To Perceive an Image

Fifty-Three: Images of Deserved Destruction

The Image World, October 26, 2040, 11:25 AM.

You'll meet your end today, Noir.

I pray and hope not in death since part of me still has the unfortunate empathy to see my late best friend in you. However, you will meet your end, and I will play a part in that.

Despite the noticeable and somewhat humorous number of times in which he turned around to look at who knows what, he never once paid much attention to me. I'll take that as a good thing because I need all the concealing I can get to assemble my next plan.

Noir, busy telling his mighty accomplishments throughout his life, overlooked the subtle, inch-wide steps I took to my right. Whatever stood outside the window must have magical attention-stealing powers, and I appreciate that. Minutes of mind excruciating slow steps later, I reach the same cabinet that holds Noir's reminiscing feelings. I prepare to drop on the couch next to it to save myself if he looks at the wrong moment. I'll pretend I was taking a seat or something. But his frozen figure and non-stop talking tell me I'll be safe.

Keeping my eyes on him, I let my hand perform the heist solo. I open the cabinet and celebrate it being open because that alone tells me two things. He never expected visitors here and must have his fair share of uses for this time machine.

I know him so well, or maybe he's predictable.

Either way, I let the voice in my subconscious telling me to pick up the pace lead me to the next moment.

I remove my eyes from him for a second to ensure I'm not grabbing what I shouldn't.

You already are.

Whatever.

My expectations simultaneously dissipate and lower once I notice the shape of the mighty object.

A mere cellphone-sized rectangle?

I'm no time traveler nor an expert of whatever those knowledgeable of physics use for explanation's sake. An object the shape and size of a modern cellphone wasn't the first image my mind created for a supposed time machine, but I won't question the obvious. The obvious, in this case, is the visible. I grab my tool for hopeful success and place it in my pocket. However, I halted my actions when I noticed the name and date written on the tape.

B-Day. 2025. Return.

B-day, I know damn well that doesn't stand for birthday. Come on, Azail, think. What could the b stand for?

What about the word return? They're correlated and mentioned together.

Knowing Noir's involvement, the word return could stand for anything.

B, however, only has one meaning if it has correlations to a specific year.

Wait, 2025...

The year Flynn was ten years old, and the riots broke out because of the invasion.

B... Banishment. B stands for banishment, banishment day altogether.

The tool in my hand can make me return to 2025 when the banishment day happened. Oh my god.

I try to keep my astonishment to a minimum but allow my eyes to widen for a moment. Here comes that heavy feeling in my chest that I can't do anything about because of my circumstances. I take multiple deep breaths to prevent my discovery from clouding my judgment.

I have to act fast.

As much as I would encourage doing things at a pace that I find comfortable, life never has the same ideas.

Since I was smart enough to place my phone somewhere other than its usual pocket, I didn't look too out of the ordinary while putting something similar. Thanks to my early morning self, who had a hunch to do so, compliments to my intuition.