Love and Murder in Birdland

The throne was a macabre sight to behold. It was constructed from the writhing, intertwined bodies of naked humans, their skin gleaming in the light of the Rainbow Room. They were positioned in a way that made it look as if they were reaching out in passionate embrace, creating a strange, yet beautiful sculpture. The throne itself was made from the contours of their bodies, with their limbs and torsos forming the structure. The faces of those used to create the throne were contorted in pleasure, their eyes closed in ecstasy. One of the faces was familiar to me. It belonged to the female agent who led the raid on Wheelers' house, and whose corpse I later found near the gate. 

The sight was jarring, almost hypnotic, yet not as disquieting as the figure who occupied the throne. Not just for his appearance, but also because he should not be. I had made sure of that. 

At first glance, he appeared to be a mirror image of Two, except for his eyes which were pitch-black and faceted like those of an insect. However, upon closer inspection, other subtle differences became apparent. His muscles appeared slightly abnormal and moved in quick bursts, twitching in an insect-like manner.

A familiar face. Two possessed by the demon I made. 

Impossible face, for that demon, was unmade by me also. 

At least I knew that Two had not managed to get possessed again. Because he was confronting this twisted version of himself, dressed in the threadbare hospital gown he wore as one of Dr. Brenner's experimental subjects. It hadn't been adjusted to fit him after his latest growth spurt and now barely reached his knees. 

At least his mind was projected into this unreal dream realm. 

For his body, I turned my gaze to the second facet of the mirror-gem. There I saw the Two's body napping on the dirty floor, near where mine was in a meditative position. Not clad in a hospital gown, though. And Trevor's body was frantically drawing, but his mind was elsewhere.

I looked upon the third facet of the mirror-gem. 

In the third facet of the mirror-gem, I saw an unnamed city street, a conglomerate of every rundown, seedy neighborhood in which Emiya Shirou had once played the hero. Buildings sagged under the weight of decay, their surfaces marred by indecipherable graffiti; broken and boarded-up windows were flanked by peeling, weather-beaten posters. The architecture was a hodgepodge, incorporating styles from every corner of the world—Eastern and Western, African and South American.

Here, grey misery reigned supreme. Amidst such despair, the rare splashes of color seemed almost obscene, out of place.

And there was Trevor's mental avatar, fedora tilted to one side, a sleek pinstripe suit, and a matching tie to complete his forties-noir look. His polished black dress shoes clicked against the pavement as he strode down the dimly-lit alleyway. He seemed to have a purpose in mind, a goal that only he knew.

Well, it would not be hard to guess. There was only one thing he could be seeking here. Answers. 

And only one source that would satisfy. Remaining thoughts of Robert McGee. 

Ancient Greeks, in their wisdom, named the death the brother of the dream. Such was that kinship that what was dead in the flesh was not always dead in dreams. Sometimes things lingered. 

The question was whether Robert McGee was one of those things. 

But for now, Trevor seemed in no great peril. Unlike Two.

I did not plan for both of them to get caught by my prey at the same time. Two's mental shields should have kept him safe. He was meant to serve as bait, yes, but for a different quarry altogether—one Archer was hunting.

If that boy dropped his shields because he had gotten bored, then obviously he needed to learn more discipline. 

And even with both boys ensnared, I was still unable to locate the culprit. 

I returned my attention to the first facet, just in time. 

The doppelganger reclined on the throne, lounging in a way that seemed both unnatural and regal at the same time, and spoke with a tone of scorn and disappointment, " Is this what I died for? How disappointing you've turned out to be."

Two visibly flinched, taking a step back and raising his gaze to meet that of the creature. A blend of fear and confusion clouded his eyes, and his hands shook slightly at his sides. "You… You are that thing from my dreams?"

"Dreams? Not even a memory? Had my brief existence only amounted to that much? I've died for you, killed for you, and you've forgotten me so easily? How ungrateful."

"Fuck you!" Two spat the words out, his voice trembling with anger. He clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white. "Don't put your actions on me. I never asked anyone to die or kill for me. You did that on your own. I don't owe you anything."

