At first, there was utter darkness and silence, absent and devoid of stimulus. It was a darkness that lasted for uncounted time, just like the silence, inhabiting the world for an extended time, although it wasn’t oppressive rather peacefully blank.
However, in that silence abruptly breaches a soft piano song, one that disturbs the void and begins to crack it. The piano song continues playing, and as it does, the distant sound of birds chirping also becomes discernible as senses begin to flood into the abyss.
The more the song continues, the more the void begins to crumble as light begins to shine through, ridding the darkness for the substitutional emergence of a new world.
Through opening eyes, blinding cyan light floods in so much that the wide peripheral has to be shrunk in calibration. After bearing the bright cyan light for a few moments, focus is made to observe the luminescence of the soft rays.
Those rays project from the supersun up among sparse clouds on a bright blue sky over the green lands and trees mostly untouched all but for the exception of the few visible mansions in the distance. Even with the mansions however, the land felt real and beautiful, the entire sight in fact was mesmerizing, and it was the first one.
Before the view presented by the arch-shaped window is a table with a spherical lantern made of a paper-like material next to a figure of a woman dressed in a long red dress and wielding a sword with a width greater than her body and a length double hers, standing on a few rocks in an action pose with the sword raised up heroically.
In front of the table are multiple chibi-styled figures made of a softer plush material with furs, some of which dressed in what resembles uniforms with blazers and skirts, and others aren’t even at all fully anatomical such as a wide cartoonish face of a young girl as a pillow.
Focus is shifted past the window and similarly shaped full body mirror against the soft carpet-textured light gray walls next to translucent pink shelves filled with small figurines in action poses and extravagant dresses.
Above the walls is an outlook of the bright blue sky above as well as the clouds perfectly clear as if there was no ceiling, displaying the morning sky that shines a moderated light as to not overwhelm.
On the sky the perspective rests for a few seconds as the piano music continues, playing softly yet enough to breathe light back into the world.
The song is experienced for just a bit longer before ultimately the rise of the bright small arm which gently waves its hand, which has nails painted pink, and on that simple wave the piano song tapers off into silence before the arm collapses once more.
After staring at the sky for a few moments for longer rest, focus is slightly tilted to the side to get a view of more plushies laying on the king size white bed sprinkled over a body pillow, with others also designed as humanoid characters but one in particular being a life sized dog with abundant fur colored like a galaxy with sparkling orange eyes.
Gazing at the dog for a few seconds, the same arm is extended to place its hand on the dog’s head, giving it a pat before rubbing it for a few seconds regardless of knowing it couldn’t feel anything.
Giving the plush dog a few pats, the hand then drifts off of the dog and onto the bed, staring at the opposite side of the room, beyond the second nightstand which has a few smaller figurines, which has a few posters along the walls of animated characters, one of which presenting a blonde male in white robes raising a yellow sword straight up behind an enlarged black mask under a samurai helmet with yellow text below reading: ‘COSMIC CONFLICT.’
Without warning, the piano song resumes playing, albeit at a noticeably greater volume, as if pushing the sleeper from relaxing too long. A soft sigh sheds out in discontent, before the the perspective is shifted again to sit upright, moving vision forward again to face the hovering white table at the corner accompanied by a levitating purple leathery Executive-styled chair, and on the corner of the desk are rows of flat panels depicting cartoon characters as well as a few golden trophies on the far edge. Next to the desk are more pink translucent shelves, although these hold a variety of what appears to be books with some having soft leather covers and others being made of a paperlike material.
On the other side of the room is the white sofa chair next to the smaller circular table which has a silver mug on it with an enclosed lid, and beside it is a small empty circular white plate.
Between the table and sofa chair is the white door, which has a poster on it of a group of teenage girls dressed in blazers and skirts, casual formal attire, all standing in front of the steps of a wide building colored like a tortilla.
With one more swipe of the pink-nailed hand, this one more forceful, the piano music silences abruptly rather than tapering off.
Finally, the perspective is pushed forward from a slide that throws itself off of the bed and lands bare feet on a pink fur rug that covers most of the floor, although not entirely at the further edges where it exposes the oceanic designed light purple flooring.
