Fic: Dancing with Air Part 2/4
Title: Dancing with Air
Author: yaoimunchkin
Artist: toujourspret
Type: Crossover, slash
Word Count: 19,000~ words
Rating: Teen
Characters/Paring: Neku/Joshua, Arthur/Eames, Team Death and the Dream Team
Warnings: slash and some kidnapping/drugging
Summary: The Angels are secretive, and Eames is used as a tool. Joshua is in love and Neku has become pretty good at games. And Arthur? Arthur wants the hell out of Shibuya.
A/N: A big thank you to my artist and Domi, who without her, this would never have come about. And also, to neoncitylights because that's where I got the idea.
Part I
Part II.
Part III
Part IV
Arthur’s favorite thing about Paris is the people. Sure, if you ignore the occasional homeless people and rebel college students, the people are mostly polite and generous. He can see why Ariadne wants to stay here even after she graduates.
“I really want to be with Dom,” She says as they sit on her slightly abused couch eating chocolate chip cookies her neighbor makes. They’re watching Two Towers in French (again).
“But Paris is just so amazing. I don’t think I can leave it.
Arthur knows what she means. Paris is amazing. Of course, he’s been in the city before; jobs, vacations, elaborate plans to hook up two of his best friends. For all those times, however, Paris has never once felt like home.
Now, it feels like it could be.
“James and Phillipa would love it.” Arthur adds for his two cents.
(Sometimes, when Ariadne falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, he thinks about what could’ve been. He knows they’ll live in Paris still, and have more than one cat-Ariadne has a Maine Coon named Teddy. Maybe one day they’d have kids, one or two, maybe even three. He doesn’t know if they’d be extractors. Lately, shared dreaming has been far from his mind, and he wants to keep it that way. All this from a ghost of a kiss.)
It’s not surprising to him that Ariadne turns out to be the best roommate he’s ever had. She does the dishes when it’s her turn, doesn’t mind doing laundry that isn’t hers, and can put up with his compulsive need for cleanliness. So he really doesn’t mind having to wake her up some mornings for class, or cooking elaborate diners for them.
Against all odds, Arthur feels something like happiness rising in his chest. He doesn’t think it should be there, but it is.
Everything is all wrong, but it’s right, too.
***
Eames takes one breath, two breaths, three, four, five. His hand is firmly in his pocket, clutching his poker chip and feeling the familiar notches in it. He sits in a generic business-type office in a tall building in the center of Tokyo. There’s a coffee pot filled with generic office coffee, beige colored couches and a dark wood desk with plants and a mug placed randomly on it.
Oh, and he the absolute only person around.
He’s checked the address Ms. June gave him three times already, but he checks it once more just to be sure. The slip still says 85th Plane Building, ninth floor.
He hasn’t gotten the nerve to leave quite yet, and he’s not sure he ever will get it.
Things have the possibility of going south very, very quickly. In the current state of Eameslife, that can’t happen, not without a mental breakdown.
There’s an inner monologue in his head going on and on and on about how everything is going to be just fine, how he if he does this, he can just go back to Arthur and go back to the way things were before.
Eames has one of the best educations money can buy, (courtesy of his mother and father? talents for art forgery.) but this thought is all his emotionally exhausted mind can muster. He tries-and fails- to heal his throbbing migraine by rubbing soothing circles around his temples.
He’s still doing it (it must look incredibly strange, a grown man in a shabby suit sitting in a corporate office, head between his knees and rubbing his head) when there is a small “hem” coming form the general direction of in front of him.
Eames’ head snaps up to see a woman with a generous bust, stylish pencil skirt and a pair of the most mesmerizing eyes (are they teal? Eames can’t tell) he’s ever seen. And really, Eames has spent the last three years staring into Arthur’s, and those are beautiful. Her blouse is a silky blue and matches her black and blue (the color of a bruise. Eames stores this away in the superstitious part of his brain for later) stilettos.
Over all, men of any age would sell their soul for a chance with her.
“Good morning, Mr. Eames.” The woman says. Eames hates to say it-he feels like he’s in a Stephanie Meyer book- but the woman’s voice is clear and crisp- more so than a December night but lovely as silk. He picks up on the slight French accent, one almost identical to Mal’s.
God, he could just die right now. Yes, Eames would very much like to find a small hole to crawl up and die in.
“Good morning.” He replies back. Who cares if it’s not morning anymore, anyway? “May I ask your name, sweet?” Eames is surprised at his own ability to keep calm in this situation. Right now, he should be scrambling away from the this woman (she screams danger) as fast as he possibly can.
Eames is not doing that.
“Paris June.” Oh. How ironic. “You may call me Ms. June. Are you going to stand?” Eames does so quickly.
“You can’t be the one I spoke with on the phone.” Eames says. Playing dumb will probably get him some answers. The woman he spoke with sounded nothing like the current version he’s faced with.
“We have our ways of changing noise. So do you, no?” She beckons him towards the elevator. “Come this way, please.” Eames goes with her, because really, what other choices does he have?
He feels drawn to this woman the same way he was drawn to Arthur -and Mal, in other ways. Those irresistible French women.
“Upstairs, we will meet with Mr. Day and others about your task.” She speaks like he’s not about to become a prisoner of these crackpot people. Eames is not stupid, and he knows when he’s being humored. She can see right through his act and he doesn’t appreciate it.
(But for all he knows, maybe he is horribly ignorant of the world.)
“Sorry, my dear. But I’m not stupid.”
“Of course, I know that. There’s a difference between ignorance and stupidity.” Oh, so apparently he is ignorant. Like that narrows it down a lot.
‘narrow what down?’A far more logical part of his head asks. The side that can do trig and understand the actual mechanics of shared dreaming. Rocket science and all that.
‘I have no idea.’ He thinks back.
The elevator makes a small ding, and there is a perfectly manicured hand pushing lightly on his back.
Oh, yeah, then there’s a bag shoved over his head three steps from the lift.
***
Neku wakes up in Scramble Crossing. He’s second to wake up, as he usually is. Shiki appears at his side in less than a minute of his waking, and he can tell by the way the crowd shifts that Beat and Eri are also awake and moving towards them.
Joshua is nowhere to be seen. But this is normal.
Neku watches as the black number on his palm ticks slowly down from 60. They’re set the PASIV up to give them an hour in the dream. So far, their experiments have only lasted this long; they have things and people to get back to now.
As habit, Neku glances around the crossing, looking for the frenzied people who can only be those playing the Game. People to ignore. Joshua had been extremely clear and specific when dealing with the players and reapers (most of the time).
