[Week 16, Day 5 | video]

[future_games]

[At first, all the video feed captures is darkness and the sound of heavy, shaky breathing. It's the type of breathing that happens when a very broken person on the verge of a breakdown and tries to calm their nerves on their own

Comments

[VIDEO]

[future_games]

[ Isaac knows Peter caught the sharp change in the tone of his voice, and that's how he wants it. He doesn't need to explain himself when there's already so much he's trying not to spill too soon, but it's hard for Isaac to swallow the bitterness back down. It's that same mix of jealousy and admiration as always, but with more jealousy than admiration this time. It absolutely kills him--Peter, even missing most of what makes him Peter, still has a better handle on Isaac's ability than Isaac. It's ironic and cruel, as far as Isaac sees it, and it only makes him further believe that he's been miscast as a prophet.

He almost considers just turning the Hitomi off without another word. Cutting himself off would certainly take care of one of his problems, but he's well aware that a decision like that isn't going to calm his selfish desire not to suffer alone. Peter needs to continue to remember, so Isaac needs to continue to speak to him. For a little while longer, at least.]

If you painted the future without realizing it, you probably time traveled without realizing it. [He hesitates, wondering it's somehow dangerous to continue adding details to help spark Peter's memory. But it shouldn't matter. All Isaac has is a name.] I think you got that from Hiro Nakamura.

[VIDEO]

[ad_salvatio]

[ That name triggers something inside of Peter, makes him feel as though he is so close to touching upon something, to closing his hands around what it is he's been searching for this entire time. Hiro Nakamura, a name as foreign as the eyes that he remembers on a train stopped in time with the mantra playing through the still silence of it all (save the cheerleader, save the world), and Peter confused and as lost as he is now. A connection, perhaps, the name to that face Peter had been wondering about (though there's so much to consider, so much newness exploding within him that he can't make any sense of just yet). Somewhere in the distance, bells are ringing in time to a tempo Peter hears but doesn't know how to dance to just yet. The beat is a study drum, the pulse of his heart hammering in his chest. Echoing with each toll, badump badump.

Save the cheerleader, save the world. ]

Hiro Nakamura... why does that name sound familiar?

[ His face open and confused, perplexed as he looks down into the Hitomi, hoping Isaac can give him the answers he needs, make sense of the rhythm he grasps at but escapes his feet. He is not standing on any kind of ground, but in space, and gravity is still too far away to pull him down to earth. ]

[VIDEO]

[future_games]

[ Isaac gives the face in the Hitomi and inquisitive stare, silent for a moment. It's impressive how quickly something as small as a name can trigger Peter's memory, so he knows he has to be careful.

Isaac realizes, it's not so much that Peter's memories are gone. It's more like they're buried somewhere very deep, dormant until someone or something breathes life into them. ]

Why do any of these things sound familiar? You may not remember it, but you've been through it all before.

[ He replies quietly, but that bite in his voice still rings through. He knows Peter can't help but question, but the painter is growing tired and fearful that he's going to reveal too much. He wishes he could tell Peter everything he knows all in one shot, but it's not that simple. Nothing ever is.

[VIDEO]

[ad_salvatio]

[ You've been through it before, he says like Peter's supposed to know this, like he should remember and he should. It's a little terrifying, absolutely frustrating, that this man who might as well have been a stranger less than half an hour ago knows more about Peter than Peter knows about himself. Knows who he is, what he's done, and what these things mean, how to piece them all together. The images spill like drops of paint on the bristles of a brush that Peter holds in his hand but doesn't know what to do with, other than to wrap his hands around the handle and hope that holding on is enough. ]

Can you tell me who I am?

[ It's a loaded question, and maybe not fair to Isaac, but Peter needs to know, needs to understand. ]