The doppelganger's laughter sounded like a series of sharp clicks, similar to the sound of an insect's mandibles. As he laughed, his body twitched and spasmed in a way that was distinctly insect-like, his muscles moving in rapid bursts beneath his skin. "Never asked? Never asked? How quickly you forget. What you were drowning in your own blood, you begged anyone, anything to save you. But then it is foolish to expect any gratitude from someone like you."

"Are you done whining?" Two said with forced nonchalance, but the trembling of his hands and copious sweating betrayed his fear. "Poor me. I want to be remembered. I want to matter. Isn't that even more pathetic?"

"No. It was not that. It would be nice to be remembered, but what I really hate is what you have done with your life after. Nothing. With Papa, at least you had some purpose. On Io, you are nothing more than a waste of space, something to be fed and taken care of. In other words, a pet. If you want to live a dog's life, could you, at last, be a hunting dog rather than a useless lapdog? No matter. Now, with this opportunity, I can change that."

"Change what?"

"I have died for you. It would only be fair for you to die for me."

"Fuck no! I live for myself and die for no one!"

The doppelganger's smile turned cruel. "You may live for yourself, but you will die for me. The choice belongs to the strong, and you, my dear Two, are weak."

With a leap that defied natural law, the doppelganger dislodged itself from the throne. Its limbs contorted, mimicking the grotesque elasticity of an insect—akin to a grasshopper preparing for flight.

Raising his hands in defense, Two unleashed a telekinetic blast. Yet, the doppelganger tore through it with contemptuous ease, as if swatting away a fly.

With each twitch and spasm, the doppelganger rapidly closed the gap. Its movements were unsettling yet strangely graceful, almost like a butterfly in flight.

"That is enough," I said, firing the Mystic Code revolver. Bullet type: Emerald. Configuration set: Gravity spell. 

The emerald beam emerged from the barrel of the Spellweaver, passing through a facet of mirror-gem, intercepting the doppelganger just before he could reach Two. 

As the beam hit, the doppelganger was suddenly enveloped in a vortex of swirling green light. The symbols around it glowed with an otherworldly intensity as if the very fabric of reality was warping under the strain of the spell.

The doppelganger writhed in pain as the gravity around it intensified to impossible levels. It was as if a mountain had suddenly collapsed on top of it, crushing its body under the weight of an entire world. Bones snapped and flesh tore as the pressure mounted, but still, the doppelganger fought to stay conscious, its eyes burning with hatred and fury.

Stepping through the facet, I called forth mercury. It manifested as half a dozen spheres of liquid metal orbiting me. I knew that I was in a tough fight. From previous experience, this would delay the doppelganger for just a moment. But it would be enough for me to reach Two. 

"Rin!" Two cried out. 

I did not look at him. My awareness was solely focused on the abomination trapped in my spell, "Not now Two. This required my full attention. Any moment it will escape and regenerate."

It was difficult to trap something that could change its history on a whim. Gravity, as a distortion of space-time, worked better than most other things I had access to, but it wouldn't be sufficient.

At any moment now, the creature would teleport, his wounds undone. Only the sacred element, gifted to me by grace, would end it. 

Any moment now. 

Any moment?

"It's not escaping?" Two commented from next to me. He must have moved while I was focused on the prisoner. 

"Let me go," the creature gasped, blood spilling from its mouth. It was not human red. Rather it was a sickly greenish-black, with thick, gelatinous clots mixed in. "Let me take Two's place."

"And why would I do something as stupid as that?" I idly said. It seemed that the situation was less critical than I feared. Or rather I had more time.

"I will serve you. I am stronger than Two. Better. Just give me a chance."

With a simple gesture, flinging my left hand downwards, I asked, and the floating orbs of quicksilver obeyed. The silvery rain of death descended and ripped the poor facsimile apart.

With its target gone, the gravity spell collapsed. The corpse crumbled into dust, leaving only a small pearly white orb the size of a thumb. 

Two reached to grab it. I caught his hand in a firm grip. "That is not the wisest decision that you could make Two."

"I was just curious," Two replied, his tone defensive. "That thing? It wasn't real?"

