[ti]Ep 3[/ti]The Burden of Knowledge [Optimus]

[Deleted]

Episode 3 / Week 3 / Day 3 / Closed

Somewhere in Black Rock Desert, late at night, one Autobot waited for another—for the Autobot. He gazed towards the stars, standing in the middle of a nigh-infinite expanse. Flat for miles, stretching on and on in its arid beauty, quiet, windless, still, frozen in the moment for an eternity; not a smell nor sound to disturb it.

During better seasons, humans would gather here, build fleeting monuments of sticks and wood to burn. A beautiful tradition, Neon thought. But nobody would dare venture this far into the desert during this time of the year and at this hour. Such a remote place and yet so close to their home at Omega One was not chosen by mere chance—Neon wanted to meet alone and somewhere quiet, near enough in case of an emergency, remote enough for their enemies to overlook.

As he continued to stare into the starry void, he came to realize just how far away home was. For the first time in eons, he understood that Cybertron was nothing but a far-flung memory. Still, even that solitary thought was of better comfort than the truths he would have the confront when Optimus arrived.

Neon did not know him well. The Prime was so distant; a figure more than a person in his mind. It was difficult enough to ask this favor of him but the young Autobot had no intention of wasting it while he had the chance. Some matters were far too grave, some knowledge too difficult to carry alone—it was time to talk.

[Optimus Prime]

An individual wishing to speak with the Prime was commonplace and expected.

An individual wishing to speak with the Prime outside of their current base in a secluded area was outside the norm.

Something was quite amiss for Neon to request his presence away from Omega One in such a way, Optimus already considering the worst and best outcomes that may come on its heel. It was difficult to judge how severe things may be however, given he knew very little about the other Cybertronian beyond surface layers. Simple reports did little to nothing when it came to trying to anticipate events such as this. Should someone more familiar to him like Bumblebee do such a thing, he would have a good bead on how wrong things may be to enact secrecy on that level.

Was Neon shy? Or was it dire?

What would he wish to hide and keep others from interrupting?

Even if they were to speak in his quarters, there was still a chance of someone knocking on the door, a threat that would not be present here. While there would never be true detachment from base, given a call could go out on comms, this approach did remove most other troubles. As such, Optimus respected the other mech’s plea, and would respond accordingly, a Ground Bridge ripping into formation among the flat expanse of open space, casting long streaks of varied light in pulsed spirals. The bright vortex was only there for a brief flicker, a large figure emerging through it readily to let it spiral closed in his wake with a snarled hiss.

Heavy peds crunched down into the brittle flats, Optimus' helm raising to look out across the expansive opening. It was almost concerningly clear, their figures standing out as beacon's among an empty space, however nightfall brought with it some more security. Not as readily visible... Not as glaringly apparent...

"I gather something troubles you, Neon?"

Optimus spoke casually with a calmness behind his words, his gaze drifting over to the smaller mech.

[Deleted]

Neon cast his eyes down from the night sky, gaze fixed upon the Prime. An intimidating presence, so still and calm—so in control. At times, Neon wondered if that's truly who their leader was—if he was as above it all as he seemed or if the war troubled him more than he let on. It was difficult to ponder the mind of a living demigod, his thoughts so distant and difficult to fathom.

But he couldn't be burdened by such thoughts now. The situation required clarity, honesty, and privacy. Neon's response followed shortly, spoken in an uneven, worried tone.

"Y-yes, thank you for coming," he said, approaching closer, "I apologize for dragging you all the way out here, sir, but—I needed the quiet and I do not feel comfortable sharing what I'm about to say with the others."

His voice grew lower, somewhat deeper, and more mature. A stark contrast to the youthful and feeble tone Neon was known for.

"They have enough worries as it is."

Neon did not wish to impose such burdens upon anybody and he hated himself for involving Optimus. He has done so much for the Autobots already. His shoulders must've been heavy with tasks far graver than the one Neon wished to impose—and yet it did not feel right to add more weight.

"I spent some time considering my options... And I think it's only right that you should know."

A long pause followed. Neon needed to gather his wits.

"I—I think that an Autobot we lost is being controlled by the Decepticons. They did something to her, I don't know what, but I know she was hurting. I felt it myself."

He remained quiet after that, a bereft expression on his face.

