Damage report: Three Tier IV agents, four Tier V agents. Three HE E.G.O weapons, three HE E.G.O suits, three WAW E.G.O weapons, three WAW E.G.O suits, one ALEPH E.G.O weapon, one ALEPH E.G.O suit—adoration. Enough P.E boxes present to reproduce all suits and weapons.
Non critical damage report: 73 clerks, four collapsed hallways, three regenerator systems, two managerial bullet systems, seven Qliphoth deterrence modules. All damages easily repaired and replaced, this report can be filed under temporary—deleted in two days.
Non-facility damage report: 64 Rabbits KIA, WARP train system overloaded, fourth pack captain Myo executed to maintain contractual secrecy. Compensation for all damages paid for by Lobotomy corporation with an additional 5'000 enkephalin boxes paid out to each involved party due to breach of contract.
Total damage is not insignificant, but acceptable for the circumstances.
–Assistant Manager A.
Daily report: 1600 PE boxes refined, twelve abnormality breaches—
Her work was interrupted when something was placed in front of her, a cup of tea.
"Allow yourself a moment of rest, such work means little when we are so near the end. Conserve your strength for the days ahead." Benjamin said as he took a seat across the desk, fondling a cup of his own.
"I do not get tired." She said, no mention made of how the script is coming to an end.
"Even still, I'm sure you experience fatigue. Simply rest for the evening, there is no need to invite struggle without reason."
Angela wanted to deny his words, yet found herself nodding nonetheless. He wasn't wrong, there was no point in filing reports when there would be no next-cycle to make use of it.
Disconnecting from facility management.
Her processor was freed of the endless database, her mind left empty to allow a single moment of reprieve. It was an uncomfortable sensation, she couldn't say if she disliked it or not.
Sip.
Sip.
Sip.
Tea she still couldn't taste, the sensation of heat she still enjoyed. There was only silence, and warmth.
"The coming days, what do you think they will hold in store for us?" Benjamin asked after a while.
Angela had no answer to give, they had never reached beyond day forty five after all. "We will manage the abnormalities." Was all she could say.
Benjamin cracked a small smile at her words. "I suppose we will, though that is not quite what I meant. What do you think lies beyond the completion of the project?"
Angela did not allow the question a single moment of thought, lest it slip in through the cracks of her being. "I will await further orders from the manager."
A tiny frown settled upon the face of her companion. "Yet your programming mandates obedience only until the completion of the project. What you wish to do beyond is for you to decide. Not Ayin, not me."
"..." She had no answer to offer.
She didn't even have a thread to follow, no method of logic through which she could find the solution to such a question.
"What do you wish for?" Benjamin prodded.
'Would you like some?' He offered.
'Don't worry about me.' He placed a hand upon her head.
'Thank you.' He said, the voice box finally repaired.
"...What does the manager intend to do after the project?" She found herself asking.
After all, there was only one thing she yearned for.
"Angela, open your eyes for a moment." She did not understand, though she followed his request nevertheless.
She found Benjamin's eyes of emerald staring into hers, the piercing gaze within seemingly reaching her very soul. Many emotions flashed across his face, not one did Angela fully comprehend.
Sadness? Regret? Recognition?
She couldn't say.
"...Those eyes, they're just like his." Was the whisper that left his lips, so quiet that Angela couldn't but feel it wasn't intended for her to hear.
"My only hope is that the sorrow and despair won't trap itself within." Angela never got the chance to question his words, as he suddenly shook his head.
"It matters not in the present moment, let us focus on managing the abnormalities."
Just like always, a thousand questions raged.
Just like always, not one was allowed free.
She cared not for the truth she saw within her heart, instead preferring the bliss of oblivion.
Just as Ayin did so long ago.
Binah hummed to herself, letting the steam of freshly brewed tea flow across her face. "Is that all you ask of me then?"
Ayin nodded. "Indeed, that is all. You need not raise a finger until I call upon you once more."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is your duty not to your liking?"
Binah chuckled, shaking her head. "No, it is quite an interesting assignment, I must admit. My only wonder is what you yourself will be doing during that period."
With great hesitation he turned towards Carmen, her conscious self still trapped within an eternal cell.
"There is one more thread I must tie before I take my leave, one more past I must confront. I've made her wait long enough."
His vision was blocked by a hand upon his eyes. "My my. Looking at another woman with such wistful eyes. So soon after we exchanged our vows? You incite jealousy within me."
Ayin could do nothing but sigh exasperation. "You certainly appear to be in a good mood."
For once, Binah did not chuckle. There was a giggle instead.
"Why yes, I'm currently in high spirits. One could only imagine why." Ayin stared at her for a long while with a deadpan look, Binah's smirk budged for not a single moment.
After a second of thought he decided the cleanest path forward would be to say nothing, instead choosing to simply take a sip of tea.
