Through It All
Written by Airstrike Brant
Part 1: Uneasy Conclusions
The apartment was a drab and gloomy affair: a palette for a colorblind artist. Walking through the rooms was an experience in the ranges of gray, each shade somehow managing to be drearier than the last. The only exception was the windowpane about the solitary window, which had been painted, for who knows what reason, a dull maroon color. It was as if the 'decorator' had dipped their brush into a bucket of blood and had allowed it to congeal about the frame in thick, running smears.
The room's single occupant was sitting upon an old, broken sofa, carefully dispersing his weight about the springs that were threatening to break free of the thin soiled material as he restlessly shuffled his feet across the worn carpet. His blue skin added a spark of color to the monotone of the apartment, but it was only a spark and was not reciprocated in his dark brown irises. Had any of his old friends had seem him at this moment, they would have trouble accepting that this was indeed Bob for he appeared as lifeless as his surroundings. There was none of his usual good nature or optimism to be found in his appearance or actions. Perhaps that's why had chosen to live in this dingy apartment: a sense of belonging. It was obvious that just beneath the gray exterior, this apartment had once been full of color, but now both this place and Bob had seemingly lost any vitality.
His apartment in Kits had been so much nicer, but he didn't want to go back there. He didn't belong there. Kits was in Mainframe, and there's where his life had ended. Sure, he still continued to function, but his life had ended just as if he had truly been deleted. Sighing aloud, he walked to the window, the one with the maroon frame, and looked out at the system.
It was, for all practical purposes, a dead system. The user was thought to be a myth because no games were ever played and no one even knew when the last upgrade had been. Still, the few binomes that lived here clung to their dirty, simple existence with a devotion that few could understand. Bob understood. This was the only life that most of them had ever known and the very aspect of change was frightening. Bob knew exactly how they felt. Exactly.
This system had no use for a Guardian, but the other inhabitants did not question his reasons for staying. The few jobs he was given would have been the routine work of any CPU unit, but there were no CPU's here. Bob didn't care. He tried to convince himself that he was staying only because even the most trivial jobs were important, but that was merely a lie. At least on one level, he realized he was trying to punish himself for his failures in Mainframe, but no penance could delete the guilt which welled up inside.
He leaned his forehead against the dirty glass and watched as his breath fogged up the window, enveloping the binomes below in the misty haze. If only I could hide my memories so easy, he thought to himself. If I could just disguise them in a thick fog so I wouldn't have to ever think of those times again, maybe I could go on. But it could never be that easy. He knew he was driving himself random with the constant self-torture, but he couldn't help but wonder if randomness would finally bring on the solace he was so desperately seeking. Choking back a tear, he turned his gaze from the window and looked at a small box that was sitting on a rickety desk.
The box didn't look like all that much to the casual observer, but it was the only personal item he had brought with him from Mainframe. It was the only solid evidence that he had ever been there, but it's contents held the entire story. He wanted to open it and relive the story once more, but he couldn't right now. Forcing his eyes away, he walked away from the window and out of the room.
"I really don't know why I came back," Bob mumbled, as he slowly made his way to the black couch near the large picture window. In contrast to his apartment, this office was a mix of seemingly impossible bright, nearly garish colors.
"Sure you do," the binome replied, "You just haven't accepted the reasoning yet."
Bob started to argue but decided against it. He knew that his real problem was that he still was having trouble accepting the fact he was actually visiting a 'shrink'. Never before could he had dreamed that he would actually lie on the infamous black sofa (nor did he actually believe that any real psychiatrists still had the infamous black sofas, but that was another matter). "So, Dr. Scroll, where do you want me to start."
"Start where you think you need to start," Dr. Scroll answered, "We talked a bit in your initial interview about this sprite, so -"
"Dot."
"Pardon?"
"Her name is, uh, was Dot." Bob's voice trailed off almost inaudibly.
"I see. I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect. I am just really lousy with names."
"Isn't that bad for a psychiatrist?"
"Not really. I have all my patients names written down and if I ever see you outside of the office, I'll just yell 'hey you!' or something."
