[ 60 - Broadcast Mind | Nightmare ]
There's a screen before you. You don't know what it's made of, and it's too dark to see what's behind it. All you know is that you're supposed to be here, and the screen blocks your path. You raise your right arm, press it against the unknown surface in the hopes of learning its composition so that you can break it down and move on.
You're wasting your time.
The voice sounds oddly familiar, and yet you can't place it. You can somewhat make out the silhouette of the source, but their face is entirely shrouded in shadow. There's blood dripping from the man's fingertips, pooling around his feet, but he doesn't seem to notice or mind.
How long do you intend to perpetuate this farce?
His voice sounds even more familiar now, but you still can't figure it out. Maybe it's because you're preoccupied by how the words form ice in the pit of your stomach.
Wh...what do you--?
It comes out weak, and trails off at the end, because somehow, you know without a doubt what he means.
What's the point of it? That girl is no longer here.
You recoil, almost as if you've been physically struck. But the voice continues its barrage.
Neither is that womanizing moron, the identityless historian, the loudmouthed ninja in the jumpsuit, the idealistic fool swordsman nor his equally foolish mentor. Just who do you continue to hide from?
Don't speak of them like that!
Your own vehemence startles you, a yelp that doesn't feel like it came from your own voice.
Don't--don't you...dare.Th-they...they were my...
That's more like it. Your voice gets shaky once again, and you seem to choke on the last word. But that voice...he's mocking you, isn't he? You'll stand strong; he won't break you down.
...friends.
The voice lets out a laugh--short and harsh, and there's something cruelty in it that makes that familiarity you've been sensing all along nearly disappear.
Who cares? None of them remember you, anyway, wherever they are.
You shiver, because you know he's right. All those people that you'd come to know and care for are lost to you now.
I want out. He's tapping the screen now, impatiently. I'm tired of waiting.
And somehow, even though you don't know who this man is, this man shrouded in shadow, you have a sense for exactly what he wants.
No. N-never. I promised...
Do you think you can run from it forever? Think about it, about those who hold your very life--or this pathetic facade of one--in their hands. Do you trust them? Can you trust the ones that destroyed it in the first place? This wretched existence of yours, all that...loneliness.
It's their fault, remember. Everything is their fault. And they can ruin everything again, with just a few words. Do you really want to give them that chance?
Stop! Stop...STOP IT!
You know that I am right. Stop pretending that this life is yours and let go of the charade. I won't wait any longer.
A flicker of red as he reaches for the screen again, and your heart seizes with terror--
NO!
--and in your desperation you reach for the screen as well. Only....it fades as if it never existed, and you merely go through...
(Everything goes black for a moment, then. No sight, sound, or sensation. Just nothingness.)
...when you open your eyes, there is a body at your feet, lying in a widening pool of the blood from before, but he's still too clouded by shadow to clearly make out.
Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest, but there's something like relief that the man, the owner of the voice is gone. You're safe. You're....
Laughter. Loud, cackling, almost maniacal, as the man at your feet rises and...you stare into a reflection of your own face, blood pouring down from its forehead in a cross-pattern where your signature scar should be. He almost radiates malice as his own Ishbalan, blood-red eyes peer into yours.
Did you really think it would be that easy~? So close. He's merely inches from your own face, your own scar, and your breaths mingle as the blood drips onto you.
You try to shove him away, to move back, but all of a sudden, the screen reappears and your back hits against it. There are new walls that appear at your sides, as well. You're trapped.
Or maybe you thought, if you did enough good things, you could atone for who you were? Did you think Ishbala would forgive you?
His sneer spreads, catlike, as he advances on you once more.
I~ certainly wouldn't forgive us.
He closes his eyes, and for a moment that smile looks almost innocent--
And do you want to know something? It's a secret, but I'll tell!
--before he opens them again and his expression jars back into malice and now his arm--your arm--your brother's arm--reaches toward your forehead.
I won't give you a moment to pray!
You don't even have the time to scream.