfiltered disapproval before continuing his tirade with his hands thrown up in the air.

"What do you mean, 'so?' Don't you see? Don't you understand? The vengeance is beyond my reach, and I have lost! Without his legacy within my reach—what's the point?"

"The point? I don't know. I think it's about time you fucking grow up and decide what the point of your life is going to be. I mean, aren't you at least half a century too late for that? But I guess it goes as the idiom 'better late than never'…" Forte continued in his unfathomably blasé attitude, and it was very difficult for Wily to even guess the purpose of the visit. Why was the navi here? To interrogate? To rile up? To mock? To be entertained in someone else's misery? The last possibility was quite convincing…

"Forte! You know nothing! A man lives by his dreams! Without a dream, a man dies! What a childish mind you have, as expected from the creation of Cossack, that man-child!"

"!"

The loss of composure on the part of the netnavi greatly pleased the old man; now he could gauge the disturbances he had made and then infer the true goal of this uninvited visitor!

"What? I'll say it again! Cossack, that man-child! What, you think I am afraid of you? Glare at me all you want! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The berating of Cossack did agitate the netnavi, and an equally agitated response was immediately produced.

"Tadashi this, Tadashi that…why don't you fucking go and marry that guy?"

"But he is already dead, Forte!" Wily replied very quickly, hoping to keep Forte in the agitated state, hoping to not give this netnavi enough time to think. Things spoken in agitation were more likely to be honest.

"Exactly! Which means you would… Wait, you mean you would actually-" 'Marry Tadashi? Did Wily fancy such an idea?' Was what Forte thought, mildly shocked, but did not dare speak aloud, for he felt curious and foolish in equal amounts.

"No! Not in a thousand lives! Forte, you are just like your maker, absolutely humorless, depressing, antisocial-" Wily screeched in disgust. "But at this rate, marrying him posthumously seems more possible than proving that I am better than him! Ach, only if I had-"

Then, realizing that he could still make a turnaround in his fortune yet if he succeeded in convincing Forte to cooperate with him, Wily was energized; his speech accelerated. Wily also decided that he would also be able to determine why Forte was here by striking him first with an offer of his own. This exact moment, in which the navi was perturbed, seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Wily very suddenly donned a wide, Cheshire-cat like smile of awful artificiality and said,

"Forte, Forte! Listen! I believe we can make great things happen together. I only need a little bit of your help, and, and I am sure that I can arrange something for you! Surely, you came to me seeking something. Though you might be disappointed in my current state…I promise you, I have what you want! I don't know what it is, but I can make it happen! I have, and will have, what you want! Just name your cost!"

Wily grabbed the sides of the screen as if that would prevent Forte from escaping from him, and brought his face uncomfortably close.

"Well, you are in luck, geezer, because it turns out you actually have what I want."

'Aha! You are a hundred years too young to interrogate me, lad!'

Forte leaned back, as if what Wily did had a physical impact, as if he was trying to get away from the grip. Wily chased with words.

"What is it? What is it? Spill it! Knowledge? You said I had knowledge still, but knowledge of what? What kind of trouble could you be in- aha! You need to crack some netpolice firewall discreetly? Need to meet people of importance without repercussions? Need to-"

"Theology!"

Forte shouted, and Wily quietened. There was only the heavy breathing of the old man.

"…Theology?" Wily mumbled.

"The god of navis! The hideous light! I know you have studied it!"

"…The god of navis?"

"Yes! You tell me everything you know about it and I help you get out of this shithole. Deal?"

Wily trembled violently. In the way Forte hurriedly revealed his intentions, it was unequivocally clear that Wiily was successful in his conversational technique, but the answer was not within his expectations. It was unacceptable. The tremor gradually increased in magnitude. When the termor could no longer increase in severity, the old doctor exploded:

"You want to know about that thing? You are here to steal my work? STEAL MY WORK?! So our greatly esteemed Mikhail Sergeyevich Cossack knows about it as well? And I even know a thing or two about his father, Sergey, too! A true gentleman he was—he would never suggest something like this! Never! I know that he would never! And what's more, here I thought you were no longer with Cossack, and he now sends you hoping to steal my work? So it is, so it is! He wishes to soar above Tadashi as well! Well, well, well, what do I know?! You have fooled us—all of us! Everyone truly believed and still believes that you are not with Cossack! BUT YOU WILL NEVER TAKE MY WORK! GOOD LUCK WITH THAT!" Wily then continued in a hushed voice, out of breath, pointing his index finger to his head like a pistol "It's all in my head, right here, between my frontal cortex and hippocampus…and guess what? There is not yet a technology to extract what is in here… heh heh heh heh… I changed my mind. Go and tell your master that I said 'fuck you.'"