Moving forward towards the mirror, a soft high-pitched yawn is discharged just while passing the window. As the yawn tapers, the perspective finally reaches the full body mirror, facing it to reveal herself to be dressed in a loose short sleeve white shirt and pink shorts. The mirror also exposes her horribly messy long pink hair over her groggily open pink eyes, as she still seems tired but has no choice in the matter of being awake or not, her arms stretched out but gradually lowering after the relieving yawn.
She holds her hand towards the mirror, and a blue holographic screen suddenly projects towards her, presenting her with an interface similar to an inventory with a grid on the bottom half full of images of individual clothing articles such as fluffy jackets and tight leggings, and on top are a few larger buttons some of which read ‘MAIN,’ ‘FORMAL,’ ‘PAJAMAS,’ although the last one is in red rather than green like all the others.
After reading the screen with tired eyes, she presses her finger on the ‘MAIN’ button, to which the holographic screen vanishes.
Suddenly, a bright blue light projects off the mirror and onto the girl’s body, covering herself momentarily as the light seems to wrap around her completely, conforming to her shape at first. The light casing then adjusts itself by reducing slightly in width, chipping off the excess width given by the clothing and reducing the shape purely into her body’s figure.
Not a full second later, the figure then readjusts again, this time the torso being noticeably widened as well as the arms, and behind the head appeared a hood-shaped flap.
Once those few seconds pass, the blue light fades away, revealing Kokei once again dressed in her white cupcake hoodie and knee socks over shoes. Oddly enough too, her pink hair was tidied, not entirely straight but returned to a presentable form, and her face appears brighter and more alive.
In fact, it was as though she had changed her clothes, and done her morning hygiene routine all at once even though all she did was stand in front of a mirror for a couple seconds.
After twirling around to make sure she was completely fine, Kokei turns towards the white exit door, and begins walking towards it, leaving the mirror as evidenced by her reflection gliding away before vanishing completely.
Upon command, the white door bursts into a cloud before fading away, allowing Kokei to emerge out of her room and into the white hallway. She glances down both sides before facing the right, and begins to walk down the upper corridor as the doorway behind her closes in once again to isolate her room. She walks down on the white carpet, passing projective paintings of apples and sunsets of green suns.
After reaching the hall’s end, she enters the open balcony room with purple carpeted floors. She passses the multiple other passageways along the one she exited through, and also passes a square of four sofas facing each other with a tabletop in the center. She continues towards the silver railings alone, and upon nearing it a section several feet wide in front of her disappears, creating an opening for her to walk off the balcony.
She nonchalantly walks off of the edge, being caught by the circular holographic platform and surrounded by the railing protecting her. She stands still as the platform then begins to ascend, carrying her as she doesn’t show any anxiety, but rather traverses comfortably up.
In front of Kokei is the exceptionally wide aperture revealing the sunny morning scene outside, which she observes as entertainment in the short trip. She glances at the various distant mansions, her hands by her side as she patiently waits, her body gradually waking up the more she’s active as her posture has straightened better.
In time, the platform comes to a stop, leveled with a different balcony with the same croissant shape as the floor she had left off of. Behind her, a portion of the three silver railings also vaporize by several feet similar to prior, giving her now an entry which she turns around to face, pivoting away from the sunny outdoor view. She then takes a stride off the holographic platform, allowing it to vanish as she steps onto the balcony and continues moving forward, which then allows the opening in the railings to materialize back.
On the desired floor, Kokei walks past a few cabinets and tables with stacks of books and a few translucent cups, approaching the array of hallways. Rather than taking the central hall however, she makes a slight right turn and instead walks up to one of the hallways on the right side, which have similar white walls as the halls below.
She follows into the corridor, passing rows of closed doors while her eyes bounce from side to side, seeking one in particular. Her hands remain by her side, and her eyes are now noticeably more open with a warm expression, reaching a better mood the more she moves.
Deeper into the corridor, Kokei’s eyes bounce onto a door that has a pink holographic sign which reads: ‘BOREDOM PALACE,’ which she then centers her attention on to approach. She stops in front of the door, to which the door dematerializes, allowing her to enter.
Past the open door is a large room with white walls decorated with long screens featuring a panorama of beyond the house, and below the screens along the walls of nearly the entire room was a long light pink table with a single pink leathery chair hovering at the right of the entrance.