Bob laughed, weakly. In all reality, he kind of liked Dr. Scroll's friendly attitude even though it wasn't particularly professional. "I'll remember that. Now, where to start?"
"This is your first real visit, so this time start where you feel you need to. You can fill me in on other information later. I am not going to interrupt, this time. I just want you to talk, okay?"
"Okay," Bob replied, taking a deep breath, "I guess I'll just start where it all ended. Mainframe had just been restored. Finally, it seemed like things were going to go our way, although I knew Daemon was going to try something. She had already made her first attempt with something called 'The Shadow Bug', but it had been a failed attempt thanks to Turbo. Unfortunately, he had to stay in Mainframe because it was now known he could fight off the infection, but he still had to held in quarantine. We were just waiting for Daemon's next move, but we had no idea the outcome..."
He wasn't on the front line, leading the battle, as he would have liked. After all, he was their intended target. Feelings of worthlessness and bitterness burned like an acid in his throat. Mainframe might be destroyed and it was only because he, a single insignificant Guardian, remained free of Daemon's infection. He knew that if he asked, Daemon would promise that no harm would come to Mainframe, if he surrendered, but that would be a lie. It was always a lie. Dameon meant to take over every system, this one included. He wouldn't allow her to win and force the residents to be fearful for their very existence. He would fight.
Dot was not on the front line either, but she was fighting as well. From the Principal Office, she would be directing the CPU units and the ground soldiers. She would also be the one who would give the word on when to the use the weapon that had been nicknamed the "Contstrictor."
The Constrictor was actually invented by Mouse. While she had been studying Turbo's infected codes, she found an anomaly that, upon further investigation, caused the infected Guardian to be sensitive to a certain noise frequency that could easily be reproduced. Turbo had bravely volunteered to allow Mouse to test the Constrictor on him, which she did. As soon as he was exposed to the noise frequency generated by the Constrictor, Turbo had collapsed to the floor, apparently helpless. Testing showed that not only did the frequency cause pain, but the actual infection seemed to recede. It was a painful process, but Turbo had been cured of Daemon's evil touch, and now the Constrictor was being set up with an amplifier in hopes of helping the other Guardians. Plus, there was a high possibility that Daemon had the same anomaly in her own codes if all those she had infected possessed it. In that case, the Constrictor may actually have the ability to wound or even delete her. At least, they could hope it would.
The first line of CPUs rose into the air and flew toward the Guardians. Bob tensed, knowing that when the second line ascended, it would be his cue to turn on the Constrictor. Matrix, who was situated just in front of Bob, also appeared tense. The Constrictor was operated manually by a set of imbedded codes, specially designed by Mouse, so Bob wouldn't be able to 'watch his back'. That's where Matrix came in. His orders - shoot to delete. Bob shuddered at the idea of deleting the Guardians, but realized that they didn't have much of a choice at this point. Matrix had to be sure that none of the infected Guardians could get to Bob while he was operating the Constrictor. Besides, Turbo had said that Matrix was another one of Dameon's intended targets.
"I hate this waiting," Matrix mumbled.
Bob silently agreed, as he waited for the signal.
All at once, a gigantic portal opened and what appeared to be a slender, petite female sprite came forth. She was beautiful individual with long flowing purple hair and silvery skin, but her smile was that was not a pleasant one. All at once, the image shattered, as if made of glass, and a dark monster took it's place. The flowing purple hair was a ragged violet mane about a faceless darkness. Silvery talons stretched forward as Bob could hear her laughing. Turbo had told them of Daemon's ability to change her appearance, but Bob could have never had imagined anything looking like this creature.
The second line of CPUs rose, but Bob didn't notice. All his attention was focused on Daemon. He could feel the evil radiating from her like waves of a powerful stench.
"Turn on the Constrictor!" Matrix yelled, taking aim at a few infected Guardians who had already broken through the lines of CPUs.
Bob jumped a bit, startled by Matrix's voice, and quickly began to enter the codes to start the machine. He could not hear the specific frequency himself, so he didn't even know if it was working at first.
