The continuing story...
And lo, it still didn't make any sense to anyone who didn't already know what it's about!
It stood in a display case in the closet, taking up much of the space just by itself, not that Gideon had need for the storage space anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn it -- his armor -- it was so very long ago, even though it was after the cataclysm that turned the world inside out. He was sure the need for it had arisen on more than one occassion, but he didn't do much fighting anymore. Not now, not for decades.
He opened the case, and the smell of heavily recycled air greeted him first, then the almost electric tingle of the preservation field that still stood between him and the gleaming, polished metal. He reached through the field -- it didn't offer any resistance -- and took the helmet from the matte black peg that had been the only head for it to adorn during its stay here.
The light from the nearby lantern reflected warmly off of the blue and black paint job, creating an especially impressive gleam as it caught the light blue energen crystal set in the forehead of the helmet. Under more natural lighting, the colors were cold and unfeeling, crisp and professional. But here in his shack, with this dim glow, it looked old, retired, and like the relic that it was.
Reaching out again, he set his hand on the the chest armor, gripping at the collar loosely. The metal looked as strong as ever, but it couldn't hide the evidence of age elsewhere. The black leather padding of the chest and shoulders, which were noticeably dry to the touch and cracking in places, and the interior padding, which was completely missing in places, showing the unglossed underside of the metal beneath, and the wiring that he was certain must have stopped working ages ago.
So old. Hell, probably the oldest thing in the entire building, aside from himself. Once upon a time it had been top of the line -- much like himself -- but now... he wasn't sure it could even stand up to a few hard punches in the right spot, regardless of how well he'd taken care of it. Again, much like himself.
He returned the helmet and shut the case, grabbing the lantern from where he'd hung it in the closet before closing that as well. He'd considered wearing it for this occassion, but now he dismissed the notion. Regardless of how much of a part of him it was, it was a reminder of the worst of himself and his history, and that wasn't what he wanted carrying with him now.
Setting the lantern down on the nightstand beside his bed, he pulled open the small drawer and pulled out the digital photo album he'd all but worn out with his constant trips down memory lane. It had one more use to him, now. Not as a vessel for the past, but as a message for the future -- one he wasn't sure would ever be heard, but one he had to make nonetheless. If not for her, then for himself. He turned it on and sat down on the edge of his bed, taking a deep breath and then letting it out again, ragged and heavy. Then he hit the record button.
* * *
There was no telling how many days had gone by since he'd first set out -- not without checking his internal clock, anyway, but the thought didn't even occur to him. He was perfectly happy not knowing. It was a brisk morning, but the sun was quickly rising, and he could feel the heat coming with it -- even if that heat was a figment of his imagination. Standing there on the edge of that cliff, looking out across the water, it was breathtaking -- simply wondrous. Perhaps the only beautiful sight left in a world blasted, burned, and scarred.
The ocean stretched out before him, glimmering like a jewel under the dawn light; a sudden, vast openness compared to the thick forest and bleak, fog-choked ruins of long-dead cities that he was used to. Here, on this perch -- a strong tree to his back, his hands in the pockets of a well-worn, tattered coat -- he stood and stared outward, the hint of a smile on his tired face. He was alone at the end, but perhaps by being here, letting it all go, he could find some semblance of peace for himself.
Maybe it was just that he was at his wits' end, too far gone to tell reality from its seductive alter-ego. Or maybe he was perfectly sane and aware of his surroundings, and of the truth of why he was here. But either way, he knew he was in his final resting place. This was as close to an afterlife as he was going to get. Someday -- he wasn't sure when -- she would remember, and he would not be forgotten at the end of all things. What he didn't know was if this was a comfort, or another attempt at life to have the final laugh. He pulled the single photograph from his pocket and stared down at it.
"Remembered in death," he mused quietly to himself, his voice sounding strange, feeling gravelly in his throat after so long unused. "Maybe. Maybe not."
* * *
Urufu -- you don't go by that anymore, do you? It's Mia now, or so you told me. There are a lot of things I want to say, but I only have so much time, and saying everything won't change the past. But there are some things that need to be said all the same.
There's no telling if you'll remember me, before or after you hear this message. But it hardly matters. What's important is that you listen. If you don't understand, then don't feel bad. Just go on your way, and forget about this place and these words.
You and I... we had a history together, from back... so far back... Before the sky came crashing down, and over half the world died overnight. Now, I could go into detail, recount stories, but then I'd be talking for days. Let's skip to the important parts.