Wily's borderline schizophrenic act must have spooked Forte further, for the netnavi responded with an instant denial—a self-defense mechanism that works by implying innocence.

"Geezer! You got some issues, know that? I am not with Dr. Cosscak, you asshole!" Forte lifted his hand and presented what could only be described as a black goo. "Recognize this?"

"H-how? You- that?" Of course Wily recognized it: the dream virus. It was his work, the proudest, the most important. Upon seeing it, he could not even produce a coherent sentence; the words most reflective of his intention were blurted out unstructured. "Give- give me! It's mine! Mine!"

"How I have it? What, you are surprised that someone was smart enough to separate it from a dead, infected navi? Guess what? That someone is Yuichiro. I got it from him."

Yuichiro! Wily's ferocity subsided abruptly, like a werewolf shot with a silver bullet to its temple.

"Yuichiro! That worm! Son of Tadashi tries to beat me to it!" Wily collapsed onto his chair in despair. Hearing the name of Yuichiro dispersed all of his confidence in a single blow. "So the son has picked up the legacy of his father!"

From his soul, Wily did not believe that he could outmatch Yuichiro in the race of a scientific research. He believed that he could beat dead Tadashi, maybe, but not the son who was alive and was like Tadashi himself! He was truly afraid and deferent of Tadashi's talent; therefore, he was equally afraid and deferent of Yuichiro's talent. Wily looked up to the ceiling with empty eyes.

"It's no use then…no use at all. I was like a frog in a well, thinking that the well was my whole world and the sky was within a reachable distance… All that work- for what? I see… Now I only have to wait and see Yuichiro unlock the mysteries of eternity in Tadashi's stead… That boy is too smart; he will not make the same mistake as his father. He will not forget everything and get turned into- that-"

"Ha, Pathetic! Already running with tail between your legs? Wily, Yuichiro ran. That man is a coward. He gave up. I was with him when he conducted experiments to study this 'god.' Picked up the work of his father? I don't know what you are talking about, but all he did was purify and study your work! No originality! And then he became afraid of what he glimpsed… But I must know, Wily. I want to learn more. I must find a way. I must commit-"

Forte paused, breathed in, and then cautiously spilled, in a solemn voice, as was fitting for the blasphemous idea.

"-deicide."

Having said the word, Forte appeared quite content.

"So I am here." The navi smiled faintly.

"…" Wily appeared confused yet extremely interested.

"Old man, you don't got nothing to continue your study in here. Nada. Zero. I'll help you get back up on your feet. You help me with…that." Forte dared not speak the word twice, but both understood that 'that' meant deicide. "You need me. I need you. Is not the mutual interest stronger than love, more trustworthy than a contract? Look, we have a mutual interest. So, what say you?"

"…"

"Wily?"

"…"

"It's yes or no, Wily."

"…"

"Yes or no. Say it. I'll give you five seconds, and then I'm leaving. I got no time to wipe your sorry ass for nothing."

"…"

"One."

"…"

"Two."

"…"

"Three."

"…"

"Four."

"…"

"Four and a half."

"…"

"Fi-"

As much as Forte observed him and gauged his responses, Wily, too, observed Forte and calculated unstated yet inferable information. There was an option of making a direct inquiry, but Forte was not exactly reputed for credibility… Therefore, to the old doctor, the convoluted act of inferring truth appeared to be a wiser choice (it was not) than other approaches. When his impressions were analyzed, Wily was confident that Forte was honest in the stated goal of deicide—it was too egotistic to be false, and the carefulness with which it was expressed added to the authenticity. Wily was not so confident, however, whether Forte was truly alone, and if the navi was only here to coax valuable data from him. While there were series of points through which Wily became reasonably certain that Forte was probably not working on behalf of someone—Excellent!—there were other undismissible possibilities: what if Forte already knew too much, maybe even more than him, and, upon hearing, finds no transaction to be made? What if Forte is already a follower of the god of navis and therefore destined to be the downfall of his work? What about-… When Forte counted 'Four and a half,' the mad doctor was able to see that Forte's need for him was as great as his need for Forte, that the risk he was about to undertake was acceptable, and that there would be no imbalance in their alliance. Having observed thus, Wily sealed the deal.

"YES! SPLENDID!"