“Never, under any circumstances, talk to the players. Do not help them or make any effort that would affect them. If you do...” Joshua smiled and tipped his head to the side.“There will be consequences.”
“Where are we going today?” Shiki asks. Her form changes seamlessly from the brunette, shy girl to Eri, decked out in black boots, a slim jacket and a blue mini skirt. Her new design. As always, Mr. Mew is firmly in her grasp. Eri herself giggles. Neku feels bad about involving her, but Joshua approves and she was obnoxiously persistent anyways.
“Follow me.” Joshua says, coming out of seemingly nowhere. Knowing the Composer, he very well could have. They can hear Beat’s noise of complaint in the background. Neku notices the small glint in Joshua’s eyes as they fall on the passing people.
He’s reminded of a conversation they had once, when it was just the two of them, watching over the others. Rather, it was Neku watching the others alone until Joshua slipped in unannounced.
“Good afternoon, Neku.” Joshua greeted and pulled up a chair. He sat down elegantly and crossed his left leg over the other. Such a girl. Neku tossed him a halfhearted glare. Neku delicately brushed a strand of hair out of Shiki’s eyes, and missed the death-glare Joshua gave the girl.
“What do you want?” Neku asked. He was aware of Joshua studying his face, and maybe other places, too.
“I can’t check up on my little project?” Joshua teased. Neku resisted his strong urge to kill/maim/punch the boy.
After Neku had gone through the slow (and almost painful) process of talking to his small group of friends, he had done as instructed and brought them to WildKat. Joshua, of course, was waiting. There, in a small cafe belonging to a fallen angel, with people who he almost killed and the boy who killed him, Neku was introduced to a fantasy place.
Shared dreaming. That’s what is was, really, a fantasy land. He never thought he’d be back in the Underground, outside the Game but still connected. A place where they could bend the rules of reality a little bit.
They were scared at first. It was only natural.
What kept them around (well, not Neku. He stayed for other reasons.) Was the promise of more. Promises of places they could build from their imaginations; brilliant azure skies and mountains of the deepest purple.
“Why did you save them?” Joshua asked suddenly. Neku’s head swung up to stare into Joshua’s eyes, large and unblinking.
“What- what the hell?”
“You could have destroyed everything you hated, Neku. But you didn’t. I want to know why.” Neku had assumed that he had already figured it out. Not a long shot, considering he usually did. “Please tell me it isn’t because you have a crush on pinky.”
“Her hair isn’t pink. That’s Eri.” Neku said, motioning to said girl.
“Besides the point. Answer the question.”
“People change.”
“No, they don’t!” Joshua yelled. Chairs fell to the floor, and Neku pushed back at the sudden commotion. “People...people are so stupid. These people living in this godforsaken world have the ignorance to believe that they can spend their entire lives partying and doing nothing good and somehow, they think that they’ll go to this happy do-gooder place when they die. But you know, Neku. You know they don’t deserve such a fate. That’s what the Game is about. And you, you could have stopped it all. But you didn’t.”
Neku’s hand ghosted across Joshua’s cheek (when did they get so close?) and his breath warmed his lips.
But Joshua is like a shadow, a fleeting, dancing shadow whisked away by sunlight.
They haven’t talked about what could’ve/should’ve/would’ve, and they probably never will. They’re just not that type of people.
When it comes down to it, Joshua is a spiteful god who hates his own creations. He just can’t bring himself to bloody his own hands.
Joshua leads them to Ramen Don, to a small booth in the back corner. He tells them to sit down, he’ll be right back. Shiki, Eri, and Beat claim one side, leaving Neku to sit with Joshua.
It’s just as Rhyme said; Neku is the only one of them who can trust Joshua. He’s the only one he won’t try to harm.
There’s a deranged kind of pride involved.
Joshua comes back to the booth with tea -green, Joshua only drinks green tea and coffee- and sits as far from Neku as possible. (So far, it’s the only outward sign of his outburst.)
“In the chosen profession of dream sharing, the PASIV device is used primarily for one reason,” Joshua starts. He sounds like he’s teaching them German film history rather than shared dreaming. “The act of extracting and selling information from any given individual’s self-conscious. Of course,” Joshua flips his hair behind his shoulder. “Shibuya is a special case, but extraction is still very possible.”
“So that’s today’s assignment?” Shiki asks and grabs one of the cups Joshua brought back. “Be mind ninjas?”
“If you chose to think about it so...childishly, then yes. That is exactly what we’re doing.”
“Alright then!” Shiki pumps her arm up into the air. “How?” Neku stifles a laugh. Beat and Eri do not, however, and they both have to dodge a well-aimed punch.
“With this.” Joshua says, and produces a small pin from his pocket. When he places on the table in front of them, it causes a collective recoil.
It’s a player’s pin.
“There ain’t no fucking way!” Beat yells. People are starting to stare, but Joshua is unfazed.
“Relax, big boy. I’m not about to pull out a gun,” Neku shudders, and pushes himself against the wall. “And shoot you. This pin will let you scan minds to find the desired information.”
“Is there a catch?” Eri asks quietly. She looks at Neku when she says it though. He gets the message. At this moment, she embodies Rhyme in every way.
“No catch.”
“Joshua, seriously.” said boy sighs and goes back to play with his hair.
“There’s a chance of an overload. Some minds won’t be able to handle the amount of information filtering through their brains.”
“If the shoes fits, wear it.” Shiki says, her trademark smile on her face. “How do we proceed, then?”
“Cautiously. I suggest we start small with a place with not many people. Like here, for instance.”
On a Wednesday afternoon, Ramen Don is almost deserted. There’s only about five or six people quietly slurping their ramen, including the chef. It seems like the perfect place to practice, just as Joshua said. He probably spent some time scoping out places right for them.
Shiki shrugs and reaches across the table to grasp the pin.
Her eyes screw shut and her grip tightens. It takes three seconds for Beat to react to this. He shakes her shoulders first, and when that doesn’t work, he pries her fingers from the pin. As soon as it’s out of her hands, she’s gasping and huffing as if she’s been underwater for a long time. Eri and Neku are too shocked to move.
“This is all your fucking fa-” Beat starts.
“Come on, Beat. He warned us.” Shiki mumbles. She is, however, scooting away from the small object. People are staring again, but with a wave of Joshua’s hand, they go back to what they were doing before.
The pressure hangs in the air, awkward and heavy. Neku’s eyes shifts for person to person, studying Joshua twice before landing on Shiki
He gets the message her eyes read loud and clear. She’s probably right, after all. He is, most likely, the only one who’ll be able to scan people without being overloaded. She said it herself while they were still partners.