You saved me, Urufu -- Mia. If it wasn't for you, I would have died long ago, probably by some trouble of my own making, and would have died unknown, unwanted, and unloved. But you knew me. You wanted me. You loved me. When you had no reason to, you befriended me, and started me on the path to becoming someone better than I was.
You saved me, and then I abandoned you when you needed me most. I'm sorry that I never quite became that better someone. After all the years, and all your efforts, I was still selfish and callous. If it hadn't been for me leaving, I could have been saying these things to you in person. You have no idea how many times I've wished that I could.
But you're a different person, now. You've grown beyond me, and that's good -- you deserve better. You gave enough of yourself to me, and I took more than I deserved. You were always the better person, and that's why I'm still here, wallowing in my own misery, while you're out there, still driven and trying to make things right.
I want to tell you just how sorry I am for who I was, what I did to you, and any pain you've ever felt from the day you met me until the day you hear this recording. I've lived this past century and a half only thinking about how I would have done things different, if I had the chance.
I'm just... sorry. So very sorry...
I love you. I always have. And I won't stop, not even after I die. But I can't change the past, and I can't put the pieces back together now. It's time I moved on, too, and let go of it all. We're both different now, and I just pray you've changed for the better, unlike me.
I'd better go, now. I have a long journey ahead of me, in more ways than one. Goodbye, Urufu -- I've owed you that for a long time.
* * *
There was no telling how many days had gone by since he'd first arrived at that cliff edge and stopped to watch the sea. If he'd still been there to see it, he'd have seen how it had changed over time.
How the water levels had receded bit by bit over the centuries as the climate of the planet changed in unexpected ways, leaving much of the bay above ocean-level now.
How the trees had grown, died, and grown again, more gnarled and stubborn than their earlier cousins; dark and haggard against the grey sky, no longer full of life even in the face of post-apocalypse.
How that cliff edge had slowly eroded, bit by bit, year after year, until he'd tumbled from his perch to end up in the grasp of a rocky outcropping several dozen yards below; rusted and scattered, face down in the earth and the home of fungus and crawling things.
But in his mind, where ever a reploid's mind goes when they've lost all life, Gideon was still standing on his perch. The ocean breeze in his face, a thousand, glimmering crests of sun-gilded waves staring back at him. A smile on his lips. A picture in his hand. After the life he'd lived, this was far more than he could have ever hoped for.
It stood in a display case in the closet, taking up much of the space just by itself, not that Gideon had need for the storage space anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn it -- his armor -- it was so very long ago, even though it was after the cataclysm that turned the world inside out. He was sure the need for it had arisen on more than one occassion, but he didn't do much fighting anymore. Not now, not for decades.
He opened the case, and the smell of heavily recycled air greeted him first, then the almost electric tingle of the preservation field that still stood between him and the gleaming, polished metal. He reached through the field -- it didn't offer any resistance -- and took the helmet from the matte black peg that had been the only head for it to adorn during its stay here.
The light from the nearby lantern reflected warmly off of the blue and black paint job, creating an especially impressive gleam as it caught the light blue energen crystal set in the forehead of the helmet. Under more natural lighting, the colors were cold and unfeeling, crisp and professional. But here in his shack, with this dim glow, it looked old, retired, and like the relic that it was.
Reaching out again, he set his hand on the the chest armor, gripping at the collar loosely. The metal looked as strong as ever, but it couldn't hide the evidence of age elsewhere. The black leather padding of the chest and shoulders, which were noticeably dry to the touch and cracking in places, and the interior padding, which was completely missing in places, showing the unglossed underside of the metal beneath, and the wiring that he was certain must have stopped working ages ago.
So old. Hell, probably the oldest thing in the entire building, aside from himself. Once upon a time it had been top of the line -- much like himself -- but now... he wasn't sure it could even stand up to a few hard punches in the right spot, regardless of how well he'd taken care of it. Again, much like himself.
He returned the helmet and shut the case, grabbing the lantern from where he'd hung it in the closet before closing that as well. He'd considered wearing it for this occassion, but now he dismissed the notion. Regardless of how much of a part of him it was, it was a reminder of the worst of himself and his history, and that wasn't what he wanted carrying with him now.
Setting the lantern down on the nightstand beside his bed, he pulled open the small drawer and pulled out the digital photo album he'd all but worn out with his constant trips down memory lane. It had one more use to him, now. Not as a vessel for the past, but as a message for the future -- one he wasn't sure would ever be heard, but one he had to make nonetheless. If not for her, then for himself. He turned it on and sat down on the edge of his bed, taking a deep breath and then letting it out again, ragged and heavy. Then he hit the record button.