Above the screens are rows of cabinets and shelves, many of the shelves being filled with plushies and figurines like her bedroom regardless of this room not being the same. On the tables are also several rows of smaller houseplants with a theme of pink and purple, which Kokei breathes in after being welcomed by their scent. There are also more plushies and figurines on the table, some of which are holographic. In fact, most of the tables are quite a mess, with the only free space on the far side in the center.
Although there does appear to be an item on the far side of the room, what looks to be a plate next to a cup, and some bread-like food on the plate.
Her attention captivated, Kokei throws herself on the pink chair, which then races down the room with her in it as the door materializes shut, speeding down quickly with a whoosh past the many plants and plushies. She glances at the blue sky during her brief trip before then shifting focus back ahead of her.
Her chair brings her all the way to the other side in seconds before slowing down to a stop right in front of the other end of the table, bringing her to the anomaly.
In front of Kokei, sitting on the long table, is the white circular plate, and on the plate is a perfectly baked puffy croissant drizzled with dark brown fudge, and beside the croissant is a pile of strawberries with chocolate tips and no leaves. Beside the pile are also two poached eggs next to a few strips of cooked bacon, and on the edge of the plate is a silver fork already provided.
Next to the plate is a cup, and looking into the cup there is a pink liquid with the thickness of a smoothie, which Kokei smiles looking at after analyzing her meal.
In front of her, two holographic screens project over the table past the meal, with the right screen showing a log of messages one of which is highlighted pink on the left side and an expanded view of one of the messages on the right side. The left screen instead boots up a black text window where the right side is filled with text with various colors, and the left side has a log of files one of which is highlighted pink, seeming to be some sort of IDE.
Kokei glances at the right screen, causing the log window to begin scrolling up as new messages are visible, continuing up until reaching the top where there’s an empty space above the top message before it’s then retracted to explain that she had reached the top.
The top message is then highlighted in pink, and the message displayed on the right changes to a long multiparagraph message with what seems to be a flowchart at the bottom.
Kokei begins to read the message while she grabs the croissant and takes a bite out of the side. Her pink eyes widen in surprise, and she pulls the croissant off her mouth to see that the inside of the croissant past the ring of bread has fudge filling as well, which she hadn’t expected. She smiles widely after taking the surprise sensation, and shakes her head.
Quietly to herself, Kokei murmurs “I need to pay you back, Dana,” before the message scrolls down, allowing her to further read the diagram presented. She continues to take bites out of her breakfast with her hands while she faces the left screen, and the log of files scrolls up to the top similarly to the message log, but this time the file third from the top is highlighted before the text box beside it is changed.
She focuses on the file, causing it to suddenly scroll down again before stopping abruptly. While taking bites of one of the chocolate tipped strawberries, words begin to become written into the file itself as if she’s able to write without the use of keyboards. Multitasking by eating and programming, Kokei continues her routine, doing her profession even if remotely.
After implementing some of her own code into the section, Kokei begins scrolling further down the file as she leans back against the chair, causing its back to recline to give her room to stretch. She stretches both of her arms out, dressed casually and nothing that would be presumably sensible for an office, but that was not a concern of her anymore.
While at first she was compelled to return to the office, she had taken Dana’s advice on experiencing remote work, especially because of the complexities that simply put it was still dangerous for her to drive to and from the house in the event of her being tailed. While perhaps at a time she’d become enraged with this demand, she understood that living in the house of a man who always stood against evil would likely have a target on his back, which she experienced firsthand during the battle against the two factions even if back then she didn’t accept it. She didn’t want to compromise someone like him, and knowing that he too has a packed schedule, she tried remote work and ended up liking it more than she thought.
Of course there was a great difference between working in an office and at home, and she might have not been as close to her coworkers, but the freedom was honestly relaxing, and she was still able to be just as productive even when she couldn’t be checked on every few minutes. All she wanted was to be able to remain productive, as her work had become a staple of her life, and even if she could live without needing it she would prefer it anyways. In that way, this had become the perfect balance.