“Here we go,” he sighs.
The initial shock is just as Neku remembered it; a bright light blinding everything, but it fades with time, like having all the radio stations on a once, but he’s able to tune into the one at a time. It’s what separates Neku from the rest of them, this fete no short of a miracle. Even as the thoughts of everyone filters through his brain, Neku can only feel... calm.
Breath in, breath out.
“I can't believe he didn’t show.”
“Oh my god, is Neku going to be OK?”
“Those freaks think they’re so cool...”
“Another day, another dollar. Wanna play a game, Uzuki?”
“Good job, Neku. I knew you’d do well."
Startled Neku drops the pin. He looks into Joshua’s eyes, (there’s something different about them, what is it?) shocked to have heard the Composer’s voice in his head. Neku assumed that Joshua’s mind was an impenetrable fortress -they never us his as the dreamer- fit with a lock and key.
“Now the fun can begin.” Joshua grins.
***
“Was drugging him necessary?” Ms. May asks, poking Eames’ cheek.
“When is drugging not necessary?” Commented Mr. Thursday, who despite his age, was not opposed to taking advantage of modern findings.
“Oh, I can think of at least ten situations where I would not need to drug the person I’m talking to.” Ms. June strolls into the room, shortly followed by an annoyed Mr. Day. Lately, Mr. Day has been far more annoyed than he usually is, which is saying something. The wrinkles in his face are more pronounced, his complexion a splotchy red
His co-workers (if they could even be called that) notice this, naturally, but they follow their common sense and don’t mention it. Daring to do so without the comfort of privacy would be akin to going against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
“Is the room ready?” Mr. Day rubs his forehead with his wrinkled hands. Ms. May nods enthusiastically. Too much, really. “Then tie him up. Go, go!”
As the rest disperse to do their respective jobs, Ms. June stays behind, with her hand folded neatly.
“Go back.” She says sternly. “Lowering your frequency is putting a strain on you. Consider it, oh, a vacation.”
“Absolutely not, Jupiter.” with the blink of an eye, the small amount of air in Mr. Day’s lungs flee, and he comes face to face with a very angry woman.
“I have not given you permission to call me such!” She hisses. “No, you say? I say yes. Go, go!”
Her stilettos clap against the floor as she leaves.
***
Arthur wakes up in the morning to a strange feeling buried in his chest. There’s muffled noises, groaning maybe, coming from the next room, a sign that can only mean Dom flew in while Arthur was out.
Lovely. Just what he needs.
It’s not that he doesn’s love Dom; he respects the man tremendously. It’s just he does not need to know that he is sleeping with his best friend. In fact, it happened when he was sleeping with Mal as well. Arthur doesn’t know why Dom feels the needs to tell him these things.
Something is off.
His totem tells him otherwise, but Arthur didn’t think it was that kind of problem anyways.
By the time Ariadne comes wandering out of her room (clad in only a long large T-shirt and something that looks dangerously like black lace panties) Arthur is already sipping his coffee and flipping through the newspaper.
“A warning would have been nice.” is all he says.
“Oh whatever. I wouldn’t mind if you brought someone home without telling me.” Ariadne looks like a child, her hand on her hips and shirt falling past her knees. More like his daughter than anything else.
His love life is not something he ever wants to mention, though.
“Ariadne!”
“Sorry...” she mumbles. “Is... is something up?” Damn Ariadne. Arthur figures it must be a girl thing, (since when was he this immature?) always knowing when something was wrong. Either that, or her biological clock is ticking down and her maternal needs are spilling over to him. Like human rollover.
“Ngh...no. No.” Arthur runs a hand through hair, causing it’s normal polished look to become distraught.
“Don’t you dare lie to me Arthur!” Ariadne yells. By the time a ruffled Dom comes wandering into the room- most likely drawn out by yelling- Arthur is already hurrying back to the bathroom.
Ariadne cant’ know the full extent of him and Eames’ relationship, and it really should bother Arthur that she dares to stick her nose into his business. But that’s what best friends are for, right?
He collapses onto the floor in a fit of hysterics and nausea. His fist is stuffed into his mouth, and his teeth clench painfully around it.
It hurts, oh god, it’s so painful. Arthur has never once felt worse. The oh jesus, why, only way he’s ever dealt with anything is to block it all out.
There are tears rolling down his face.
If Eames were here.
Arthur cries. Stop crying, fuck!
He doesn’t want to be Arthur anymore.
***
Arthur misses Eames, so badly.
He wants to be someone Eames wants.
It’s killing him.
***
“I don’t get how I could have let someone into my life so easily.”
***
The two of them are alone.
Joshua places the PASIV device on the table, flips open the case, and starts setting up the chemicals. Diner for one.
“I want to show you something.”
Neku doesn’t know why he sticks the IV into the arm, but he does. The last thing he sees before going under is Joshua’s face, and it looks very... content.
It’s nice.
As soon as his eyes are open, he’s being led through the twisting, turning, swerving crowds. They’re running, flying, toward their destination. Neku thinks it can’t be real, because he’s never felt so euphoric in his life.
Neku is too busy running (too busy focusing on Joshua’s safe/warm/wonderful hand in his) to figure out where they’re going until he’s covered by a familiar shadow.
He’s been here exactly three times, all of which he wasn’t thrilled about.
“Why did you bring me here?” He asks. He does not want to be at the River.
“I have something to show you.” There’s a softer and all around nicer quality to Joshua’s voice.
It surprises Neku, to see the Composer so soft. “Just trust me.” Joshua looks into his eyes, and Neku knows that he does trust him.
Never once does Joshua let go of his hand.
It is not surprising at all to find out that the Shibuya River is one of those special places that stays frozen immaculately in time. Even the thin trickle of water stays still, giving the strange impression of blue frosting.
The River Styx can be frozen, too. By the right person.
They’re maybe fifteen paces outside the Reapers Pad when Neku realizes that there are probably reapers there. He didn’t see any on the way, but then again, they usually don? see reapers while they’re dreaming. Neku imagines that they’re avoiding Joshua.
Joshua, typical of him, walks through the door like he owns the place. In a sense, he does. Not that anyone besides the lucky few even knows that.
“Good evening, Koki.” Neku blanches. He makes an attempt to stop, but Joshua is a lot stronger than he appears to be. Koki Kariya is the only person in Neku’s eyesight, and they both seem fine with the idea of ignoring each other.
“It’s cool.” Kariya says, before heading in the opposite direction: out.
