Almost sure that he had heard his name being called, Slater wonders if it was just a slip of the wind. No one was there. He didn't see me, but his head had craned almost a little too far. A little too close.
Fortunately, his gaze meets nothing but the skyline and city rooftops that lined above, though something existed in the upper peaks that caught his eye in the distance. There, a very shiny and twinkling digitized mouse sits just out of reach on a rooftop. Instead of a quick-time event, it felt more like a direction marker.
As he blinks, it disappears as if never there. Like a glitch in the system.
Everything was faulty with this run, so he found that surprise didn't come to him as it usually would.
"This is a bunch of bullshit, fuckkkk me." He groans, raking a hand down his face, nails leaving behind red welts that cut across the pale of his skin. He doesn't care, it keeps him grounded in this moment. His coping mechanisms often leave much to be desired, remnants of a time before.
Slater starts in that direction, veering off the path where my anxiety bubbled up like a hot panic. The streets are still heavy with the traffic of a hive-mind, people still bunched up in groups of two and three respectively. He feels no different, he supposes, avoiding them much like he avoids his own death.
( Against his will. )
His path cuts off directly into an alley-way. The people he has seen before become shadows in his peripheral, he is left alone to his own devices.
Darkness grips the world in heavy and sticky tendrils, spider-webs that alert him to the space outside the mirror-image boundaries of the rift. Slater is all aware of the echo of his steps and how they carried him into bitter silence. He gnaws on the sound, grinding his teeth in an effort to render them as smooth and brittle as chalk. His bones won't allow it.
Still, he keeps his pace, turning down the labyrinthine alleyways with purpose. While he doesn't see the mouse again, he's sure it's somewhere this way.
Hopefully.
No. Actually.
Giving up is the only option and in the end he finally stops walking.
He is rubbing his face in his hands, but not with any method of care. One steady breath and then he is puzzling over the system's message once again. Escape. Escape from the rift? Was it trying to give him helpful hints or was it just fucking around with him. Slater didn't like his anima, but he loves it all the same. It's both helped him and evaded him when he really needs it.
Caught in a standstill with his only deterrent being himself, Slater finally removes his hands from his face. He is alone.
Rifts were always the trickiest to deal with, always awful and confusing. He hated them almost as much as he hated liminal spaces but at least those were more transient. He passed through those easier. Since one was more of a bubble and the other was a really, really, long hallway.
"Are you not going to give me any more hints? No more signs?" He calls out with irritation stuck on his lips. He doesn't snarl, he's not an animal. Or a furry. Well, actua- no. No. Slater was an artist before he would label himself anything of the sort.
Of course, the system doesn't respond.
"Be that way then, I don't need you..." It was all glitched and broken in the first place.
Considering the fact that he was on his own and that he would get no help — he contemplates briefly calling out for his twin, whom was evading him in the first place. Bubbling up in his chest is something akin to anger. He's reminded all at once that he was ignored, going on a goose-chase just to find that ungrateful brat. He had chased him, right out of the house. Slater recalls the scene from just a bit ago with remarkable ease and it does nothing to improve his mood. He is indignant, frustrated, and the rift is only growing colder.
I had always found it fascinating how easily his mood could shift like the weather, going from sunny to storming in simply a matter of minutes.
----------------------------------------
The mirror-image of the city functions much like the actual city of Karanoia. It doesn't sleep. Not all at once and only when the Keepers tell you to. It's in full-swing and Slater steps out on the other side of the alley and back into the throughs of society. He is a block away from his house and a block closer to where he had seen the mouse in the first place.
While there are no more hints, Slater keeps coggling across the sidewalk. He keeps to himself for the most part. Avoiding the droves of people as if he's afraid to be touched. He is.
Unfortunately for him, the peaceful solitude only lasts a couple of seconds more.
"Slater?" Someone calls his name, this time he hears it and he turns his head.
There's someone else in this rift ( beyond his twin who was nowhere to be found ) and this someone else was a face so familiar he wanted to throw himself into oncoming traffic just to avoid it.
His mood drops instantly, though he braces himself for the social interaction to come.
"Hi..." A meek response, a greeting spoke on regretful flesh.
And there before him in all his glory was a lanky boy, with all pearly-whites grinning somethin' awful. He's dressed head to toe in white, like a walking skeleton outside of the confines of flesh. Bone-white everything. Always. With that mis-matched gaze.
"Wow! It really is you!" A chipper expression.
It's not like Slater hates this kid. He doesn't. It's just that any singular time that he's ever interacted with Bones Morgan has always been a time he regrets. The other boy was just a year younger than him. He remembers him well. Though, he put up with him because his witch friend was close to him. That doesn't mean he isn't a chore to deal with for anyone but a select few. Slater included in that few.
Sigh.
"It's me..." Like the mouse of a boy he is, it comes out in the form of a squeak. His big ears grow red, from resentment rather than embarrassment. He hates himself at sixteen though he hates himself worse at twenty-three, too.