"Nothing here is real. We're wandering through the realm of mind, traversing dreams and nightmares," I explained. "But I can guess what you're really asking. And the answer is no. This was just a poor copy made from your trauma, memories, fear, and insecurity. You need to guard your thoughts better. Still, it was very dangerous."

"You dealt with it easily enough." Two tried to cross his arms, but I still had a firm grip on his hand. He settled for a defiant stance instead, glaring at me as if daring me to let it go.

"It wasn't dangerous for its ability. It was dangerous for what it was," I said. "It's very unwise to impersonate a demon. Mostly because demons take that as an invitation."

But since the imaginary demons were an import to his reality, it was unknown wisdom. 

"But I thought that demon was dead," Two said, sounding skeptical.

"It was a part of the sacrifice that allowed me to save you and the others. But the problem is, for something to truly die, it had to be alive in the first place. Being a creature of imagination as long as someone, for example, you, remembers it, it will never be truly gone. But I suppose that is the case for everyone. The egg-like object is its attempt to reconstruct itself."

"I understand," Two said, relenting. "I'm not going to touch it. You can let go of my hand now."

"Good. Exorcisms are tiresome." I said. With a flick of my thumb, I rotated the barrel of the revolver until I found what I was looking for. After a few deft movements of my fingers, I reset the configuration of my Mystic Code. Bullet type: Ruby. Configuration set: Incineration rite.

The white fire burned the egg with a blinding intensity, so bright that it seemed to wash out all other colors in the room. The egg sizzled and cracked, the shell peeling away in blackened strips under the heat. Within seconds, it had been reduced to a molten pool of iridescent liquid that hissed and bubbled before finally dissipating into nothingness.

I sighed relieved. Nothing was going according to the plan, but at least the danger of unleashing a wild demon was gone. 

Two was silent as it burned, but now it was gone he asked, "I just have to know. Why are glowing Rin?"

"Without flesh to get in the way some marks are more evident. The question is not why I glow now, it is why you were not able to see it before. The answer is, that you lack proper perception. Ten had asked why I glow months ago. And without visiting a dream realm together."

Two pouted, as always displeased when someone was better than him at anything. 

Two's eyebrows furrowed, and he asked, "So you are some kind of luminous being?" 

"I am both flesh and spirit and so are you. I know you like those movies, but they are not technical enough to serve as a proper reference. But if you're good, I could be persuaded to make you a lightsaber."

"I want a red one," Two demanded, "And a proper one. One that cut through anything." 

I chuckled at Two's eagerness. "You need to be much more skilled with swords. Otherwise, you might cut something important," I warned. "But before we talk about being good in the future, we have to deal with you being bad in the past." Two's shoulders slumped as my words sank in. "I am sorry if I was not clear enough. The Io space base was offered as a sanctuary, not a prison. If you want to leave, just ask. What you did was very dangerous for you."

As I spoke, Two's expression shifted from excitement to fear. He looked away from me, avoiding eye contact as he processed the information. "I didn't try to run, I just wanted to know where androids were going. It was not my fault. Three dared me. Maybe he even used his powers to persuade me. Please don't send me away."

"Your loyalty to your friend is admirable," I said, with sarcasm practically dripping from my words. I wanted him to know how much I disapproved of tossing his friend under the proverbial bus. "Staying or leaving is your choice alone. I had offered you a safe place. As long as you wish it, it is yours. I will not withdraw it. Not for some time."

"Some time? What do you mean by that?"

"Eventually I, and Fano too, will leave." Once the terms of the deal were fulfilled. "I am not sure what would happen to Io base after, but it would be safest for you all to find alternate accommodations before that happens."

It would be possible that base would exist after Archer and I leave this world, but there was also a possibility that it would follow us. I really had no way to guess what would happen to anyone on the base then. Would they follow me to the next world, or would they be stranded on the deadly surface of Io? Proper magus would have answered that question by filling the Io base to the brim with potential test subjects, but it was too inelegant a solution for me. Archer would disprove too. 

Two's eyes widened at my words. "You're leaving?" he asked, his voice tinged with panic.

I nodded. "Yes, eventually. Once our task is done."

"When?" he repeated. There was something in his voice and posture that suggested he was hoping for a reassuring answer.