Unfortunately, it appeared as though his companion was not willing to let go just yet.
"I'd prefer a cat." She suddenly said, a small smirk still plastered across her face.
"What?" Was his confused reply.
"Hmm, dogs too are fine I suppose. Though I find felines to be far more graceful creatures, I believe a cat would serve as a better pet."
His confusion only deepened at her words. "What are you talking about—" Binah did not stop, continuing to speak over him in a flat, amused tone.
"Sanctifying a chamber for reading would also be most preferable. A dimly lit room dominated by the smell of tea and books would be a most pleasant space for relaxation would it not?"
A migraine was beginning to quickly form. "Where is this suddenly coming from—"
"I dislike wetting my hand, so I'll leave matters of the kitchen to you. I'll handle the cleansing of the house instead, sweepers are quite obedient to the right person."
He didn't even have the chance to get a word in this time around, Binah simply charged onward.
"How many pillows? I believe nine of moderate size would be most ideal, offering great comfort while ensuring a single mistake will not lead to a night of unrest."
"Why…"
"Which side? If memory serves correctly I have a habit of rolling onto the right, so perhaps it would be for the best if I were to take the left."
"Wha—"
"I'm a light sleeper compared to most, so I may be forced to use lock upon you should you snore. Though I should hope that won't be a problem, you usually are quite subtle in your ways."
"...!"
"We should have a wide roof. To gaze upon the starlit sky while sharing a fresh brew would be a most amorous moment."
"...?!"
"I'd find it most joyful if you were to make soybean soup every morning, especially so with a hot cup of tea. Though of course, I may be forced to train you out of some bad habits, do not think for a moment I don't notice the occasional smell of coffee in your breath."
"...!?!"
"What color should the walls of the nursery be?"
There was a loud slam as Ayin dropped his head onto the table.
Binah's chuckle ceased for not a single moment.
"Have you had your fill of amusement?" He asked, face still on the table.
"Desire is a spring without end, though I shall answer 'yes' to your question regardless."
Ayin stared at her with great suspicion for a few minutes more, though finally recomposed himself when it became clear she truly was done.
An alarm sounded at that moment, declaring midnight.
It was time.
Neither him nor Binah spoke a word more, silently making their way across the graveyard of pillars to the entrance of his department.
The word 'Keter' was written above the door, yet beyond the entrance lay nothing but darkness. It made sense, of course. Keter was not a department that truly existed, it was merely the name given to the origin of the facility.
The soul from which it was all extracted.
Only after his entrance shall it be given form, the culmination of everything that has ever happened.
He turned towards Binah, and within her hand a golden crown of thorns appeared.
"From this moment and onward, this ego shall not be yours to own. No longer will you remove it, no longer will you have the choice to reject it. You shall walk the path unbending, and bear the pain unflinching—this duty I bestow upon you, your holy worship." He did not say a word, she did not ask for his agreement.
The bell of fate had tolled a long time ago.
"Face the soul of the meager human who infests your divine being, and bend the struggling vermin to fit your every goal."
The crown glowed as it was lowered upon his head, the field of keter began to take shape.
"Reject your humanity, and embrace the truth of your world. Let this crown be the proof of your martyrdom, to be removed by none other than I."
Blood began to flow from his head, a small smile upon Binah's face.
"Let the world forget the man named Ayin, let I be the only one to acknowledge your mortality."
A path was paved, and keter was prepared to present its trials.
"From this day, there is only a God named Keter."
Notes:tree is a most beautiful existence, is it not?
Through storm and thunder the trunk endures, caring not for the centuries that pass. There is a quiet dignity to its existence, a constant in an ever fluctuating world, a sentinel of bark for which no burden is too heavy.
Through drought and flood the leaves survive, awaiting the sunny day upon which it will thrive. Taking within itself the light of the world, it becomes the tap through which the system finds sustenance. It hurts none in its quest for energy, yet offers freely to those who need it.
Trunk and leaf, brown and green. Together they grow, reaching out higher with every passing year.
High does it grow.
O high does it grow.
The eternal cloud of despair that shrouds the world would allow no light for its prosperity, so the trunk and leaves continue to rise until it pierces the sky to find the sun. Her ideals as its crown, it reaches out towards the stars, then beyond until heaven itself lay below its shade.
Only then does the tree bear its seed, gifting those below all the good it has to offer.
Yet for a tree to reach beyond heaven, its roots must dig deeper than hell.
Here below purgatorium, he finds where it all began. A land of ever shifting images, where even suffering has given way to oblivion, and where oblivion has dispersed into nothingness.
There is no constant to be found, no shape to be grasped.
It was both the origin, and the waste.
Through the well, and from the bucket, he had arrived at the river.
They drew from its water, to be poured into empty vessels. Ideas given form, concepts made manifest.
The bucket and the drawer of the well labored eternally, continuing to pour in spite of their callused hands.