"You know, I woke up today without Nancy or Simon. Which I hated a lot." Bones was oft accompanied with living skeletons, quite literally, too. Nancy and Simon respectively were re-animated corpses with no skin or flesh. Just bones.
Slater is half-listening, taking only the most important bits and pieces. "We're in a rift. Nancy nor Simon would be with you... We just have to get out and then you can see them again."
Of all the people he could be stuck in a rift with, why did the system lead him to one of the worst people to be stuck with?
"Then, let's go!" Bones was never the type to sit around and dawdle. No, he was always the do it first, consequences later type of thinker. Even though he was academically inclined well above his paygrade.
He reaches for Slater's wrist, wrapping his phalanges around it, tugging in the same fluid motion.
"W-wait, what the fu-" Slater stumbles over his words like he's playing hopscotch without a rope, just jumping around haphazardly, "Hey! Hey- wait a second!" Bones was never the type to listen though. When he decides something is so, well, it's goddamn so.
"Why should I wait? I need to get home!"
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"Yeah, well! You could like not grab me like that!?"
Bones doesn't respond to it, rolling his eyes as he keeps heading down the sidewalk.
The pair blend into the mechanisms of the city, falling into step behind a shadowed trio. "You know Slaterrrr, where are your shoes? You know it's dangerous to walk around without any!" Bones points out, gesturing to the fact that Slater had forgone slipping on any in his haste to make it out his house.
It's a stammered realization, one that has him turning an owl-eyed look down to his feet that were caked in dried blood. He forgot to wipe his feet, forgot to put on socks, too.
"Uh." What was he even supposed to say here. "I..."
If Bones notices the lag in his response or the blood that had painted his soles, he doesn't say anything to even further point it out. He is silent as Slater puddles over a response he could give, bemused by the floundering if anything. It wasn't something he couldn't fix, Bones has his own anima.
When the truth begins to weigh heavy on his tongue, Slater pauses in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling Bones to a stop. "I just... forgot." It was the simplest explanation that he could come across, even though it still lags his brain.
"You know! I forget a lot of things, too!" Every bit of awkwardness that Bones could have felt, was not, he just wasn't that kind of person. He fears himself an extrovert. "I was just at home, too. Before falling into- You said it's a rift right?" He doesn't even wait for the confirmation. "Yeah, so I was completely out of my depths and-"
Slater is zoning out. He has never been especially enthusiastic about conversing with the other boy, so he's fortunate he's remembered his personal ability to check himself out mentally. Conversation petering out into a drum of static that rattles in his stomach. The familiar sensation calls him back to his mind. While the system doesn't come blaring back to life as he reaches internally for the feeling of his own anima, he does find that he is reaching back into the recesses of his own mind. It's an effort to try and pinpoint where he would need to make changes and where he would have to leave things alone.
There would be no room for mistakes, he is unsure if he can go back or if he's time-locked to this checkpoint.
A mission could be given for him to get information from another timeline, but it was never for any longer than he was supposed to.
Of course there was the Xavier fiasco that would happen... this year. He wasn't allowed to prevent that. It was simply a canon event. There was also the... what was it again, the Luna Massacre? He would need to make sure that doesn't happen or go for the saving route. It was one of the solutions but the mission details wouldn't come until he was much closer to the season anyway.
A bit stupid to keep mulling over it now.
"Slater!" All at once Bones is accosting Slater, shoving him back up into the rough of a brick wall. "Slater!" There is an edge to his voice, hot and heavy like an iron ready to be pressed to his face.
The scent of burning flesh flutters under Slater's nose as he blinks back into the present. "Huh? What the hell, dude?" He finds himself irritated, shoving Bones backwards easier than he expects. Turns out that the taller and more extroverted Bones wasn't planning to attack him.
The rush of his own heart pitters down to a drizzle rather than something heavy. He is overwhelmed with a sense of calm, now he's no longer dissociating.
"You weren't responding, we have to go!" It's here that Slater recognizes the rush of his voice. The heaviness of the situation.
There. A Keeper in the flesh, distorted in the shadows of a streetlamp. Watching and waiting. This normally would be no issue, considering the Keepers of the City were benevolent and kept to themselves— it should even function normally even in a rift— this was far different. All of its eyes were open, slivers of teeth, trickles of energy crackling down its body in waves.
"Ohhh, shit." Slater is more awake than ever, allowing himself to be rag-dolled down the sidewalk in a quicker pace. "When did that even appear?"
Bones responds in less than a timely fashion, sweeping his eyes backwards to make sure the Keeper hadn't caught sight of them yet. "A few minutes ago, you weren't responding so I had to take drastic measures."
"Sorr-" Slater's reply is cut off sharply.
"You know you blank out and stop walking? I would've carried you, but I didn't feel like it. You need to snap out of whatever is going on. Move faster."