"That depends on too many factors to properly calculate." The business in Aperture was going more than well, but it would be some time before the company could get out of debt and even more before I could use it to buy out Black Mesa and prevent invasion by Combine. At least five more years, according to my estimate. "But not anytime soon." 

"But what about us?" Two asked, his voice shaking. "What will happen to Io base?"

"I don't know what will happen to the Io base. But you and others… It will be years before we leave. You should all be self-sufficient by then. But this is neither time nor place for this discussion. We will talk more about it when we get back on Io. But for now, I would like to know how you ended up here."

I already knew that, but Two did not know that Ace was just another guise of mine. Asking this question would help with the deception. And hearing from his perspective could give some additional information. 

I listened attentively to what he was saying. But there was nothing new in his tale. And he did skip some parts, like the time he accused Ace of working for me, or the fun little experiment he participated in with Trevor. Well, I suppose our relationship was not casual enough for him to brag about his sexual conquest. 

"Are you sure that did not drop your mental shields?"

Two bristled at my question, clearly insulted that I doubted his competence. He straightened his posture and replied in a cocky tone. "Of course not. My mental shields are impregnable. No one can breach them without my consent."

I raised an eyebrow at Two's arrogance. "Your shields are brittle," I said. "Breaching them is merely a matter of applying enough force." I raised my right hand, palm pointing towards Two's forehead, and instructed "Stand still." 

Purple-black slime flowed from beneath my sleeve, covering my hand like a rubber glove. On my palm, a pupilless eye opened. Through it, the boy's aura revealed itself in all of its unreal colors, the hues that defied the spectrum, shades that shifted and shimmered with every heartbeat, and tints that evoked emotions and memories beyond words. 

I moved my hand slowly downwards, examining him thoroughly. Near his groin, I found what I was looking for. 

I swiftly grabbed the red thread, making it visible to Two. "You have gotten attached."

"No. It was just a fling," he protested weakly. His face flushed with embarrassment and denial. He knew the thread meant he had formed a bond with someone, a bond that could not be easily severed.

"It means more to you than that," I said as I ran my fingers over the ethereal thread. "Or perhaps it means more to your partner. Either way, it is a hole in your shield. That was how you were caught."

I did not think that it was a possibility. But even if it was inconvenient, it did advance my research into such bonds. Two's unexpected arrival might have been a stroke of luck. Now was it a matter of Trevor's former virginity, or were those two boys just too compatible? 

"It's definitely him," Two muttered, looking at the floor, a faint blush on his cheeks. 

"And he may be in trouble. The red thread will lead us to him. Come."

We followed the thread. Stepping outside, we found ourselves on the same street where I had last seen Trevor—far removed from the nightmarish room where Two had died or any version of Hawkins Lab.

On our way, we saw a fountain bubbling fitfully in a tiny concrete park and stopped to rest. There were no coins on the bottom, not even pennies, instead, there seemed to be a few small, faceted jewels, so translucent in the clear water that they were almost invisible to normal eyes. Seen through the eye on my hand, they shimmered with potential—a crystallized form of inspiration.

For now, I left them alone and we followed the thread. 

Next, we passed by the theater. Its facade was lavishly decorated in art deco tiles and marble, deep crimson, jade green, and jet black. The marquee was wrought of fluted, gleaming chrome like a 1930s dream of the future. On its sign was spelled out-in red block letters a foot high-THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS.

I looked at the poster on the wall next to the entrance. It showed a superhero very familiar to me rising from a sea of flames, his cape billowing behind him. I was very proud of that cape. It was not only stylish, but also a Mystic Code, that planted subtle suggestions of normality in any onlooker. 

The clear voice of a saxophone, leisurely rising, then descending heralded the arrival of in the most literal sense of the term, a solo instrument. Walking on four multi-jointed, chitinous-looking legs, depressing its own keys with two equally insectile three-fingered hands, brass gleaming through a web of scuffs and scratches, came an unaccompanied alto saxophone.

"Oh, come on,," Two muttered, "this is just silly."