[Optimus Prime]

So, it likely was unpleasant news if it would be something others could be worried about, something that may incur impulsive action by those that sought vengeance or a want to be productive. There were times for a heavy hand, to bludgeon forward with an immediate response to cut something down before it stabilized. In contrast, there were also times where emotion needed to be placed aside in order to permit tactics and finesse to take charge. Putting such decisions in the hands of some who may be more impulsive, could be damaging, or... beneficial. It was such a waving spiral of poor outcomes and victory, that it was so very impossible to know what would occur until the very moment was lived out.

The point was however, that Neon had the forethought to try to negate the wildcard.

Something that The Prime appreciated.

Listening calmly, Optimus did not move or speak while Neon expressed his concerns, letting him articulate everything without interruption. Even as the other mech's words teetered out, he offered an added lull to make sure he had no further details he may have been hesitating on uttering. It was not a long moment, just enough to create a buffer, a small blank spot that also gifted him time to consider exactly what had been spoken of.

Decepticons holding Autobots captive... it was not a new concept. Whether to be used as bargaining chips, manipulate for information, or to have their skills put to work, using another to try to reach their own goals was not beyond the realm of imagination in any way shape or form. The issue was however in what context this situation sat. If they were peacefully serving their role in order to ensure survival, or if they were being forced and pushed on every step in a hellish loop. Signs pointed to the prior, given Neon had actually interacted with them.

Optimus easily read between the lines at this. Should said captive be belligerent and rebellious, then they would not have had the freedom to even see Neon at all. To be out and about in an area to happen across one another... it meant for a fact that said Autobot was compliant and loyal enough. Perhaps their companion or friend were still held captive, a threat of terminating them should she not return after a task was assigned, or more malicious methods to force obedience despite opposing Decepticon morals.

"Beyond latent emotion, did she appear to be in duress?"

Given he had waited 'some time', whatever that exactly entailed, Optimus would be willing to wager that she seemed calm, the lack of fire behind Neon’s steps to report it as soon as possible to free her from her cage good evidence to this assumption.

[Deleted]

"Her name was—is Sparkplug," Neon corrected himself swiftly. The past tense was ill-suited for somebody who yet lived, albeit with an asterisk.

"And no... I do not think so. At least not initially; not until I tried to question her position."

A weary pause followed. Neon had to be deliberate in his wording, clear as to not make assumptions based on conjecture alone.

"When I did that, she began to behave erratically as if she wasn't in full control of her faculties."

He approached closer, extending a servo towards Optimus, clutching a small piece of technology. The item in question should be intimately familiar to any Cybertronian, and most of all, a former archivist. It was a report file, assembled by the bot in question; a collection of research and data, a tool for education and reference.

That was not its purpose today.

"After looking at these recordings, I can safely assume that the Decepticons fundamentally deformed her very processing in some way. There is no other explanation for what I have experienced and how much Sparkplug differs from the person she was before."

His voice picked up in pace, cramming as much information into as little time as possible—a force of habit for some scientists. Indeed, even his tone shifted to one that could be easily understood as presenting a thesis.

It was a lot of words, a lot to take in, but Optimus needed the full picture. Plain exposition was the only way to paint it now.

And yet...

The lingering possibility that Sparkplug had joined the enemy of her own volition existed, but Neon's better judgment prevented him from expressing it in front of Optimus Prime. He had seen how much it hurt her to even think a single thought contrary to her current faction's agenda.

She wasn't even allowed to consider it. There was no free will in that.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus paused for a moment, digesting what had been said well before he spoke so that he did not act abruptly, his words direct and even in tone.

"These are rather serious conclusions."

He didn't overtly say the word that hung in the air, knowing what Neon was likely referring to, yet choosing to jump to such a bottom line wasn't something to do lightly. Acts as that were a rather aggressive means to force compliance, whether as political leverage, manipulating an individual's course in a new path, or for using their abilities, weaponry, or talents for whatever goal is needed to benefit the culprits. To be selected for a thing on that level implied value in some form or another, which brought questions on why such an asset would be let to roam freely on an unfamiliar world.

Illusion of choice. Illusion of being one of the fold... Let them get a breath of fresh air without feeling caged in whatever area they were destined to serve. Was she alone? Had she exited Decepticon shelter to meander an alien world without a watchful eye? Or did she have a handler that kept a bead on where she was and what she was doing. Signs pointed to the prior given that such a handler was not immediately mentioned by Neon, for they undoubtedly would have swiftly intervened to stop such prying questions on the matter if it were disrupting the stability of their pawn.