Another glimpse is taken at the message screen as she navigates to the message below the first one, and reads it as well to see a spreadsheet at the bottom with countless cells, some of which seemed to have paragraphs written. She sighs softly to herself, and reluctantly continues reading the message while taking a sip from the smoothie. She knew that work wouldn’t be particularly easy, it never was, but it was still a necessary drive that kept her moving, something that mattered more than her personal comfort.
Concurrently yet elsewhere, cyan light is shed through a long window along the wall of a different white room, this one with cabinets along the walls below the window and shelves beside it, all made of a golden wood material. On one corner of the room are two white sofa chairs beside each other with a golden wood table top between them, all three next to another group of shelves.
Along the other wall of the room are arrays of plaques with black surfaces and golden text, as well as framed images of various people in formal suits and images of skyscrapers. There was a wide mirror as well, and below the mirror was a dresser box made of the same golden wood.
Covering the majority of the room is a long oval table top made of a white glossy material, and around it are eight adults dressed in formal business attire, all in precise detail seated on black Executive-styled seats. They face one another while speaking, for it seems that there is a group of people inside the house.
On the far side of the room, by the corner of the table where the side window comes to an end, seated on a white Executive-styled chair resides Dana, dressed in her regular attire that is the black blazer and white tank top underneath, and behind her on the wall is another shelf with several golden trophies, plaques, and other awards. On the lower shelves are also a few small frosty plants, giving some natural variety among the awards. On the ground are also two tall green plants, each nearly as tall as Dana while seated.
Among the eight other adults in the room, a woman with long black hair facing Dana continues to implore: “Please, our department could really go with a budget raise, we won’t be able to suffice well without adequate marketing.”
A soft sigh vents from Dana as she lowers her head, seemingly exhausted already even though it was relatively early on in the day. She raises her head to look back up at the woman before using an apprehensive tone to repulse, “It’s doing just fine, and most of our products don’t require much marketing anyways. I don’t see why this is such an issue.”
In response, the woman proclaims boldly: “That’s the problem, we don’t have much to market! We haven’t released anything big commercially in years beyond the small household items, but nothing to get any pling online. We shouldn’t be so focused on just research and stuff, we only get institutional funding that way, we need to direct more focus on commercial successes!”
Stolen novel; please report.
To add on, one of the men in the group who seems to be in his late forties chimes in, informing “She’s not wrong, shares have been steadily declining over the past few months. This company was founded as a commercial enterprise, we were making products in every field for everyone: sure we had household items and basic products but also pod recibricators and neurotaches, even shows and streaming services! Our shift to energy research made sense and it helped us out for the time it did, but we’re plateauing, and we need to move to something more reliable!”
Another sigh excretes from Dana before she leans back against her white chair before excusing, “The shares are fine or whatever, this business model has been working for decades so I don’t see why it’s suddenly a problem now. I mean, do people still watch shows?”
Three of the adults by the table simultaneously answer: “Yes,” to which Dana squirms slightly. She then watches as one of them, a woman in a ponytail, elaborates: “It’s one of the most lucrative products we could make, and we haven’t had any real hills in so long. Remember The Guys? We took a big risk putting what we did into that show, but it was on everyone’s minds for all the years of its run, and it got more attention to our platform than we’ve had for years. We need that again, not just minor products that people might need from time to time, but something people will want to get invested in!”
Dana leans further back on her chair and raises her head up, thinking for a few moments before contending reluctantly, “Sure that might draw in some fly, but it’s nothing compared to all those breakthroughs we’ve made in the research departments. I mean, you do remember when Anti Exmatter generators were made? That put us up for years, it’s still a great deal, those sorts of innovations are what’ll pull us ahead. Not just doing what everyone else does, then what’ll separate us from them?”
One of the men on the table sighs, and facing Dana he insists, “With all due respect, you’re not going to know the state where this brand is heading if you don’t come to the office sometime soon.”
Springing back up straight, Dana leans forward instinctively after seemingly being triggered by the mention.
Continuing forth, the man elaborates persistently, “I mean seriously, working like this will not be nearly as effective as having you here. When can you come back anyways?”
Pushing backwards and moving her chair towards the shelves, Dana grabs one of the golden trophies off the shelf above her, and then scoots back up to the table. She then tosses the trophy straight at the man who was speaking, although the trophy simply flies straight through him, indicating that he isn’t truly there regardless of how genuine his presence appears.