The music stopped, and a low fluting voice spoke out of the instrument's bell. "Hey, cat-you in a cartoon, dig? Cartoons is s'posed to be silly. Here, have a stick of tea and you be gettin' silly too."

"We don't have time for distractions," I said, feeling the subtle vibrations of the red thread. It seemed that Trevor had gotten in some trouble. Strengthening so Two could hear it cost me some Od and a nosebleed, but it was worth it. "Listen."

"Who are you?" The stranger's voice emerged from the thread. It was a broken whisper, hoarse with whiskey and sorrow.

"I'm your son." 

The second voice was Trevor's. I recognized it, but I was not the only one.

"That has to be Trevor!" Two exclaimed, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Shh," I shushed because I did not want to miss anything. This was important. Otherwise, it would not echo over the bond.

That would make the first voice Robert McGee, failed artist, and successful murderer. 

"Didi and Rosena—"

"You killed them. You know me, Bobby. You better know me. I haven't stopped thinking about you for twenty years."

"Oh, Trev... Is it really you?"

"Go look in the mirror if you don't believe me."

"No… no… I know who you are. How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Eighteen."

"Do you still draw?"

"Goddammit! You ought to know!"

"No, Trev. I don't know anything anymore." 

"Why didn't you kill me?" 

"I just kept sitting here," Bobby went on, "looking at your drawings on the wall, wondering how in hell I could hit you with that thing, wondering how I could bury that chunk of metal in your sweet, smart brain, thinking how easy they'd been compared to you. They were like anatomy lessons. The body is a puzzle of flesh and blood and bone . . . you understand?"

"And when you kill the people you love, you watch what your hands are doing, you feel the blood hitting your face, but all the time you're thinking Why am I doing this? And then you get it. It's because you love them, because you want all their secrets, not just the ones they decide to show you. And after you take them apart, you know everything."

"Then why..." 

"Why did I leave you out? Because I had to. Because I sat here watching you sleep, thinking all that. And then you came in, just now.

"And I can't do it, Trev. If I have any talent, any gift left at all, it's in you now. I can kill them, I can kill myself, but I can't kill that."

"Wait! Are you seeing... Is this...What about Birdland? What happened to it for you?"

"Birdland is a machine oiled with the blood of artists," Bobby said dreamily. His tone was as detached as if he were giving a lecture. "Birdland is a mirror that reflects our deaths. Birdland never existed."

"But it's right outside that window!" Trevor yelled. "It's where I just came from!"

"Yes," said Bobby, "but I stay in here."

"NO! DON'T GO! TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT! TELL ME!!!"

"You don't really want to know why," we heard Bobby's voice say. "You just want to know what it felt like."

Suddenly, like in a dream we were in front of the murder house. It was the same as it had ever been, hardly looking the part of the surreal world it now inhabited.

Trevor exited the house. His eyes were like holes drilled in a glacier, black gouges going down deep into the ice. His face looked hollow, haggard, and used up. His skull seemed to be trying to wear right through the skin. Clutched in his right fist was the hammer, glistening with blood and other matter.

The red thread slipped between my fingers and faded from view. But it had served its purpose. We had found Trevor. Just not in the best shape.

"He saw me," said Trevor. "He saw me in here."

He only had eyes for Two. He completely ignored me. Considering that I was glowing was a bit strange. But then nothing was normal about this. 

"I heard," Two said, "So you did find your father's ghost."

"Ghost? No. I was there. This house. That night. I saw my mother dead. I saw my brother dead. Then I came in here and Bobby was alive, sitting on the bed deciding whether to kill me. He saw me, spoke to me, and decided he couldn't do it. It was my own fault."

"I don't understand. You mean you woke up and talked him out of it?"

"NO! He saw me the way I am NOW! He talked to ME NOW, and then he went and HUNG HIMSELF! LOOK AT THIS! DON'T YOU SEE?" Trevor gestured wildly with the hammer.

"So, you saved yourself in the end," Two said, but there was just a trace of envy in his tome. "I guess we have that in common."

"Damien, I love you," Trevor declared. But for a declaration of love, it was too calm. It was like he was ordering a coke. "That is why we going to be together forever." 

Trevor raised the bloody hammer and charged.