As the data drive was offered, Optimus would lean forward as well, his hand dipping beneath Neon's so he could drop it into his palm rather than trying to pick it out of the smaller Cybertronian's hand. It was once it was in his possession, he would ease back upright, looking at the quite familiar piece of technology. Despite so many years separating the now from his time at the Archive, it was interesting to see some things carry on, immortal by the passage of time. This fleeting thought was just that, and after looking over the tool briefly did he lower his arm back down to his side, holding what had been offered with utmost care.

Optimus needed to know details, not just Neon's own thoughts and deductions on the matter, so this gift was immensely appreciated more than the other mech likely realized. He wanted facts, raw information that wasn't manipulated by emotion or past experiences influencing in one way or another, and this would give him a first hand look at what he spoke of. Able to see Sparkplug's mannerisms, the way she moved and carried herself in accordance to what question had been asked in what context... The phrasing of things could always have double meanings depending on how it was formed, and a discomfort in response could be due to many factors rather than being a blunt cut black and white resolution.

"Is there more I should be aware of that is not shown on this device?"

Cyan optics watched Neon carefully, trying to pick for any last bit of information that could be valuable on the matter.

[Deleted]

Neon stepped back once the device made its way to Optimus, his hand dropping back to the side of his body in a smooth, unassuming motion. He tilted his head slightly as if something seemed odd to him, but the gesture was fleeting and easily missed with only moonlight to guide one's optics.

Still, his face remained drenched in a shade of discomfort, more so than before. Perhaps something about the Prime's conduct made him uneasy? If Optimus had noticed as much, perhaps it would stand to ask once his own question had been answered.

Which was precisely what Neon did next.

"Just one more thing. While the Sparkplug on Earth and the one in my recordings are the same person beyond all doubt..."

He paused again, the mech's form contorting slightly as he reached for his left arm, caressing it like one would an old war wound.

"...one of her arms has been... altered to house powerful and destructive weaponry."

A strange, uncomfortable air hung around the word "altered" when Neon said it—almost certainly with the implication that Sparkplug's modification was extensive and gnarly—inelegant would be putting it mildly. The implications present within such a radical augmentation of one's form were for Optimus alone to consider...

As for Neon, he remained standing there with that weary and disconcerted expression and body language, letting Optimus work through what he had learned. Still, even then, it felt as if he was holding out for more. The face of one troubled by personal matters must've been a familiar sight to the Prime, no doubt.

[Optimus Prime]

Things had seemed so cut and dry. Ask a few different questions to wrap up this discussion in the now, then retreat to truly evaluate what was seen and look into the victim's 'eyes' through the recordings. Try to get a feel for her actions and look for abnormalities, try to see what quirks and issues came up that Neon spoke of. Study, and try to peacemeal what levels they were dealing with, if it was manipulation in the darkest means, or if she were simply uncomfortable discussing her swap of factions. He would never KNOW just by such observations, but it could guide, and with this guidance he could then approach Neon again to discuss things further.

Then a curveball had been thrown.

Optimus seemed confused at what Neon had said next, his brows furrowing some as it sounded like what was handed over wasn't a recording of the latest event, but was something from days long past? This confusion was rather apparent for a moment on his features, before it was pushed back into a calm look of neutrality. He mentally bashed aside the cards he had already started to line up and stack, starting over once again with what few pieces remained valid.

"I was under the impression these were recordings of the recent incident. I apologize."

This brought to question then on HOW Neon obtained recordings from the past? Yet what was needed was a clean slate, and such details could be addressed later. Leave things in a nice neat order to not jump over anything of value. As such, his helm crooked slightly at his following question.

"Why don't you start from the onset. Where were you when all of this occurred?"

Optimus didn't comment on the idea that one of Sparkplug's limbs had been altered. Like with other questions, that detail could be addressed as it naturally came up in the recounting of the event. Even so, modifications for battle... it was just a thing that happened to many. It was not a hidden secret that his own frame had been altered greatly since the war started. While it was not particularly something he sought out by choice, it the result of powers that even he would never fully understand, the point remained that change was not abnormal when the world they all lived in got turned upside down.

Limbs replaced with weaponry, missiles mounted onto wings, canons attached to shoulders, melee devices spliced into armor... turrets or fold out armaments on Alt-Modes... or any other attempt in order to seek survival. It simply was, what it was.