The man flinches after seeing the trophy fly through him, pivoting around to see it land on the hard white floor behind him. He sighs and shakes his head before facing Dana again and exhorting, “What was that??”
Dana smiles softly before she explains after the odd demonstration, “See, this solution is nearly perfect, the only real downside is that I can’t throw anything at you, which I’m guessing shouldn’t be an issue. And I have my reasons for needing to remain remote, perhaps one day I’ll be able to come back but patience is necessary. But, I guess if it’s really a big deal, I can look into reallocating the budget into other programs. But marketing won’t need too much until something comes up, so I’ll put a hold on that. I just want to make sure that we stay on track with our Exmatter research projects, even if it might not be as commercially interesting–unless we start selling Anti Exmatter to average customers which would probably be a violation of several laws– it still matters a great deal. It’s not just about our brand, we’re the pioneering organization in Exmatter research, and letting go of that to seek something so many other corporations have would be a tragic mistake.”
At last, the man arguing lets out a soft sigh of defeat, and he grudgingly surrenders: “Okay, I’ll take that. I understand, but you know that you can make your own decisions for the company, right? You don’t need to just keep following what was done before, culture evolves too fast to rely on one tactic forever. But for now, I’m fine with this.”
Dana smiles gently, and she nods her head before acknowledging confidently, “I know, don’t worry, you’re not all being run by an idiot.”
Her expression then morphs to one of apprehensive concern, and she lowers her head before muttering to herself, “Wait…I can say ‘idiot,’ right?”
In a different part of the house, there is far less natural light, for there is not a single window screen in sight. Instead, the room, while large, is mostly dark, and most of it is an angled auditorium with countless rows of many seats with soft red cushions, although nearly all of them are completely empty. Against the seats is a source of light, albeit relatively dim, coming from the wall at the front of the room.
There is also a loud source of audio, a voice booming from the walls, although the voice itself doesn’t seem powerful but rather that of a young adult man with a relatively high pitched voice, who’s in the middle of lecturing: “And as Daniel Fernznov once expertly said, ‘The greatest pain is not the biggest wound but the most silent voice,-’”
In the center of the large and nearly vacant room is a second source of sound, albeit much quieter, and rather than it being a voice instead it’s the sound of munching. The sound is emitted by the one man in the center of the auditorium, the old man whose bald head shines from the light ahead of him while he holds a large red bag on his left hand and grabs a hexagonally shaped potato chip flavored with orange powder with his right hand. He then places the chip in his mouth before crunching into it, causing the bottom half to snap off.
On several of the seats surrounding him, especially the ones beside, there are piles of other bags and boxes ranging in size, as well as hovering plates beside him with other foods, one of which holding an entire chocolate mud cake accompanied by a single fork.
On his black jumpsuit is a mess of orange dust accumulated likely from the consumption he was partaking in, not helped by his lack of attention as instead he seems centered ahead of himself, gazing up with wide yellow eyes.
In front of Ekitai is a tremendous flat holographic screen covering the entire great wall, so large that it was no wonder how it managed to be the sole source of light in the room, sized appropriately as a theater screen.
On the screen is footage of an animated cartoon featuring what appears to be a cosmic landscape of white stars over a simple black background, and in the foreground are several blue circles with patches of green shaped similarly to continents, appearing to resemble Earths. However, those Earths have two large cartoon oval eyes as well as wide mouths, which when closed are simple black lines, and when open feature still basic design with a simple curve of a pink tongue over a crimson background. The Earths also all have two blue lines facing downward with angle straight, acting as immensely basic legs, and two other blue lines protruding from the sides before ending with wider circles that each have five shorter lines extending out, representing arms. Each of them also have a small gray circle that orbits around their body above the eyes, seeming to portray a moon.
The designs are noticeably basic, almost childishly, and on the screen the footage shows the Earths walking with their limbs, animated like puppets as their mouth moves to speak to one another. None of them seem to make sound, or at least none audible over the voiceover, which continues to explain, “Now, as many of you know, during Season 42 of SuperWorlds, the lead director Panama Hulligan was going through a divorce with his wife Christine Goodfellow, whom he was married to for 35 whole years. So it isn’t that far to suspect that his own personal hardships were bleeding into the show, and that’s what I want to explore with this video.”