* * *
There was no telling how many days had gone by since he'd first set out -- not without checking his internal clock, anyway, but the thought didn't even occur to him. He was perfectly happy not knowing. It was a brisk morning, but the sun was quickly rising, and he could feel the heat coming with it -- even if that heat was a figment of his imagination. Standing there on the edge of that cliff, looking out across the water, it was breathtaking -- simply wondrous. Perhaps the only beautiful sight left in a world blasted, burned, and scarred.
The ocean stretched out before him, glimmering like a jewel under the dawn light; a sudden, vast openness compared to the thick forest and bleak, fog-choked ruins of long-dead cities that he was used to. Here, on this perch -- a strong tree to his back, his hands in the pockets of a well-worn, tattered coat -- he stood and stared outward, the hint of a smile on his tired face. He was alone at the end, but perhaps by being here, letting it all go, he could find some semblance of peace for himself.
Maybe it was just that he was at his wits' end, too far gone to tell reality from its seductive alter-ego. Or maybe he was perfectly sane and aware of his surroundings, and of the truth of why he was here. But either way, he knew he was in his final resting place. This was as close to an afterlife as he was going to get. Someday -- he wasn't sure when -- she would remember, and he would not be forgotten at the end of all things. What he didn't know was if this was a comfort, or another attempt at life to have the final laugh. He pulled the single photograph from his pocket and stared down at it.
"Remembered in death," he mused quietly to himself, his voice sounding strange, feeling gravelly in his throat after so long unused. "Maybe. Maybe not."
* * *
Urufu -- you don't go by that anymore, do you? It's Mia now, or so you told me. There are a lot of things I want to say, but I only have so much time, and saying everything won't change the past. But there are some things that need to be said all the same.
There's no telling if you'll remember me, before or after you hear this message. But it hardly matters. What's important is that you listen. If you don't understand, then don't feel bad. Just go on your way, and forget about this place and these words.
You and I... we had a history together, from back... so far back... Before the sky came crashing down, and over half the world died overnight. Now, I could go into detail, recount stories, but then I'd be talking for days. Let's skip to the important parts.
You saved me, Urufu -- Mia. If it wasn't for you, I would have died long ago, probably by some trouble of my own making, and would have died unknown, unwanted, and unloved. But you knew me. You wanted me. You loved me. When you had no reason to, you befriended me, and started me on the path to becoming someone better than I was.
You saved me, and then I abandoned you when you needed me most. I'm sorry that I never quite became that better someone. After all the years, and all your efforts, I was still selfish and callous. If it hadn't been for me leaving, I could have been saying these things to you in person. You have no idea how many times I've wished that I could.
But you're a different person, now. You've grown beyond me, and that's good -- you deserve better. You gave enough of yourself to me, and I took more than I deserved. You were always the better person, and that's why I'm still here, wallowing in my own misery, while you're out there, still driven and trying to make things right.
I want to tell you just how sorry I am for who I was, what I did to you, and any pain you've ever felt from the day you met me until the day you hear this recording. I've lived this past century and a half only thinking about how I would have done things different, if I had the chance.
I'm just... sorry. So very sorry...
I love you. I always have. And I won't stop, not even after I die. But I can't change the past, and I can't put the pieces back together now. It's time I moved on, too, and let go of it all. We're both different now, and I just pray you've changed for the better, unlike me.
I'd better go, now. I have a long journey ahead of me, in more ways than one. Goodbye, Urufu -- I've owed you that for a long time.
* * *
There was no telling how many days had gone by since he'd first arrived at that cliff edge and stopped to watch the sea. If he'd still been there to see it, he'd have seen how it had changed over time.
How the water levels had receded bit by bit over the centuries as the climate of the planet changed in unexpected ways, leaving much of the bay above ocean-level now.
How the trees had grown, died, and grown again, more gnarled and stubborn than their earlier cousins; dark and haggard against the grey sky, no longer full of life even in the face of post-apocalypse.
How that cliff edge had slowly eroded, bit by bit, year after year, until he'd tumbled from his perch to end up in the grasp of a rocky outcropping several dozen yards below; rusted and scattered, face down in the earth and the home of fungus and crawling things.
But in his mind, where ever a reploid's mind goes when they've lost all life, Gideon was still standing on his perch. The ocean breeze in his face, a thousand, glimmering crests of sun-gilded waves staring back at him. A smile on his lips. A picture in his hand. After the life he'd lived, this was far more than he could have ever hoped for.