However, it sounded like this particular modification was more garish than others that were commonly seen given how Neon was trying to describe it. Something that was not as smoothly transitioned into her frame that could look mangled and abnormal. He simply just... needed more information. Because of this, Optimus settled once more, ready to listen to a more intricate narrative of events.

[Deleted]

"No, sorry. They come from my research repository—or what remains of it," Neon sighed wistfully. It was fortunate that Sparkplug's notes have been preserved in absence of her entire body of work. This was the case for many scientists whose records Neon carried. The small collection in his room, what little he could preserve during his escape from Cybertron, accounted but for a microscopic fraction of their collective knowledge. Much of it would remain lost forever.

Then, another question. One which necessitated a lengthier explanation. In anticipation of such, Neon carefully moved over to Optimus, slowly and shyly. His form began to bend at his knees next to the Prime, leaving a notable gap between the two of them. Slowly but surely, his legs gave way and the Autobot's squat eased into a sit. With his thighs pressed to his lower torso, Neon put one of his arms over the bent knee and tapped the dry ground next to him.

It was an unspoken invitation for Optimus to join him.

"I met Sparkplug while investigating an abandoned Decepticon mine for spare equipment. It seems she had the same idea," he spoke with clarity, eyes drifting towards the starry sky.

At that moment, it felt as if Neon had returned to that fateful encounter.

"She attacked me but failed and collapsed the mineshaft instead. When I came to, she was buried under the rubble and sustained some damaged. I—I decided to free her."

His words hung heavy. Was the decision he made the right one? Had Neon not been so empathetic, perhaps he wouldn't have to wrestle with such harsh truths and there would be one less Decepticon running around.

No...This wasn't him. Yes, there were Autobots who would offline Sparkplug right there and then, but he was not one of them. He would never be one of them. If anything, such Autobots were the very reason she ended up this way.

He wouldn't let that happen again.

"She did not attack after that. Instead, we decided to work together on freeing ourselves from the mines, and along the way, we talked..."

Neon seemed hesitant to continue, turning towards Optimus for some semblance of reassurance. He wanted to see what the Prime thought thus far—if he had any questions, if what he said was being understood—but above all else, he was looking for support.

[Optimus Prime]

The title of Prime held many meanings to many different people. Some saw it as a governing rank. A mere label such as general or soldier, the matrix being nothing more than a pretty badge that was held to represent such a thing. A hollow trinket. Others saw a Prime as a true honored role to fill, the Matrix granting wisdom and strength through the technology it held with an almost revered sort of power behind it. On another side, some equated it to a religious entity, the Matrix a true relic of the Primes that was passed down through chosen souls. There were many interpretations beyond this, many depictions and theories, views and opinions... yet a grand majority all held one thing in common.

A Prime carried immense power by role and rank, and should be treated as such.

Optimus didn't need to be revered... he didn't need to be seen as a god... he just wanted to be respected. Yet, he had grown numb to the aura and formality the title Prime brought in a way, it becoming a normal that simply was what it was. He didn't consciously regard it as often as he once did, didn't let himself get bothered when others would shy away as if intimidated. He did what he could to lessen the tension, but no matter what happened he was always an outcast in that regard. He was used to it. So much so that when Neon acted so informally as to squat down and pat beside him as if inviting a friend to sit down and enjoy the night?

It really caught Optimus off guard.

Not in a bad way. He wasn't angry, he wasn't offput... or, at least not offput at the motion. He was more offput at the immediate reeling confusion felt. The realization that he was put onto a pedestal so high by so many that to be treated like a 'normal' individual by someone that didn't know him at all was alien and weird. It bothered him that it felt weird, and he couldn't even really articulate WHY... but what he did know was that he would be there to help any of his ranks in any way he could.

Faltering as his mind shot through all these thoughts, Optimus then pushed into motion, leaning down to plant his palm against the ground, before he eased into a sit at a comfortable chatting distance beside Neon, that did not have him towering over the smaller mech. He would try to settle, though he didn't look nearly as relaxed, almost awkward, his forearms looped over the caps of his knees while he took in what Neon said.

No interjections, no questions, Optimus merely listened and let the story unfold without unintentionally derailing with any sort of input. He was content for Neon to keep going, but at the younger mech's hesitation, his gaze would drift over to him.

"You made a merciful decision that day."