Suddenly the video footage pauses and dawns a grayed filter with the sound of an electric clang, and over the screen a large title displays, reading: ‘Archean’s Depression.’
After a few seconds of the video frozen, it suddenly resumes, relinquishing both the title and filter and also changing the footage to show a silent scene of two Earth characters speaking to each other, the one on the left having short curvy hair the same shade of brown as dirt, and the one on the right having long hair reaching down to its legs made with a color white like clouds, both speaking to each other seemingly casually by their calm movements and friendly expressions.
While Ekitai continues to stuff hexagonal chips down his mouth, he listens as the narrator continues, “During Season 42, Episode 13, titled: ‘Low Tide,’ the main plot revolves around when Mauna steals Archean’s moon and runs away with it, leading to a high speed chase between the two,” while the video displays an animation of one Earth–with black spikes on its head which resemble volcanoes, helped by the bright orange tips like lava– running with a moon in its right hand while being chased by the Earth with the short curvy dirt hair, who noticeably does not have a moon of his own, and has an angry expression with curved eyes and an open mouth assumingly screaming.
Upon a different clip showing the Earth with volcanic hair outran the Earth with dirt hair, causing the chaser to slow down in defeat as the one who robbed it of its moon manages to escape without getting caught. As the Earth slowed down with a disappointed expression, the narrator summarizes: “Eventually Muana outruns Archean with his moon, and that’s where we get to the pivotal scene that’s short lived but highly critical.”
Ekitai grabs a small circular sandwich of three disks, the top and bottom white and seeming to be made of icing as they’re squished upon touch, and the middle being a dark brown cracker, all about the size of his palm. He places the snack in his mouth and takes a bite while following with the animation of the Earth with dirt hair pouting stubbornly before walking the other way, having lost interest in the chase and continuing farther while its body began to start frosting.
The clip then froze once more with the gray filter, and the narrator then interprets, “So at this point in the episode, Archean doesn’t have his moon, and is also too far from Sunshine thus isn’t warm enough, causing him to start freezing up,” while two phrases appear in bold fonts on the center of the screen, the first reading ‘NO MOON,’ and the second reading ‘NO SUNSHINE.’
Stabbing the fork into the mud cake and pulling out a chunk, Ekitai takes a chunk of his next desert and brings it to his mouth while the narrator elucidates, “You see, it is this pivotal moment in the episode where Archean displays a deeply pained depression. After losing his moon, which can be symbolic for what was dearest to him, he rejects close contacts, as represented by him walking further from Sunshine. Seeing him give up not just his moon but throw everything else, it’s analogous with suicide itself,” as both of the phrases on the screen vanish and instead are replaced by an even larger title of bold text reading: ‘SUICIDE.’
Another stab is made into the cake as Ekitai rips out more before stuffing himself while the narrator illustrates, “See, it’s these moments that make SuperWorlds a perfect masterpiece, their ability to tell such deep and intricate stories about these dark problems surrounding mental health, and if you haven’t seen my video about the episode of SuperWorlds that explores capitalistic exhaustion, check that out after this one! Anyhow, through visual storytelling and excellent craftsmanship, this one scene transforms the episode from any regular cartoon animation into something that can be teaching for those of all ages! It really brings nuance to mental health issues, and says a lot about the downward spiral. This sort of expert storytelling is something we should all strive for, as I’ve been taking notes for my own stories which you can purchase in the hooks below! With this nuance, it brings out even more in the climax of the episode, where Pangea notices the ordeal-.”
Below the house where the guests resided to their own work and pleasure, below the thick layer of earth and rock retaining an innocent shell from potential invaders, below the stone stalactites, below the atmospheric darkness that looms over the shadowy caves that stretch from all sides eternally, and below several of the chrome pads housing equipment and computational devices of all functionalities is the central pad holding the eight curved tables forming two rings, and around the inner ring is the hologram wrap enclosing the man inside.
Under the pad is the boundless dark sea, the water only able to reflect the distant dim light the chrome pads emit, only slightly managing to present itself as water rather than a simple black surface. It doesn’t ripple, it doesn’t show any tide, it just remains flat and silent against the soft breeze of the cave.