Then, the screaming began. Every infected Guardian clasped their glowing temples in agony and screamed. It was a horrible sound that reverberated though every sector. Bob couldn't help but feel guilty.
"Watch out!" Matrix yelled, shooting a Guardian that was just behind Bob. "Crank it up! It's all or nothing now!"
Bob nodded and set the Constrictor to its highest setting. The screams intensified, and Guardian after Guardian began falling from their zip boards. It's raining Guardians, Bob thought to himself, unhumorously. He looked up and saw Daemon's reaction for the first time. She was clutching her head, just as the Guardians were but it looked as if her ebony sides were bulging outward. All at once, the right side of her torso exploded, and a purple liquid spewed from the wound. She fell backwards into the portal, while screaming in agony. A cheer went up from all the inhabitants of Mainframe for they had beaten the virus back.
Matrix turned and actually smiled a bit. "We got her!" he exclaimed, "If she's not deleted, she's hurt bad enough not to show her face in this system anytime soon."
"Yeah," Bob agreed. He looked down at the fallen Guardians "And if Mouse is right we should be-"
Before he could finish his sentence, a thunderous boom cut off his voice. Both of them whirled around only to see a column of smoke rising from the Principal Office. Without saying anything else, they hurried off in that direction.
The damage can't be too bad, Bob thought, trying to reassure himself, it doesn't look like there's much damage at all. Actually, it did appear that the explosion had been very limited. Still, Bob couldn't deny the feeling that insisted the damage was far worse than he dared to imagine.
"Phong!" Bob yelled, as he and Matrix entered the Principal Office, "What happened?"
Bob was hoping that Phong would reassure him that nothing was wrong, but he knew that wouldn't be the case the moment he looked at him.
"I am sorry, my child," Phong said.
"What is it?," Matrix asked, but Bob didn't wait around to hear the answer.
Before anyone could stop him, Bob turned and ran down the hallway, not knowing where he was heading. Perhaps he was heading towards Dot's office or perhaps he was instinctually running toward the damaged area. Then, he realized the truth. He had been heading towards both.
Dot's office was gone. There was nothing but a smoking pile of rubble where she had once sat. "Please," he whispered, "Please let her have been somewhere else." But he knew. He knew. Somewhere, far away, he could hear Phong apologizing again and explaining the information he had of the accident, but Bob wasn't listening. His mind had succumbed to the grief.
"I didn't know what to do," Bob said, getting up from the couch and walking the length of the room. He felt restless, but the walking did nothing to use up his nervous energy. "So I just left," he continued, "Usually, when you've been in a system a while, you are supposed to request a system transfer. That's to make sure that all systems that need a Guardian, have one even if a Guardian has to leave for, uh, personal reasons. But I didn't care about protocol. I just told Turbo I was leaving and I left. No one said a word about it." He began pacing once more, but his voice seemed drained. "I had to get out of there. I was so worried that Enzo, the big or the little one, would blame me and I didn't know if I could take that." He managed a weak laugh. "Of course I felt even guiltier about leaving Enzo, especially the little one, because he had lost both his sister and his father now, but I couldn't be there for him. I just couldn't. Everyone told me that it wasn't my fault and that there was nothing I could, but I couldn't accept that. I still don't."
"Why do you insist on blaming yourself?," Dr. Scroll asked.
"Because Daemon was after me," Bob replied, "If I hadn't been there, then maybe she would have left Mainframe alone."
"Do you really believe that?"
Bob looked closely at Dr. Scroll and realized that he was honestly asking the question and not just patronizing him.
"No," he admitted.
Dr. Scroll nodded. "I think that what you really needed to do was to talk about this, but there's still a lot of guilt. We'll talk about that next time. Why don't you make an appointment with the receptionist outside?"
"I don't know if I'll come back."
"I think it might help. If you don't want to make an appointment now you can always make it later."
Bob started for the door, but paused and looked back at the binome. "Why are you here?," he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Why do you stay here? Surely you can't have that much business in this system."
"Even small, nearly dead systems have people who need help. Perhaps even more so. That's why I stay."
"Yeah, me to," Bob said, softly, as he left the office.
Go to Part 2: In the Beginning