Optimus did not pretend others would have made the same choice... he knew so many would have finished Sparkplug off. Take the opportunity to clip down a threat and check them off the list. That said, it was nice to hear when someone did take the higher road, and in this case, it not only benefited them both in working together to escape, but could potentially be a lead to greater events to help rather than decimate.

Cyan optics watched Neon a moment, though he made a point to not stare so he didn’t come off as too intense. With this in mind, Optimus’ gaze lifted up to the horizon again as if enjoying the sight at night. As relaxed as this encounter may be, he would never be able to turn the wartime mindset off however, so his casual look was anything but. Be aware so he can lead. Be aware so he can protect. He didn’t make it apparent that was what he was doing though, a calmness in his gaze that would return to Neon once the mech spoke once more.

[Deleted]

Neon felt more at ease once he saw Optimus sit near him. Frankly, he did not expect the gesture to work, but he was visibly glad that he did, his face looking relatively content as opposed to a few moments ago. Perhaps the praise of his actions worked some way towards it as well. Honesty, compassion, Neon might've not been around much, but recently, it seemed like those virtues weren't quite as popular as his teacher would've had him believe. At least one other person understood, though.

"I think it was the right one too...think," Neon muttered inconsequentially and continued telling his story.

"So, then we continued digging our way up. Somehow, we ended up on the topic of science. She seemed quite bright and well... From there, connecting the name Sparkplug to a dissertation I once read was not difficult."

An uneasy feeling rose from the depths of Neon's spark, found its way to the processor, and took root.

"Then... I-I started asking questions. She was a Decepticon when by all rights she should've been an Autobot; a deceased scientist whose work I've only ever seen in my research."

His voice seemed to go lower in pitch as if fighting a lump in the throat.

"I questioned her about it. What happened to you? We thought you were dead. Why are you a Decepticon? I asked and I pushed and—something snapped inside of her. She was in pain. Physically hurting. I think that's when whatever the Decepticons did to her took effect."

...

"We left her behind. We let them do this."

It hurt Neon to say this just as much as it must've hurt Optimus to hear.

[Optimus Prime]

"I believe it was."

Optimus spoke decisively at this, reassuring, not wanting Neon to second guess his choices, for mercy was an honorable trait to nurture. While it did not mean it couldn't backfire, it sounded like Optimus would have certainly done the same should he have been in a similar position. He would then fall silent, not intending to interject beyond that, feeling that moment was needed.

"She was a Decepticon when by all rights she should've been an Autobot"

These words caught Optimus' attention, instantly knowing that he had to single that comment out from the greater discussion and cut into it further. There had to have been much spoken about, particular events nestled within such a brief statement that guided Neon to connect the traits together in such a way. He couldn’t let it simply be ghosted over, for he required something to bridge the gap. It was only when Neon concluded his train of thought, that he would take a step back.

"What questions led you to believe she should have been an Autobot?"

Curious, Optimus' gaze moving from the horizon over to Neon. His expression was relaxed, truly interested and curious about what had happened. However, his following words held some muddled sadness nestled within, a sort of loss felt that was masked well. Given Neon’s attuned sensitivity with the emotion of others, it was almost a form of grief, one that was not shown actively in tone or expression.

"For good nature and decency seldom play roles in choices of belief and passion."

The factions were not a case of black and white. There were no 'bad guys' and 'good guys', simply a swath of grays where individuals were separated by what means they were willing to go to in order to get the victory they desired. He and Megatron... they both fought for the same thing. For all to be able to choose the path they want in life, and dismantle the concept of the Caste System. They walked side by side to try to grasp such a dream, to create a Cybertron that offered a better future for them all. It was only when Megatron showed he was willing to grasp that vision by violence that things severed.

A want to be fair and let others dream for their future, wanting to do things without violence, versus a want for ultimate freedom and the ability to grab what they desire with brute force and a willingness to do what was needed to reach said goal.

These memories of what their wold may have been... they saddened Optimus a great deal. He helped give voice and elevate the words of a warrior that appeared passionate about making change, with no realization of the violence he was willing to go to. A case of Orion being blind, the acts of true deception manipulating him from the onset, or a gradual change that wasn't caught onto soon enough. Individuals could seem so very genuine in the moment, only to twist a knife when opportunity struck.

His flat gaze moved away from Neon once more, looking into the darkness.

[Deleted]

Neon's form compressed tighter as the question was laid at his feet. His eyes sunk, and whereas Optimus peered into the distance, his optics pointed towards the ground. He spent a few quiet moments in utter silence, perhaps thinking, or merely stretching the seconds before being forced to contend with what the Prime implied.

