Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
The scene wouldn’t leave his mind.
The wrenching of metal, the booming, resounding bellow of a gunshot, the roar of the fire, and the ensuing screams.
He couldn’t escape the screams.
Where had it all gone wrong? He was better than that. He had trained and trained and trained to be the best agent there was: to be perfect. How could he make a mistake like this? It all felt so unreal. Far from the heat of battle, long after the rush of adrenaline had worn off, the true reality of the situation set in, weighing heavily on the agent’s mind.
People were dead.
At his behest, by his hand, innocent lives had been snuffed out. Everything he had stood for up to this point was overshadowed by that one fact. He took it upon himself to protect, and yet the lives of so many had been extinguished by the power he wielded for their sakes. It was almost too much to bear. Intentional or not, Masato felt responsible.
He had been foolish, too quick to act. He had made a brash decision in the heat of the moment, and they were paying for it. He could take the cowards way out...place the blame on the Vizard or Martelli to ease his own guilt -- but deep down, he knew he had as much a hand to play in those deaths as any of them. What a sorry excuse for a hero he was.
Sunken eyes stood as evidence to the Major’s many sleepless nights since the incident. Pale, dishevelled, and notably lacking his signature harp-emblazoned garment, Masato looked like a shell of his former self. It was shocking what a few short weeks could do to a man.
A cold breeze swept in off the bay, rattling eerily through the twisted framework of Tokyo’s latest, morose landmark. Short, wispy breaths escaped from the man’s pursed lips as he stared up at the obsidian monument, eyes full of sorrow.
This was the first time he had built up the resolve to come here, but not the first time he’d tried. Returning to the scene was both humbling and terrifying. He didn’t have the luxury of ignorance -- he knew how the afterlife worked. He couldn’t bring himself to return here. To show his face to the sad, confused souls that might still lurk in the wreckage would denote some pretense of forgiveness, acceptance. Masato knew he deserved neither.
Still, he had to come back -- to see what he had wrought with his own two eyes.
Arriving at the base of the spire, Masato heaved a deep, sorrowful sigh. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a single cigarette. Burying it butt-down in the sodden ash at his feet, the agent lit it. It was no candle, but it was the best he could muster.
"That's not for you to say," came an all too familiar voice. Dressed in clothing that didn't have quite the tailored fit as his last set, the dark-haired businessman approached to near the somber figure of Orpheus' number 2. The hybrid's gait had signs that the burns inflicted upon him hadn't quite healed yet, and his own expression was as flat as his voice.
A cautious hand reached for the weapon clasped to his hip, but the agent quickly checked the motion. This was the same monster from that night. Sorrow turned to anger -- a harsh and bitter rage smoldering in the Advent's gut, churning and twisting -- screaming to be free. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to kill him. It was possible that he'd never wanted to kill anybody more. He wanted that man to know the pain of those who'd died there. The Vizard was as guilty as Masato.
Still, it was futile. Attacking now would only end in Masato's death and he knew it. Maybe in some deep corner of his mind it was what he wanted -- to repent for this atrocity -- but his pride wouldn't allow him such a merciful escape.
"What the hell do you want...?" Masato breathed without turning to face the man, his voice full of venom. "You really have some nerve showing your face here, half-breed."
"Ah," the main replied initially. Not the sort of arrogant semi-acknowlegment one might expect with such venom thrown at them, but rather, it seemed a pitiful and understanding utterance. After a glance to the new arrival, a face the vizard did not recognize, he gave a more cogent response.
"Are you filled with regret, because you were not strong enough to halt my anger?" The man's hair shaggy hair covered his left eye almost entirely, but the right was locked in an unflinching gaze upon the advent standing across from him.
The Vizard's words rang hollow. Spinning on his heel, Masato stood eye to eye with the creature, eyes burning like fire.
"Regret?" he hissed, taking a step forwards. "You don't even know the meaning of the word. You or that bastard Fukushin."
Grabbing a handful of the man's lose-fitting suit, the agent pulled him closer.
"Do you know what you two have done here? Do you even care?" he bellowed, his voice wavering slightly as he was overcome with emotion. "You killed people! Innocent people! And for what?!"
Pulling his shaking hand back, the agent took a breath. Every fibre of his body screamed for retribution.
"You think this is some kind of a game?!" the human roared, quaking with rage as the venomous words left his lips. "...That you can just play with peoples lives like this?!"
Reaching down to the ground, hands still shuttering, Masato grabbed hold of the lit cigarette at his feet and took a long, deep drag.
"What do you monsters know about regret? You treat humans like chattel. Earth is nothing but a playground for your sick schemes. I promise you, half-breed, come hell or high water, you will learn the meaning of regret. I might not have been strong enough..." the Major breathed, his words an eerie echo of the Vizards own convictions. "But we...we are not weak."
"Revenge . . . regret. You are strapped with anger. I think it is you who does not understand what these words really mean," the businessman did not resist his manhandling. His body seemed... human, frail, nothing like the fierce beast that had raged in this very spot only days ago.