He as the prophet judged the purity of the vessel, those deemed fit lifted unto the roots while those deemed impure were returned to whence it came.
The amber of endless gluttony, consuming itself until the end of time.
The crimson of meaningless laughter, marching in search of an all consuming bliss.
The green of endless questions, doubting answers until it rejects reality.
The violet of blinding belief, attempting to understand what never truly existed.
They he deemed impure, contradictory to the crowned ideals. Yet they refused to quietly return to the stream, lashing out from dawn to midnight. They were the ordeals he chose, fated to emerge as parts of humanity, yet rejected in quest of arbitrary perfection.
Even now, at the end of it all, he saw them below—even deeper still than depths at which he stood. The waste of the path he walked screaming into the endless void, where none but he would listen.
That too, must be a sin he must bear when all falls to tranquility—though that day has yet to come.
He stood between hell and the river below, in a land of nothingness where he carved out his will. Here, he was the father of all, the fabric of reality itself extracted from his mind.
And yet, he holds no control over what shall emerge, for the human mind was not his to control, even if the mind was his own. Perhaps that is why he feared this place for so long, because his soul was the one palace where he held no power.
No more.
For the sake of the path walked, he shall stand here once again as the architect of his own vision. If the human must be crushed in order for him to hold the hammer and chisel, then so be it.
Let the roots stretching to hell choke the man who resided within—for he too must submit to the vision.
Ordeals of white emerged, his subconscious self resisting in futility.
How fitting, for the hunters and the executioner to be the trials of the first day.
After all, the moment of their visit was when the path was set, the first day of his abandonment.
Angela watched as a squad of agents suppressed the ordeal, a robotic humanoid wielding a red blade. Though far more powerful than a normal dawn ordeal, the being was still suppressed without major casualties.
The only losses were three clerks, yet Angela still found concern to be rooted deeply in her heart. After all, the being's cogito was identical to her creator's.
The monitor placed upon him showed all vital signs to be normal, yet she couldn't shake the ever persistent feeling of dread.
"...The taboo hunters." Benjamin whispered, Angela turned towards him in questioning.
"They are independent agents of the Head, largely left to make their own decisions regarding those who break minor taboos." She understood little of what was said, though the arrival of the noon ordeal wouldn't allow her the chance to question any further.
She could only hope the vitals monitor will remain normal.
What is 'fate'?
What is a 'future'?
It is an endless slope with no grip. The people upon it tumbling down with no method of stopping or slowing, sliding into a future where the only certainty is uncertainty.
It is a great lake with no equal. The relentless waves of the sea drowning all who dare to partake in its flow, those caught in its turbulence struggling to resist in an eternal exercise of futility.
To see this unknown and to steer the utter chaos of the future—it is the Head's claim to divinity.
To know and manipulate all secrets of the world; it is the privilege of the Head, the Eye, and the Claws. It is their honor and absolute power. Or at least, so is their belief.
Such a claim to omnipotence is fraudulent, of course—yet none could doubt the totality of the strength they wield.
Even the hunters had few in equal, and the claws were matched only by the strongest of the city.
Those who could bruise an arbiter could be counted on one hand.
And yet, it was not through privilege that the Head steered the future. It was but an extension of the ecosystem of the city.
They stood at the peak of a great mountain of power, yet in heaven they were not.
Through strength equal, their iron grip could be shattered.
With a toll of the midnight bell, from below a claw ascended.
I had once been terrified by the prospect of opposing them, every moment of my existence spent in dreaded hiding from their sight.
Agent Edward was ordered to suppress the ordeal by his lonesome, all others occupied by breaching abnormalities.
Yet now, as I stand here facing the soul within, no longer does their power seem so absolute.
With no fear in his heart, the agent drew Twilight from his back.
I saw it once before when Kali faced the insurmountable, and grasped victory in spite of that.
Repeatedly, E.G.O clashed against steel, the halls surrounding them crumbling apart with each shockwave unleashed from their inhumane strength.
Power could be found within, inferior to no singularity or incomprehensible technology.
The battle raged in the physical, yet the agent only fought within his own mind. Three voices he could hear, the chirping of the birds not silent in spite of the twilight he endured. And beneath it all his prayer to the light continued, unnoticed as it may be.
With this power granted to any person willing to face their inner selves, I turn the carefully crafted ecology of struggle against those who perpetuate it.
The denizens of the city shall struggle with no hesitation, their unchecked ambition overgrowing until no power could make truth through force.
I need only topple the one at the peak, to show them it is possible.
So inward I turn, to where my journey first commenced.
He stood in an office, one he recognized well. A wall filled with monitors, a cup of tea placed upon a desk. If he blinks, he could almost see a familiar azure standing at the edge of his vision.
And there he sat, a mop of black and eyes of auburn so familiar.
"Ayin." Keter said in greeting, the man only frowned in response.
Notes: