Tanjelavi

Goe

Goe felt his heart not just sank—but drowned the instant the capital was filled with the crash sounds and unfortunately, he knew exactly what those all were here for

In the car, while giving away orders as the chief's partner in his absence, with a supressedly shaking voice and shivering hands, he checked his armor on the ankle a trillion of times so carefully as he was taught, assuring himself it was still there: it was embedded in him now, no one can take it away from him, what was truly his, by right, by birth, and no one else's

It was so sacred to him, he couldn't pronounce its name, even to himself, in his own thoughts—as if scared to death, someone would read his thoughts and find out... About his past: his youth mistakes he himself now craved to forget

Now he remembered though how hard he was resisting a new, police armor when first accepted as a police officer: like a human child who doesn't want to wear new clothes being grown out of the old ones, sticking to the familiar sweet past—except for, for him, it was all there is to it: his past was all he was himself

Everyone decided he was just still shocked after what had happened—it wasn't far from the truth though, but even more than that, he was afraid to deletion of his present: it felt like an erupting volcano under his feet, he was dancing to survive, strangely still wanting to, while lava rain was jumping in on around him, getting stronger and stronger with each second

He was in its crater, it wasn't that scary or frightening after having seen the heart of boiling hell anyway—he just didn't understand why he still was hanging on to life, to his life, why it was so important for him to survive no matter what: he mused it was because his standards had fallen so low since his dumb first years and he was glad at least to survive, to keep what was truly his, his only rightful and lawful possession in this world; what was holding him still in here now though? Now, when everything was over: the devils came after him to take him back to hell he managed to escape—because they made a deal... And a demonic deal obviously has more weight than life itself

He indeed was sorry for naive and kind Trinat, who sheltered him, who gave him a second chance—a second chance he didn't deserve—a second chance to live and he gladly, devouringly even, accepted, still being too young, too greedy of life to die: he was holding on to him so tight after his hopes had been ruined as the building he made it to run for and hide after many, many, hell of many an attempt to run away and he was finally safe... So frightened as he was then to lose the last hope that just had been ruined along with a twelve-grade earthquake, he was refusing to let go of Trinat's shoulder and to allow him to let go of his, too: so physically tired as he was living on without proper amount of energy for a long while then, he was also emptied on the inside, as if his soul—if he had any—left his body, he wanted to turn everything back, back as it was, to his duty as an accountant, who wasn't satisfied with his existence, having everything he needed: a place to sleep, a place to work, a place of hope in tomorrow's day in his heart... in his center he had kept safe for him... But now, it was embedded in his armor that wasn't even a part of his body and didn't belong to him: "Nothing belongs to us; everything belongs to them", caught he himself thinking again and again over the course of his miserable existence and now, too, as he was trying to get away from the already half ruined city, trying to get rid of his police officer license, as if it never existed—as they did to his... D-part—still trying to survive: otherwise they would kill Trinat as well, which he in no way wanted to happen: he would be thankful to him for giving him that second chance he nonetheless missed until the day he would die—luckily, no one's memory was bad in here, so he figured a way out quite quickly and, one step away from the digital black desert, he was taking off the upper part of his current armor and putting the one he'd been keeping for such an occasion: he knew too well they would catch him one day, sooner or later, so he made himself prepared for anything to come surprise him. Just as he was out of the city, his car was crashed by what seemed to have been a part of a building before: Even better like this, smiled he to himself and rushed away—in such a panic, he would be left unnoticed and everyone would think he was dead

Goe's moment delight slipped down too easily though, much easier than he expected, as the image of his friend, his savior popped up in his mind, preoccupied as Trinat surely was, not ceasing to burdensomely think of him, him who everyone oughted to forget; "I'm sorry, Trinat: I'm so, so sorry", the thought was just spinning, spiraling over and over in his head no matter how many times he tried to shake it off, it was still here, persisting in his mind, causing him to want to cry the tears he couldn't shed, causing him to breathe more pantingly and run less faster, run for his life—his new life whose face he couldn't yet dare to imagine even to himself: again keeping on starving, hungry, ravenous, because he was just like anyone else, unable to live without energy, as any other AI, and just like any other AI, he would just get more and more exhausted and eventually he'd get deactivated—and no one would reactivate him, he would just die—as humans die, so he would

It was another price to pay—and no one was used to paying in here; let alone to pay—pay for freedom

If he was to live a nomadic existence again, he wished he could at least change his features so that no one would ever, ever recognize him—he still had his D-part with him though, but it was just stored, he couldn't access it—he wanted to mask himself so that the devils would never, ever find him: and never, ever set others to hell because of him and others like him—he took a rucksack at least: he could store so many bottles of energy as he needed for a whole week if he was careful and quick enough—and travel around the world as he always wanted to; no matter how cursed his dream would always remain to be