Neku isn’t sure how they even get to the final room, where he made his final stand for the sake of Shibuya. He was under the impression one would have to scan to get the door to appear.
Composer privilege, apparently.
The ex-proxy stops dead.
It was if the aurora borealis was in the great chamber, filling the hall with light bouncing off every surface. In a palate of green and blue and purple, the long strip of cut up sections move like a ribbon caught in the wind.
There’s movement in it. Faintly, the outline of people and buildings can be seen.
Neku gapes, and Joshua looks smug.
For the record, they’re still holding hands. And Neku fails to notice how Joshua’s shadow is different from his actual body.
“Wow.. it’s...” Neku is breathless. He feels like a child in a candy store, only the candy is a whole lot prettier.
“The different planes. You can only see it in the first stage of the dream. The second level, the dream within a dream, could be any one of these different planes.”
“It’s beautiful.” Neku doesn’t care right now that these are alternative realities he’s looking at, even if he can barely handle the one he has.
“I knew you would like it, Neku.”
“Thank you.” Neku reaches his free hand, and stretches it out, as if trying to grasp the light. Like trying to pluck the moon from the sky.
Joshua looks over at Neku, and Neku looks at Joshua.
Who knows which one of them started it, but then they’re kissing, just like that.
Short and sweet under their makeshift mistletoe.
***
There’s a disgusting taste in the back of Eames’ mouth. He guesses it’s from the vomit he shared with the world earlier. He finds himself tied to a cold metal chair, placed in the center of an empty white room. There’s a pane of glass that can only be a two-way mirror in front of him.
In other words, an interrogation room.
It’s not like Eames has never been in an interrogation room- he’s been on both sides- but this is worse than any of his past experiences.
He has no fucking idea what’s going on.
The door in the corner of the room opens without a sound, and Eames strains to get a look at the world outside his small kingdom. The crack is closed before he can. Standing in the room with him is a young lady, dressed in a light colored sun-dress. Her sandals are modest and yellow, and her body language screams nice to talk to, but dangerous too.
Eames just knows things like this.
“I’m Ms. May.” She says and takes a seat. “These chairs aren’t very comfortable.”
“No, they’re not.”
“You’re a reasonable guy, Marvin.” Ms. May smiles. Eames raises an eyebrow.
“First names, now? It’s only fair that I know yours.” Ms. Mag giggles, and Eames is smiling, too, despite himself.
“Sola. Sola May.” There’s a far-off sounding thud somewhere. Sola ignores it, or pretends not to notice.
“Well, you know what they say, Sola May?”
“Life is like a box of chocolates?”
“Close, but no cigars.” Eames wiggles against his binds (chains. At least they didn’t underestimate his Houdini abilities) while he talks. “If the road to hell is pave with door to door salesmen, then the devil himself must be a politician.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not selling anything, then,” and she laughs, happy and clear.
“This also isn’t my house.”
“I like you, Marvin Eames.”
“Same here, Sola May.”
Sola picks at her fingernails, and taps on the table three times. An elderly man comes into the room, hands Sola a manila envelope, and leaves quietly.
“Now that we know each other, it’s time to talk business.” The bottom of Eames’ stomach drops out. He hopes it isn’t anything too unpleasant. He’s not sure his mind-frame would be able to handle it.
Not after everything he? been through.
Not after Arthur.
“We brought you here to do what you’re good at.” As Sola speaks, she is spreading papers out in front of him. They’re mainly monochrome words, pages and pages of it. There are two or three blurry photographs; one of a teenage boy, the others of graffiti.
Eames knows what this is.
“You know what this is, then. We need you to extract from a man who goes by the name of CAT in Shibuya.” Eames shakes his head.
“I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong man for the job. Extracting and building is not my area.”
“It’ll have to be.” The door opens, the closes with a slam. An intimidating man walks in, dressed in a classy, fitted suit Arthur would come for.
Bad cop.
He doesn’t want her too, really doesn’t want her to, but Sola leaves the room quietly.
“You will do this job, if you don’t want there to be consequences.” The man stares him in the eye. “Are we clear?”
“You’ve neglected to say what I’m extracting.” Eames says, giving in to his urge to grin.
“You will know when you see it. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He’s grinning, still.
There’s a cloth around his mouth in seconds. He’s always liked the taste of chloroform.
***
“Yes, it’s begun.”
“Everything is going as it should?” asks Mr. H, really Sanae Hanekoma, CAT, Mr. Monday, and the Fallen Angel.
“As planned. He should take two or three weeks to fail. We will then bring in the rest of the team.”
“Thank you, Sola.”
“Well, I always did like you best, CAT.
***
The history of Shibuya is not really all that complicated. It involved two Angels, a game, and a mutual love of humans. It goes like this.
Sanae Hanekoma, who was born into the Higher Plane as Pluto Monday, loves humans. He loves humans and games and coffee. These are not things widely available where he was.
It’s his fault, the Reapers Game. He was fooling around- when he was younger- with the balance of things with Sola. They’re the youngest, were the youngest, and were ignorant. While Pluto created new Noise sigil, Sola would play with the idea of separate realities and planes.
They were children, and children love nothing more than make-believe.
Since they both love humans and games and make-believe; it was only natural for them to test their fun on humanity. It was an act of love.
When things went bad, as they usually do, when the wall between the Noise plane and Shibuya split, Sola ran, and Pluto tried his best to clean things up.
Thus, the Noise infected Underground and the delicate Realground was created. It was no solution, not by a long shot. It was more like patching the problem together with duct tape. It wouldn’t last forever.
What they hadn’t expected, him and Sola, was humanity’s defense mechanism.
Yoshiya Kiryu. Otherwise known as Joshua, a being that carved itself into reality.
A boy with an imagination so strong, it bent Shibuya’s reality. Sure, it made things stronger, but not without a price.
Not without driving Joshua to the brink of insanity, back, then back again. Not without a Game. Joshua fashioned things to how he pleased. He wanted to play a game, so he made it one.
The final test of humanity.
Play or die. Play and die anyways. Only the worthy live. That’s how much Joshua hates people.
It was only when things in Shibuya got out of hand, did the Angels step in. He volunteered to oversee, to make sure the rules were being obeyed.
Puzzle piece by puzzle piece, things fell into place. Composer, Conductor, Reapers, Players; Noise, Taboo, Sho, Neku.
And here we are now. The whole damn thing ready to come crashing down, all because he failed, and the angels can? do without the information in his head. But at the same time, they can’t enter Shibuya, either.
Yes, they’re probably fucked.
Author: yaoimunchkin
Artist: toujourspret
Type: Crossover, slash
Word Count: 19,000~ words
Rating: Teen
Characters/Paring: Neku/Joshua, Arthur/Eames, Team Death and the Dream Team
Warnings: slash and some kidnapping/drugging
Summary: The Angels are secretive, and Eames is used as a tool. Joshua is in love and Neku has become pretty good at games. And Arthur? Arthur wants the hell out of Shibuya.
A/N: A big thank you to my artist and Domi, who without her, this would never have come about. And also, to neoncitylights because that's where I got the idea.
Part I
Part II.
Part III
Part IV
Arthur’s favorite thing about Paris is the people. Sure, if you ignore the occasional homeless people and rebel college students, the people are mostly polite and generous. He can see why Ariadne wants to stay here even after she graduates.
“I really want to be with Dom,” She says as they sit on her slightly abused couch eating chocolate chip cookies her neighbor makes. They’re watching Two Towers in French (again).
“But Paris is just so amazing. I don’t think I can leave it.
Arthur knows what she means. Paris is amazing. Of course, he’s been in the city before; jobs, vacations, elaborate plans to hook up two of his best friends. For all those times, however, Paris has never once felt like home.
Now, it feels like it could be.
“James and Phillipa would love it.” Arthur adds for his two cents.
(Sometimes, when Ariadne falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, he thinks about what could’ve been. He knows they’ll live in Paris still, and have more than one cat-Ariadne has a Maine Coon named Teddy. Maybe one day they’d have kids, one or two, maybe even three. He doesn’t know if they’d be extractors. Lately, shared dreaming has been far from his mind, and he wants to keep it that way. All this from a ghost of a kiss.)
It’s not surprising to him that Ariadne turns out to be the best roommate he’s ever had. She does the dishes when it’s her turn, doesn’t mind doing laundry that isn’t hers, and can put up with his compulsive need for cleanliness. So he really doesn’t mind having to wake her up some mornings for class, or cooking elaborate diners for them.
Against all odds, Arthur feels something like happiness rising in his chest. He doesn’t think it should be there, but it is.
Everything is all wrong, but it’s right, too.
***
Eames takes one breath, two breaths, three, four, five. His hand is firmly in his pocket, clutching his poker chip and feeling the familiar notches in it. He sits in a generic business-type office in a tall building in the center of Tokyo. There’s a coffee pot filled with generic office coffee, beige colored couches and a dark wood desk with plants and a mug placed randomly on it.
Oh, and he the absolute only person around.
He’s checked the address Ms. June gave him three times already, but he checks it once more just to be sure. The slip still says 85th Plane Building, ninth floor.
He hasn’t gotten the nerve to leave quite yet, and he’s not sure he ever will get it.
Things have the possibility of going south very, very quickly. In the current state of Eameslife, that can’t happen, not without a mental breakdown.
There’s an inner monologue in his head going on and on and on about how everything is going to be just fine, how he if he does this, he can just go back to Arthur and go back to the way things were before.
Eames has one of the best educations money can buy, (courtesy of his mother and father? talents for art forgery.) but this thought is all his emotionally exhausted mind can muster. He tries-and fails- to heal his throbbing migraine by rubbing soothing circles around his temples.
He’s still doing it (it must look incredibly strange, a grown man in a shabby suit sitting in a corporate office, head between his knees and rubbing his head) when there is a small “hem” coming form the general direction of in front of him.
Eames’ head snaps up to see a woman with a generous bust, stylish pencil skirt and a pair of the most mesmerizing eyes (are they teal? Eames can’t tell) he’s ever seen. And really, Eames has spent the last three years staring into Arthur’s, and those are beautiful. Her blouse is a silky blue and matches her black and blue (the color of a bruise. Eames stores this away in the superstitious part of his brain for later) stilettos.
Over all, men of any age would sell their soul for a chance with her.
“Good morning, Mr. Eames.” The woman says. Eames hates to say it-he feels like he’s in a Stephanie Meyer book- but the woman’s voice is clear and crisp- more so than a December night but lovely as silk. He picks up on the slight French accent, one almost identical to Mal’s.
God, he could just die right now. Yes, Eames would very much like to find a small hole to crawl up and die in.
“Good morning.” He replies back. Who cares if it’s not morning anymore, anyway? “May I ask your name, sweet?” Eames is surprised at his own ability to keep calm in this situation. Right now, he should be scrambling away from the this woman (she screams danger) as fast as he possibly can.
Eames is not doing that.
“Paris June.” Oh. How ironic. “You may call me Ms. June. Are you going to stand?” Eames does so quickly.
“You can’t be the one I spoke with on the phone.” Eames says. Playing dumb will probably get him some answers. The woman he spoke with sounded nothing like the current version he’s faced with.
“We have our ways of changing noise. So do you, no?” She beckons him towards the elevator. “Come this way, please.” Eames goes with her, because really, what other choices does he have?
He feels drawn to this woman the same way he was drawn to Arthur -and Mal, in other ways. Those irresistible French women.
“Upstairs, we will meet with Mr. Day and others about your task.” She speaks like he’s not about to become a prisoner of these crackpot people. Eames is not stupid, and he knows when he’s being humored. She can see right through his act and he doesn’t appreciate it.
(But for all he knows, maybe he is horribly ignorant of the world.)
“Sorry, my dear. But I’m not stupid.”
“Of course, I know that. There’s a difference between ignorance and stupidity.” Oh, so apparently he is ignorant. Like that narrows it down a lot.
‘narrow what down?’A far more logical part of his head asks. The side that can do trig and understand the actual mechanics of shared dreaming. Rocket science and all that.
‘I have no idea.’ He thinks back.
The elevator makes a small ding, and there is a perfectly manicured hand pushing lightly on his back.
Oh, yeah, then there’s a bag shoved over his head three steps from the lift.
***
Neku wakes up in Scramble Crossing. He’s second to wake up, as he usually is. Shiki appears at his side in less than a minute of his waking, and he can tell by the way the crowd shifts that Beat and Eri are also awake and moving towards them.
Joshua is nowhere to be seen. But this is normal.
Neku watches as the black number on his palm ticks slowly down from 60. They’re set the PASIV up to give them an hour in the dream. So far, their experiments have only lasted this long; they have things and people to get back to now.
As habit, Neku glances around the crossing, looking for the frenzied people who can only be those playing the Game. People to ignore. Joshua had been extremely clear and specific when dealing with the players and reapers (most of the time).