Faster? Ugh. Fine.
While he doesn't respond, Slater does try and pick up the pace.
They turn into the Rotary with hurried steps. The usual place is packed with rows of people filing away like papers in the cabinet. Slipping through the people waiting for the trains was less of a task and more of a chore. At least the Rotarians were functioning as they should. The little robots were fluttering around scanning chips and ushering people into the fast-moving bullet trains that lead all over the city. The teleportation pods were occupied less so and Bones leads them to one.
"We should be safe noooow, all coast is clear!" Bones is all smiles and all teeth again. It's nauseating to look at, but what can Slater really do?
"Okay. Then wherever is fine." As long as they crossed into another district, the Keeper from before may not be able to catch up to them.
Bones doesn't connect the dots as quickly as Slater tossed them out, instead he is leaning against the pod ( one that resembles an old telephone booth ) checking out the crust under his nails. "Huh? Wherever? Oh. I wasn't planning to leave!"
A deadpan stare is directed to the other boy. This time Slater focuses on the black sclera of his right eye then the white of his left. "Are you stupid? We can't just sit here. You know it's going to come down here?"
"And?" Bones is nonplussed.
"Can you fight? Or are you just confident in your athletic ability... if it catches us, that's the end." How much can he emphasize the seriousness of it all. Which was kind of fucked up considering Bones was the one who was worried about it in the first place and now Slater feels like he's the one making a big deal out of it.
"We just have to stay out of its range! We're already at the phonebooth!"
"Teleport."
"Semantics! You know, Slater... Where was this worry when you were all under the influence of whatever drugs you're-"
"I'm not on drugs!"
"Sure." Bones doesn't look like he believes the statement, to be fair. "You're wandering around, feet bare and zoning out! Blood on your feet! How does that not seem like a person on drugs."
While Slater doesn't have a proper response, he's irritated nonetheless. "I'm not on drugs! What the hell is wrong with you, Bones!"
"What's wrong with you! I had a logical concern you know! I could tell her all about this and she'd agree you know." He crosses his arms, staring down at his elder with a smug grin.
Slater slaps at him, Bones only steps backwards. "You won't tell her shit!"
"I will!" He taunts.
"Fuck off, damn you." Slater doesn't mean it, he turns away to rub his fingers into his temples to be able to just find himself.
This is exactly why he hates interacting with other people. Especially people like Bones. So goddamn irritating. Just because he was oh so goddamn smart, skipping grades and opening clinics. Who the fuck did he think he was? He ought to just- Breathe, Slater. It's not worth it.
"Are you ready for school though?" Bones changes the subject with the brightest of tones. It's as if this had all been a casual conversation between friends. Slater doesn't remember ever being friends with him, though. It was her friend, not his.
He almost doesn't respond, but out of respect for the witch, he sighs. "No. I'm not. I don't really care about school." A truth.
"Same! It's quite boring, you know. I actually was planning to attend again this year!" That would be a change that Slater isn't prepared for.
"Why?" This hasn't happened before, though then again this save file was all glitched out. Of course he doesn't remember all the details. This was so annoying.
"I just thought it might be fun!" This time, Bones is staring at Slater a little too long for comfort. Way too long. Slater is beginning to believe that this entire rift thing had to his own anima playing a big stupid joke on him.
Duality, fucking dammit.
Slater can't even ignore him anymore. The last time he tried to buckle down into his mind was when the Keeper had-
All at once a large crash sounds in the distance. There are people screaming, some people are standing in a half-circle by the time Slater and Bones direct their attention to the entry point they had just came through. There at the top of the stairs, slicing through people as if they were simply butter was the Keeper of the City they had just seen prior. By now it was mutated beyond what could be considered normal and it was quickly becoming a creature of the Rift.
Slater turns his gaze to Bones who meets it with the biggest smile. "Well, we'll just have to leave sooner than later!"
Opening the entry to the booth, Bones shoves Slater inside and then closes himself in. Slater scrambles to pick up the phone, listening to the dial sound as the Keeper rushes towards them in the back. He thinks he ought to be more afraid, but the truth is, he's not really.
Itching starts back on his other arm and he resists the urge to scratch it as Bones begins to laugh. "This is crazy! Hey, imagine the odds, you know! We should hang out more, this is fun." How the fuck was any of this fun?
In any other situation, Slater might have uttered the words: I told you so. But he doesn't.
Instead, he presses the location code for another district of the city — in his haste he mistypes but wherever they wound up would be enough of a distance away that it would just be... worth it.
"Slater! You should hur--" Bones voice was completely grating, annoying and- He can't handle it.
"Shut the hell up!" Slater finally presses the green button, turning his head backwards just as the Keeper lunges right at the booth. He grabs Bones wrist this time as they disappear in a flurry of pixels, leaving a haunting and echoing scream in the space where they had just been.