"Revenge and anger did this. I did this as their avatar. And because of this, I am a sinner, who can only know Hell when he dies. Do you think I came here to gloat, to seek some sort of gain? I came here to face the consequences of being weak. For that, human, is what those feelings and desires make you. I am the only sinner here." And with that, the man closed his eyes. "To protect is a virtue, to avenge is demonic.
"Pull out that gun and shoot me, then. But remember this: to do so will make you weak. Slave to a beast you cannot control or contain, and ultimately: you will be the one on the other end of the barrel."
"I don't have the patience for your rhetoric," the agent breathed, turning to face the spiraling mausoleum at his back. "You absolve yourself of guilt by claiming to act as a tool for other forces, but you know..."
Fists clenched as the words struggled to leave Masato's mouth. "You know your hands are just as bloody as mine."
He knew there was veracity in the man's words, but he couldn't bring himself to accept them. He couldn't accept this. To find relief from his guilt in the shallow words and flawed concepts the half-breed proposed would only disrespect the dead further. Masato didn't want relief. He didn't want forgiveness, or some kind of catharsis to ease his pain. The only thing he could do was trudge onward, bearing the weight of his sins, and resolve to never, ever make a mistake like this again.
"And what were you 'protecting' when you slaughtered these people, half-breed? What of yours was worth the lives of so many?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." The businessman's dark eyes were fixated on Masato's back as the words pathetically left his lips. Then the dark chocolate gaze was directed to the still debris littered area, the milling workers and grieving families that were visiting their loved one's tombs. "And that is what makes my words better heeded. I have nothing to lean against, no excuse to support myself on and find reconciliation even with my own heart." The dark haired man paused there to root about in his pants pocket, ending up with a cell phone about three years out of style.
"This scene is why I spit on those who seek power. It can only walk hand in hand with suffering. But there is something I can do. I can try to make amends, try to avoid this happening once again. I may not be able to find redemption, but I'm content to simply walk the path and try." With that, the hybrid extended a wiry arm, the phone left resting on his open palm.
"And what the hell is that?" the agent hissed, peering out the corner of his eyes at the device the Vizard held. "Another one of your goddamn detonators?"
What did this man hope to gain here? The way he spoke made it seem like he felt some kind of regret for his actions, but Masato wouldn't buy it. He couldn't.
"Make amends?" the Major spat, his voice seething with anger. "You can't. Not for this. You say you spit on those who seek power when you yourself are the cause! People like me, we seek power in order to prevent devastation like this! Devastation you caused!"
Turning to face the Vizard once more, Masato's eyes narrowed as his venomous words slipped from between his clenched teeth.
"There's nothing either of us can say or do to make amends for what's happened here..."
The lithe figure gave the older phone a little shove, sending it in a parabolic arc over towards the Orpheus agent. "I didn’t do any of that bomb business. I don’t know who did.”
Eyelids dipped low over the businessman’s eyes and arms folded lightly over his abdomen. "What you saw me do, is all that I did. What that is, however, is simple.
"It’s a small matter as to what that is, it’s a drop phone. Use it, and I’ll do my best to send something or someone useful to your position. One time deal, and you know quite clearly what the price could end up being. Don’t use it frivolously.”
After a soft sigh, the mixed-blood finished in a depressive tone. "And no, amends, even if we struggle to make them, won’t ever be mad.”
Snatching the phone out of the air without breaking his cold stare, Masato hissed the last words he would speak to the vizard. The situation was almost too much for the Major. He couldn't stand to listen to any more of the half-breed's deceit, nor could he truly believe that the monster felt regret for what he had done.
"I have my own guilt to bear, Vizard," the agent whispered, his voice full of contempt. "...don't make me shoulder yours as well."
Turning away from the haggard businessman, Masato's reiatsu flared ever so slightly.
"If you feel remorse for what you've done here, try to make amends with your own two hands."
In a flash of arcane energy, the Major was gone, whisked away by his otherworldly power to a location far removed from ground zero. Staring down at the small device still held within his clenched fist. The mere sight of it, the reminder of the half-breed's promise filled Masato with anger. It was nothing but a curse. One more way for the contemptible creature to absolve himself of guilt.
Silently, the somber visage of the dark-haired man turned and began walking down the street. Interweaving with the throngs of humans once again carrying out their daily lives, some sparing glances or long looks towards his creation, the mixed-heritage man ran a hand back through his hair. The deafening silence of solitude amongst the chatter and noises of the human world was perfect for deep thought.
In a hundred years, none of them will even know I was alive. Why attempt to pacify and make amends with such transitory people? A frown crept over his expression. And always so willing to blame others, and never accept their own faults. Maybe I'm getting old. Still, better than those who live apart.
With a final spit on the ground, the well dressed but slightly mis-tailored figure slipped back into the shadows of Tokyo's metropolis.