“Never, under any circumstances, talk to the players. Do not help them or make any effort that would affect them. If you do...” Joshua smiled and tipped his head to the side.“There will be consequences.”
“Where are we going today?” Shiki asks. Her form changes seamlessly from the brunette, shy girl to Eri, decked out in black boots, a slim jacket and a blue mini skirt. Her new design. As always, Mr. Mew is firmly in her grasp. Eri herself giggles. Neku feels bad about involving her, but Joshua approves and she was obnoxiously persistent anyways.
“Follow me.” Joshua says, coming out of seemingly nowhere. Knowing the Composer, he very well could have. They can hear Beat’s noise of complaint in the background. Neku notices the small glint in Joshua’s eyes as they fall on the passing people.
He’s reminded of a conversation they had once, when it was just the two of them, watching over the others. Rather, it was Neku watching the others alone until Joshua slipped in unannounced.
“Good afternoon, Neku.” Joshua greeted and pulled up a chair. He sat down elegantly and crossed his left leg over the other. Such a girl. Neku tossed him a halfhearted glare. Neku delicately brushed a strand of hair out of Shiki’s eyes, and missed the death-glare Joshua gave the girl.
“What do you want?” Neku asked. He was aware of Joshua studying his face, and maybe other places, too.
“I can’t check up on my little project?” Joshua teased. Neku resisted his strong urge to kill/maim/punch the boy.
After Neku had gone through the slow (and almost painful) process of talking to his small group of friends, he had done as instructed and brought them to WildKat. Joshua, of course, was waiting. There, in a small cafe belonging to a fallen angel, with people who he almost killed and the boy who killed him, Neku was introduced to a fantasy place.
Shared dreaming. That’s what is was, really, a fantasy land. He never thought he’d be back in the Underground, outside the Game but still connected. A place where they could bend the rules of reality a little bit.
They were scared at first. It was only natural.
What kept them around (well, not Neku. He stayed for other reasons.) Was the promise of more. Promises of places they could build from their imaginations; brilliant azure skies and mountains of the deepest purple.
“Why did you save them?” Joshua asked suddenly. Neku’s head swung up to stare into Joshua’s eyes, large and unblinking.
“What- what the hell?”
“You could have destroyed everything you hated, Neku. But you didn’t. I want to know why.” Neku had assumed that he had already figured it out. Not a long shot, considering he usually did. “Please tell me it isn’t because you have a crush on pinky.”
“Her hair isn’t pink. That’s Eri.” Neku said, motioning to said girl.
“Besides the point. Answer the question.”
“People change.”
“No, they don’t!” Joshua yelled. Chairs fell to the floor, and Neku pushed back at the sudden commotion. “People...people are so stupid. These people living in this godforsaken world have the ignorance to believe that they can spend their entire lives partying and doing nothing good and somehow, they think that they’ll go to this happy do-gooder place when they die. But you know, Neku. You know they don’t deserve such a fate. That’s what the Game is about. And you, you could have stopped it all. But you didn’t.”
Neku’s hand ghosted across Joshua’s cheek (when did they get so close?) and his breath warmed his lips.
But Joshua is like a shadow, a fleeting, dancing shadow whisked away by sunlight.
They haven’t talked about what could’ve/should’ve/would’ve, and they probably never will. They’re just not that type of people.
When it comes down to it, Joshua is a spiteful god who hates his own creations. He just can’t bring himself to bloody his own hands.
Joshua leads them to Ramen Don, to a small booth in the back corner. He tells them to sit down, he’ll be right back. Shiki, Eri, and Beat claim one side, leaving Neku to sit with Joshua.
It’s just as Rhyme said; Neku is the only one of them who can trust Joshua. He’s the only one he won’t try to harm.
There’s a deranged kind of pride involved.
Joshua comes back to the booth with tea -green, Joshua only drinks green tea and coffee- and sits as far from Neku as possible. (So far, it’s the only outward sign of his outburst.)
“In the chosen profession of dream sharing, the PASIV device is used primarily for one reason,” Joshua starts. He sounds like he’s teaching them German film history rather than shared dreaming. “The act of extracting and selling information from any given individual’s self-conscious. Of course,” Joshua flips his hair behind his shoulder. “Shibuya is a special case, but extraction is still very possible.”
“So that’s today’s assignment?” Shiki asks and grabs one of the cups Joshua brought back. “Be mind ninjas?”
“If you chose to think about it so...childishly, then yes. That is exactly what we’re doing.”
“Alright then!” Shiki pumps her arm up into the air. “How?” Neku stifles a laugh. Beat and Eri do not, however, and they both have to dodge a well-aimed punch.
“With this.” Joshua says, and produces a small pin from his pocket. When he places on the table in front of them, it causes a collective recoil.
It’s a player’s pin.
“There ain’t no fucking way!” Beat yells. People are starting to stare, but Joshua is unfazed.
“Relax, big boy. I’m not about to pull out a gun,” Neku shudders, and pushes himself against the wall. “And shoot you. This pin will let you scan minds to find the desired information.”
“Is there a catch?” Eri asks quietly. She looks at Neku when she says it though. He gets the message. At this moment, she embodies Rhyme in every way.
“No catch.”
“Joshua, seriously.” said boy sighs and goes back to play with his hair.
“There’s a chance of an overload. Some minds won’t be able to handle the amount of information filtering through their brains.”
“If the shoes fits, wear it.” Shiki says, her trademark smile on her face. “How do we proceed, then?”
“Cautiously. I suggest we start small with a place with not many people. Like here, for instance.”
On a Wednesday afternoon, Ramen Don is almost deserted. There’s only about five or six people quietly slurping their ramen, including the chef. It seems like the perfect place to practice, just as Joshua said. He probably spent some time scoping out places right for them.
Shiki shrugs and reaches across the table to grasp the pin.
Her eyes screw shut and her grip tightens. It takes three seconds for Beat to react to this. He shakes her shoulders first, and when that doesn’t work, he pries her fingers from the pin. As soon as it’s out of her hands, she’s gasping and huffing as if she’s been underwater for a long time. Eri and Neku are too shocked to move.
“This is all your fucking fa-” Beat starts.
“Come on, Beat. He warned us.” Shiki mumbles. She is, however, scooting away from the small object. People are staring again, but with a wave of Joshua’s hand, they go back to what they were doing before.
The pressure hangs in the air, awkward and heavy. Neku’s eyes shifts for person to person, studying Joshua twice before landing on Shiki
He gets the message her eyes read loud and clear. She’s probably right, after all. He is, most likely, the only one who’ll be able to scan people without being overloaded. She said it herself while they were still partners.