Inside the wrap on the central pad, a myriad of windows reside on the monitor, scattered about with red lines connecting some of them like papers on a board. A few of the windows are of news articles, one of which reading: “Missing Rim War Leader Spotted??” while other ones display maps of the planet accompanied by graphs plateaued at the axis.
Amongst the quiet breeze, an odd sizzling sound hisses for a few moments before then coming to an end. A moment later, a whoosh follows, and then the anomalous sounds conclude.
Over a dozen smaller windows hang close to one another displaying news articles with similar titles, with a few reading: ‘MEDITAT CONFIRMED ALIVE,’ ‘LEADERS OF GEN S AND WATCH DOGS REVEAL MEDITAT’S ALIVE??,’ ‘Can we really trust the leaders of terrorists that Meditat is alive?,’ and ‘Is Meditat truly among us?’
In the center of the wrapping monitor, on the hovering chair right in the origin of the circular pad, sits the man of the cave, dressed in his black biker jacket, one arm on his lap and another resting on its wrist upright to let his chin rest on its fist as he studies the screens in front of him with keen yet dull blue eyes.
In front of him is one news article with a title that follows, ‘Reports of strange dark people roaming fields in Earth 94.’
Meditat studies the article silently, watching the article gradually scroll down to paragraphs of text which he reads rapidly, scrolling continuously yet managing to keep up perfectly. He continues to scroll down all the way to the bottom after a rapid scroll, and once passing the bottom indicated by a large gray box along the page, he lets out a soft sigh.
Quietly to himself, Meditat murmurs “No images,” before the window depicting the article vanishes, abandoning the lead before trailing the other articles at the corner of his peripheral.
“You know, doubting my abilities to catalog cases and seeking them on your own only wastes my time. At least for me, I don’t need to linearly search for gossip,” mentions an invisible being speaking from inside Meditat’s head, echoing moderately with a familiar British male voice.
Meditat sighs with a chagrined face before exhaustively persisting, “Well, there has to be something. I don’t know, there’s no way there isn’t a problem needing attention.”
In elaboration, the British voice rectifies, “Oh, I am not doubting there are problems, but you’ve yet to find a trail on this Earth, so unless something has changed I am not sure what good it is seeking out cases outside. The problems on this Earth have been substantially resolved recently, and beyond a few small crimes which district police forces can handle, there is little commotion. It is quite upsetting that the world is not in great turmoil, is it not?”
A displeased grunt vents from Meditat before he slides his head down, rubbing his forehead against his fist in fatigue and irritation. With his forehead against his fist he remedies, “I’m not saying that's undesirable, I’d prefer a peaceful world that doesn’t require assistance over one in constant panic. It’s just…I’m not sure what to do with myself then. That war had been my life for years, to be completely honest I feel like it sort of…gave me something to do with myself…and I know how tragic it was and how many casualties it brought thus it’s selfish of me to be grateful for it. But…I don’t know…it helped to have something to keep busy. But now it seems like there’s nothing of that concern, I don’t really know what I’m existing for.”
In a more upbeat tone to counter the existential thoughts, the British voice proposes cheerfully, “Well, if you’re bored–which you are–, there are three people above you right now who would appreciate your company.”
“They have work too, and even then, they’re just staying at the house, they’re not suddenly people I need to tend to,” quietly argues Meditat while rubbing his head against his hand as if having a headache.
“Sir, they had the option to return to their home but instead they moved their valuable belongings here, they no longer have any urgent need to be housed yet they prefer it here. They do want to be around you, I’m not sure if either you are playing coy with me or simply that ignorant,” asserts the voice boldly.
Meditat raises his head off his hand and returns his gaze back to the screen, sighing softly before slipping his hand down. He leans forward on his chair, pondering the words given to him for a few seconds in silence, sitting in front of the articles surrounding his emergence.
After staring blankly into the abyss in front of himself for a few seconds, he then gently cautions, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, and regardless of if that is true, which it is not, it would be a waste to prioritize chasing those three who chose to settle in my own residence. They’re more than content sullying my house, and as long as it remains unassuming externally, there is no need to intervene. But I’m not here to care for a few adults, there has to be a mission to do, a real one. I’m not sure, perhaps with the revelation of my presence there may be a spike in criminal activity to seek me out, I should be wary of that.”
“Or your presence will only serve to suppress that, I doubt all those whom you’ve fought over the years would raise their fists if they knew who you were, especially given the extreme reaction of their leaders. People, humans and Exhumans alike, know better than to pick a fight with you. Not only in terms of strength, but simply put, they don’t want you gone,” evinces the voice informatively, countering Meditat’s claim.
Lowering his head and placing his temple against a single finger of his right hand as he rests it once again, Meditat retaliates by imparting in a lecturous tone, “In terms of strength, I’m still hardly any more than a man in a suit. Nothing about that has changed other than even that standard declining. It’s dangerous if I am expected to perform as I once did, this is why I preferred to be dead…-”
Seconds of an awkward silence follow after Meditat’s response, a pause in the conversation as no response is given immediately.
“-preferred to be supposed dead. You understand,” abruptly elaborates Meditat after raising his head up and catching himself.
“I see…very well. Well, as long as you are not associated as being him, there should be no expectations raised against you. Be relieved that those leaders did not provide a detailed profile of your physical appearance, and know that your mask will still likely not bring assumption that you are him, especially dressed the way you are. Regardless, if all else fails, we still have the inventory of alternate presentations you can dawn at any moment,” assures the voice calmly, reminding him of their options.
Meditat leans back against his seat, causing it to recline, and softly clings to the lapel of his leather jacket. Holding it firmly, he glimpses down at the aged artifact before then returning his gaze to the blank screen.
“Yes…I know,” he acknowledges with a reluctance in his tone.
Again silence embeds itself into the conversation, a long pause only intermediated by a quiet gust of wind that soon passes, and even when it ends no speech is delivered.
Meditat relinquishes hold of the lapel, remaining leaned back while facing up at the top of the monitor, gazing blankly without any genuine work for him to do no matter how long he searched. Ever since the end of the war, he hadn’t found a real mission, and scouring every edge of the Earth has still left him fruitless.
Deep in the contemplative state, the voice recommends optimistically, “Why don’t you walk around the house, perhaps visit the kitchen for a cold drink? It may help jog your mind, assist you in finding what it is you wish to do.”
Instead, Meditat contends inquisitively, “What’s the point, I can dispense drinks down here too.”
“Scientifically speaking, the presence of brighter lights may help your body operate with greater efficiency. The rooms upstairs are equipped with such properties while the space here is not at the recommended lighting. The environment will suit you better,” informs the voice in a formal tone, speaking with an elegant intelligence.
“Are you baiting me again?” abruptly insinuates Meditat with a raised eyebrow, suspicious to the motives of the suggestion.
“I would never, or at least I am not now. As you said, they are working, thus you have no need to fear,” assures the voice in a calm, nurturing tone.
A deep sigh discharges from Meditat’s mouth before he suddenly springs to a straightened posture, and proceeds to slip off of his chair silently, his white locks gliding behind him in the abrupt movements.
He then pivots around, and disgruntledly surrenders, “Very well,” before he begins to walk towards the edge of the ring in silent footsteps like a phantom, leaving his workstation. He reaches the holographic monitor, and without stopping, he walks through the screen.
Emerging out of the inner ring, the man of the cave approaches the edge of the pad with steady footsteps. Upon reaching the edge, a translucent light blue bridge projects from the edge in front of him with a whoosh, leading up to another pad above within relative proximity. The bridge is narrow, just wide enough for a straight line, without any railings for safety.
Regardless, the man climbs up the bridge calmly, leaving the central pad and making his way up the Pad. He walks below the countless stalactites staring down on him with spikes that could pierce his entire body clean, and above the endless sea staring up at him with hidden depths that could drown him without letting a cry out.
With every step taken, a reverberating clang is made against the surface, echoing infinitely in all directions of the void. They begin loud, but taper off endlessly until eventually being no longer audible, looping with every step up the bridge made. Trekking through the darkness that is his home below where the light could touch, he makes his journey to the surface, a different world opposite from his own.
Dark and light, grime and shine, the two facilities inhabiting the same area couldn’t have been more different, the underground like an upside down of the surface world. Not just a reflection, but a contrast of every shade.