"Do...Do you believe she joined them willingly?"

Optimus was wiser, older. Perhaps it was the correct thing to do—to question assumptions made in the heat of the moment. Perhaps Neon felt wrong, perhaps his senses were not as sharp and accurate as he thought. Second-guessing is unbecoming, his teacher always said on the days he felt too small to share his hypotheses. This advice never quite stuck.

"I mean, I-I don't think so, but I don't know for certain either. There was some kind of disturbance in her emotions, though, I'm still sure of that much. Unnatural disturbance. Maybe she made a choice, but whatever happened after..."

He did not finish his sentence. There were too many variables. The only thing Neon knew was that some manner of conditioning had been put into place, but Optimus raised a point so valid that it could well not be ignored. He looked up again and placed a thumb to his chin, rubbing the underside with a nervous index finger.

"To be honest, I didn't come simply for your counsel, sir. S-sorry if that was the impression. I also wanted to ask..."

...

"...I wanted to ask if I could pursue this matter further—with your blessing... and officially."

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus' helm remained forward while Neon spoke, his expression neutral while considering what was being said.

And what wasn't.

Neon was dancing around details. Taking everything down to an emotional core. Optimus may be blind to some common cues in more relaxed situations, not one to truly socialize and interact with others on a deeper level... acting rather stilted and detached... blunt replies that could cut off others at times when it wasn't something dire or truly in need of his attention... Yet, he could pick apart the raw data of words that were offered in situations such as this. Conversations that could need strategic evaluation to keep others safe while seeking a goal, try to prevent even more loss of life by acting impulsively.

Too many of their kind were blended apart in the war machine, and he didn't wish for Neon to become a forgotten statistic because he was idealistic with his want to aid another in duress. Idealism, and frankly... optimism was beneficial, yet it shouldn't make one vulnerable in the process. It was simply a part of a greater picture.

A slow vent was pulled in and held a moment, before gradually slipping out at Neon's final words, it not apparent if it was a sound of frustration or sadness at finding out the Autobot felt this was nothing more than a formality. It seemed he had already decided it was something he wanted to seek out actively, and little said here would possibly dissuade. After this, there was another pause while the Prime considered what to say next. Trust a novice to the intricacies of war to pull through and become victorious over an unverified goal, or try to articulate concerns before loss can occur. It was after this silence, Optimus finally spoke, completely ignoring Neon's final words, to backtrack to his own prior words that were ghosted over.

"It is difficult to come to any theories-"

More direct words then followed.

"-when my question was ignored."

Cyan optics flicked over to look from the corner of his vision, the gaze intense and rather focused.

He couldn't let Neon run with emotion alone to his death.

He wanted the mech to think tactically so they could come up with a plan.

[Deleted]

A sudden snap, a popping sound. Neon grew tense and froze at the moment—stuck for a while. Did he say something wrong? Oh, of course, he did. He must have. Eager to go ahead, eager to assume fault. Eager to fix it.

"I-I'm so sorry!"

He stuttered in an urgent, panicked voice. He looked well and truly awkward—from the way he sat to the expression on his face and the folded antennae. What little comfort he had? Vanished, replaced with a strong sense of unease.

He let himself get too emotional, too personal... Too honest about his feelings. And in the process, he omitted to be direct with the facts. Such was the curse of one forced to experience the entire world through emotions. Neon knew what people felt like before he knew what they looked or sounded like.

Science has no outlets for sentimentality.

She'd say that. Time and time again. Was it true? Neon could never tell.

He lost track of how many times he had to subdue that part of himself for the sake of practicality.

How much longer must have Optimus done the same...

"The questions," he rubbed his hands stiffly, "Right..."

He tried to remember. What questions? No. They weren't questions. He said things and she reacted, but they were not questions—they were statements. But there was one that stood out among the rest.

"There were a few, but most importantly... I asked her to come back. That's when the pain started. It was physical, a spasm."

A rapid, shallow hiccup—a retch deep within the systems.

"Before that, we've been talking for a while, she seemed happy to chat about her former colleagues—mutual acquaintances from the field. She liked them. She was nostalgic. I thought: If she misses them so much, maybe she could return with me."

He chuckled awkwardly. How stupidly naïve of him to think that reminiscing could change the past.

"I suppose it was foolish. I will never forget the answer."

NEVER.