“Here we go,” he sighs.
The initial shock is just as Neku remembered it; a bright light blinding everything, but it fades with time, like having all the radio stations on a once, but he’s able to tune into the one at a time. It’s what separates Neku from the rest of them, this fete no short of a miracle. Even as the thoughts of everyone filters through his brain, Neku can only feel... calm.
Breath in, breath out.
“I can't believe he didn’t show.”
“Oh my god, is Neku going to be OK?”
“Those freaks think they’re so cool...”
“Another day, another dollar. Wanna play a game, Uzuki?”
“Good job, Neku. I knew you’d do well."
Startled Neku drops the pin. He looks into Joshua’s eyes, (there’s something different about them, what is it?) shocked to have heard the Composer’s voice in his head. Neku assumed that Joshua’s mind was an impenetrable fortress -they never us his as the dreamer- fit with a lock and key.
“Now the fun can begin.” Joshua grins.
***
“Was drugging him necessary?” Ms. May asks, poking Eames’ cheek.
“When is drugging not necessary?” Commented Mr. Thursday, who despite his age, was not opposed to taking advantage of modern findings.
“Oh, I can think of at least ten situations where I would not need to drug the person I’m talking to.” Ms. June strolls into the room, shortly followed by an annoyed Mr. Day. Lately, Mr. Day has been far more annoyed than he usually is, which is saying something. The wrinkles in his face are more pronounced, his complexion a splotchy red
His co-workers (if they could even be called that) notice this, naturally, but they follow their common sense and don’t mention it. Daring to do so without the comfort of privacy would be akin to going against a Sicilian when death is on the line.
“Is the room ready?” Mr. Day rubs his forehead with his wrinkled hands. Ms. May nods enthusiastically. Too much, really. “Then tie him up. Go, go!”
As the rest disperse to do their respective jobs, Ms. June stays behind, with her hand folded neatly.
“Go back.” She says sternly. “Lowering your frequency is putting a strain on you. Consider it, oh, a vacation.”
“Absolutely not, Jupiter.” with the blink of an eye, the small amount of air in Mr. Day’s lungs flee, and he comes face to face with a very angry woman.
“I have not given you permission to call me such!” She hisses. “No, you say? I say yes. Go, go!”
Her stilettos clap against the floor as she leaves.
***
Arthur wakes up in the morning to a strange feeling buried in his chest. There’s muffled noises, groaning maybe, coming from the next room, a sign that can only mean Dom flew in while Arthur was out.
Lovely. Just what he needs.
It’s not that he doesn’s love Dom; he respects the man tremendously. It’s just he does not need to know that he is sleeping with his best friend. In fact, it happened when he was sleeping with Mal as well. Arthur doesn’t know why Dom feels the needs to tell him these things.
Something is off.
His totem tells him otherwise, but Arthur didn’t think it was that kind of problem anyways.
By the time Ariadne comes wandering out of her room (clad in only a long large T-shirt and something that looks dangerously like black lace panties) Arthur is already sipping his coffee and flipping through the newspaper.
“A warning would have been nice.” is all he says.
“Oh whatever. I wouldn’t mind if you brought someone home without telling me.” Ariadne looks like a child, her hand on her hips and shirt falling past her knees. More like his daughter than anything else.
His love life is not something he ever wants to mention, though.
“Ariadne!”
“Sorry...” she mumbles. “Is... is something up?” Damn Ariadne. Arthur figures it must be a girl thing, (since when was he this immature?) always knowing when something was wrong. Either that, or her biological clock is ticking down and her maternal needs are spilling over to him. Like human rollover.
“Ngh...no. No.” Arthur runs a hand through hair, causing it’s normal polished look to become distraught.
“Don’t you dare lie to me Arthur!” Ariadne yells. By the time a ruffled Dom comes wandering into the room- most likely drawn out by yelling- Arthur is already hurrying back to the bathroom.
Ariadne cant’ know the full extent of him and Eames’ relationship, and it really should bother Arthur that she dares to stick her nose into his business. But that’s what best friends are for, right?
He collapses onto the floor in a fit of hysterics and nausea. His fist is stuffed into his mouth, and his teeth clench painfully around it.
It hurts, oh god, it’s so painful. Arthur has never once felt worse. The oh jesus, why, only way he’s ever dealt with anything is to block it all out.
There are tears rolling down his face.
If Eames were here.
Arthur cries. Stop crying, fuck!
He doesn’t want to be Arthur anymore.
***
Arthur misses Eames, so badly.
He wants to be someone Eames wants.
It’s killing him.
***
“I don’t get how I could have let someone into my life so easily.”
***
The two of them are alone.
Joshua places the PASIV device on the table, flips open the case, and starts setting up the chemicals. Diner for one.
“I want to show you something.”
Neku doesn’t know why he sticks the IV into the arm, but he does. The last thing he sees before going under is Joshua’s face, and it looks very... content.
It’s nice.
As soon as his eyes are open, he’s being led through the twisting, turning, swerving crowds. They’re running, flying, toward their destination. Neku thinks it can’t be real, because he’s never felt so euphoric in his life.
Neku is too busy running (too busy focusing on Joshua’s safe/warm/wonderful hand in his) to figure out where they’re going until he’s covered by a familiar shadow.
He’s been here exactly three times, all of which he wasn’t thrilled about.
“Why did you bring me here?” He asks. He does not want to be at the River.
“I have something to show you.” There’s a softer and all around nicer quality to Joshua’s voice.
It surprises Neku, to see the Composer so soft. “Just trust me.” Joshua looks into his eyes, and Neku knows that he does trust him.
Never once does Joshua let go of his hand.
It is not surprising at all to find out that the Shibuya River is one of those special places that stays frozen immaculately in time. Even the thin trickle of water stays still, giving the strange impression of blue frosting.
The River Styx can be frozen, too. By the right person.
They’re maybe fifteen paces outside the Reapers Pad when Neku realizes that there are probably reapers there. He didn’t see any on the way, but then again, they usually don? see reapers while they’re dreaming. Neku imagines that they’re avoiding Joshua.
Joshua, typical of him, walks through the door like he owns the place. In a sense, he does. Not that anyone besides the lucky few even knows that.
“Good evening, Koki.” Neku blanches. He makes an attempt to stop, but Joshua is a lot stronger than he appears to be. Koki Kariya is the only person in Neku’s eyesight, and they both seem fine with the idea of ignoring each other.
“It’s cool.” Kariya says, before heading in the opposite direction: out.
Neku isn’t sure how they even get to the final room, where he made his final stand for the sake of Shibuya. He was under the impression one would have to scan to get the door to appear.
Composer privilege, apparently.
The ex-proxy stops dead.
It was if the aurora borealis was in the great chamber, filling the hall with light bouncing off every surface. In a palate of green and blue and purple, the long strip of cut up sections move like a ribbon caught in the wind.
There’s movement in it. Faintly, the outline of people and buildings can be seen.
Neku gapes, and Joshua looks smug.
For the record, they’re still holding hands. And Neku fails to notice how Joshua’s shadow is different from his actual body.
“Wow.. it’s...” Neku is breathless. He feels like a child in a candy store, only the candy is a whole lot prettier.
“The different planes. You can only see it in the first stage of the dream. The second level, the dream within a dream, could be any one of these different planes.”
“It’s beautiful.” Neku doesn’t care right now that these are alternative realities he’s looking at, even if he can barely handle the one he has.
“I knew you would like it, Neku.”
“Thank you.” Neku reaches his free hand, and stretches it out, as if trying to grasp the light. Like trying to pluck the moon from the sky.
Joshua looks over at Neku, and Neku looks at Joshua.
Who knows which one of them started it, but then they’re kissing, just like that.
Short and sweet under their makeshift mistletoe.
***
There’s a disgusting taste in the back of Eames’ mouth. He guesses it’s from the vomit he shared with the world earlier. He finds himself tied to a cold metal chair, placed in the center of an empty white room. There’s a pane of glass that can only be a two-way mirror in front of him.
In other words, an interrogation room.
It’s not like Eames has never been in an interrogation room- he’s been on both sides- but this is worse than any of his past experiences.
He has no fucking idea what’s going on.
The door in the corner of the room opens without a sound, and Eames strains to get a look at the world outside his small kingdom. The crack is closed before he can. Standing in the room with him is a young lady, dressed in a light colored sun-dress. Her sandals are modest and yellow, and her body language screams nice to talk to, but dangerous too.
Eames just knows things like this.
“I’m Ms. May.” She says and takes a seat. “These chairs aren’t very comfortable.”
“No, they’re not.”
“You’re a reasonable guy, Marvin.” Ms. May smiles. Eames raises an eyebrow.
“First names, now? It’s only fair that I know yours.” Ms. Mag giggles, and Eames is smiling, too, despite himself.
“Sola. Sola May.” There’s a far-off sounding thud somewhere. Sola ignores it, or pretends not to notice.
“Well, you know what they say, Sola May?”
“Life is like a box of chocolates?”
“Close, but no cigars.” Eames wiggles against his binds (chains. At least they didn’t underestimate his Houdini abilities) while he talks. “If the road to hell is pave with door to door salesmen, then the devil himself must be a politician.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not selling anything, then,” and she laughs, happy and clear.
“This also isn’t my house.”
“I like you, Marvin Eames.”
“Same here, Sola May.”
Sola picks at her fingernails, and taps on the table three times. An elderly man comes into the room, hands Sola a manila envelope, and leaves quietly.
“Now that we know each other, it’s time to talk business.” The bottom of Eames’ stomach drops out. He hopes it isn’t anything too unpleasant. He’s not sure his mind-frame would be able to handle it.
Not after everything he? been through.
Not after Arthur.
“We brought you here to do what you’re good at.” As Sola speaks, she is spreading papers out in front of him. They’re mainly monochrome words, pages and pages of it. There are two or three blurry photographs; one of a teenage boy, the others of graffiti.
Eames knows what this is.
“You know what this is, then. We need you to extract from a man who goes by the name of CAT in Shibuya.” Eames shakes his head.
“I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong man for the job. Extracting and building is not my area.”
“It’ll have to be.” The door opens, the closes with a slam. An intimidating man walks in, dressed in a classy, fitted suit Arthur would come for.
Bad cop.
He doesn’t want her too, really doesn’t want her to, but Sola leaves the room quietly.
“You will do this job, if you don’t want there to be consequences.” The man stares him in the eye. “Are we clear?”
“You’ve neglected to say what I’m extracting.” Eames says, giving in to his urge to grin.
“You will know when you see it. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He’s grinning, still.
There’s a cloth around his mouth in seconds. He’s always liked the taste of chloroform.
***
“Yes, it’s begun.”
“Everything is going as it should?” asks Mr. H, really Sanae Hanekoma, CAT, Mr. Monday, and the Fallen Angel.
“As planned. He should take two or three weeks to fail. We will then bring in the rest of the team.”
“Thank you, Sola.”
“Well, I always did like you best, CAT.
***
The history of Shibuya is not really all that complicated. It involved two Angels, a game, and a mutual love of humans. It goes like this.
Sanae Hanekoma, who was born into the Higher Plane as Pluto Monday, loves humans. He loves humans and games and coffee. These are not things widely available where he was.
It’s his fault, the Reapers Game. He was fooling around- when he was younger- with the balance of things with Sola. They’re the youngest, were the youngest, and were ignorant. While Pluto created new Noise sigil, Sola would play with the idea of separate realities and planes.
They were children, and children love nothing more than make-believe.
Since they both love humans and games and make-believe; it was only natural for them to test their fun on humanity. It was an act of love.
When things went bad, as they usually do, when the wall between the Noise plane and Shibuya split, Sola ran, and Pluto tried his best to clean things up.
Thus, the Noise infected Underground and the delicate Realground was created. It was no solution, not by a long shot. It was more like patching the problem together with duct tape. It wouldn’t last forever.
What they hadn’t expected, him and Sola, was humanity’s defense mechanism.
Yoshiya Kiryu. Otherwise known as Joshua, a being that carved itself into reality.
A boy with an imagination so strong, it bent Shibuya’s reality. Sure, it made things stronger, but not without a price.
Not without driving Joshua to the brink of insanity, back, then back again. Not without a Game. Joshua fashioned things to how he pleased. He wanted to play a game, so he made it one.
The final test of humanity.
Play or die. Play and die anyways. Only the worthy live. That’s how much Joshua hates people.
It was only when things in Shibuya got out of hand, did the Angels step in. He volunteered to oversee, to make sure the rules were being obeyed.
Puzzle piece by puzzle piece, things fell into place. Composer, Conductor, Reapers, Players; Noise, Taboo, Sho, Neku.
And here we are now. The whole damn thing ready to come crashing down, all because he failed, and the angels can? do without the information in his head. But at the same time, they can’t enter Shibuya, either.
Yes, they’re probably fucked.