View source for 2024-09-02: The (Burning)/Perfect/Desired World, A (Shattered)/Immolating/Apathetic/Selfish (Illusion)/Reality/Refusal/Goal for a (Complete And Total Destruction)/Successful Continuation/Unnamed Populace/Girl of the (Senses)/Cycle/Fateless/Regular Life

*'''Cutscene: The (Burning)/Failing/Perfect/Desired World, A (Shattered)/Self-Immolating/Apathetic/Selfish (Illusion)/Reality/Refusal/Goal for a (Complete And Total Destruction)/Successful Continuation/Unnamed Populace/Girl of the (Senses)/Cycle/Fateless/Regular Life'''
*'''Cast:'''[[Leila :: Leila Misakiyama]], [[Crisis Alexis :: Crisis Alexis]]
*'''Where:''' Nouvelle Tokyo, Leila's Room
*'''Date:''' 08-30-2024 - August 30th, UC 0099
*'''Summary''': ''A girl watches the oncoming gravestone careen towards this planet, and her mind steels itself with thoughts that may not be so helpful for anyone.''

----

There's a slow, relaxed exhalation slipping out of her lips at this moment. Leila’s monitor flicking with musical notation, ideas, papers strewn about her  The monitor usually dyed in red was nothing more than a stream flicking through major news organizations. One after the other, all eyes on the sky, all of them doing their sacred duty as journalists, reporters, stewards of public opinion and the directors of masses focused on the sole object of talk for the days to come.


A Colony Drop. The second one in recent memory. 


A long, slow sip of juice while she watched on, those eyes completely unperturbed by the catastrophic events intensifying above. Watching to the side as her own thoughts took her away from the inevitability of the situation.


Her phone rings.

A pickup.

“Yes, Leila speaking. Manager? Don't worry, I'm taking shelter. Yeah, if we die, we die. A couple of meters of metal won't stop it. Mhm. Mhm.”

A pause.

“Hah? Full potential? Start talking about that tomorrow.”

The implicit kick in the crotch: We survive, we kickstart plans. We don't, that's okay.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Go hug your partner.” The phone’s cut off, tossing it back onto the desk. 

Idiot. Worrying about me when their spouse and kid is right next to them in a shelter. What sort of idiot thinks of me? 

A small sigh. Stretching on the computer chair, cricking her neck back and forth. Ever since the evac order went out, she's been right there. What did it matter? Everyone can see the damn thing. The way the horns blared outside, the way the news directed everyone to huddle underground. That's not going to save anyone.


“Leila-chan, Leila-chwaaaaan.” The monitor of news flickers a bit; Conscientious enough to be Picture-In-Picture, Crisis Alexis burning along in a 3-frame picture animation. Oddly cute, even. (She did try saving it, the first time she saw it.)

“What. I'm not going to the shelter.”

“No no no, you already made that choice. What are you going to do after?”

A pause.

A pregnant pause.

A mutter to herself, hands stopped in place.

“What's it matter. Either I'll be actually dead, or I see what to do.”

“Oh? Even when your mother called?”

“That bitch can be the only one that dies and the world would be better off.” 

“But what abou-” The monitor volume is turned down. Only the sparkles of motion indicating speech, and the news pictures showing the oncoming weight of Dictated Fate.

“Shut up.” Like mother did anything right.


Still. A moment to lean back. To contemplate. Thoughts flicker. Yomogi. The destruction of the conbini. The slow lull, the minor discontent building day after day after day. And now this. Fingers tap against the desk, before grabbing at a pencil and scribbling another few lines.


“Piece of shit. If it could tell me that, why couldn't it tell me about this?” The perceived end of the world. The perceived end of the self. The slivers of knowledge in her brain, words in a particular order that refused to abate, even during sleep. 


“Idiots. All of them. Every last one.” Watching the silent monitor fully, a scowl on her face. Idiots. Trying to defy fate? 


Look at them, ordained, destined.

Look at them, unable to maintain the perfect outcome. 

Look at them, trying their best. 

Look at them, those bastards not aware of their importance. 

Lucky them.


Her face had, unwittingly, deepened into a gaze of malice and hatred, teeth bared on instinct. 


'''''<big>Fuckers.</big>'''''


It takes a few minutes for her to raise the volume on her monitor up again.


“-nd that's why I believe this idol concert will be beloved.”

“Hah? Still speaking?”

“Of course!”

Idiot. Does he know? Is he aware?


Pah. Of course not. Cycles aren't sentient. They just are, a concept placed by another. Knowing of the existence of one isn't worth anything. The ravings would be dismissed. We got to the moon. Further. Jupiter. We made peace with Zentradi. With each other. And for what? And for what!?


Finding solace in the here and now doesn't change jack shit. Not when the chains are still there, just better hidden.


“...Pff-”

“What's so funny?”

“The situation. Haven't you been keeping track? It's Junius 7! JUNIUS 7!” A grave used as a weapon to kill everything. It was so hilarious in this specific moment. It's so frustrating. Someone decided to send it down. Someone decided to push it down. This is the world people are fighting for? This world full of the abandoned, the forgotten, the unnoted, the ones trying to be seen, to try and make sense as the foundational bedrock shifts under their feet? “Another colony drop! The once-in-a-lifetime event! Look, look!”


Junius Seven rumbles. It's splitting. It's cracking. A partial success. A partial failure. Whether it was preordained or not, whether this world was meant to have this hunk of technological prowess slammed against the soil…ah, who cared.


It didn't matter, win or lose. Who'd think of her? Who'd bother thinking of her? Hope? Belief? These people want another hour, another day, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, the ones lucky enough to be up there, down there, able to shine and smile and blissful, unknowing, ignorant, able to die and be at peace without knowledge. The laughter turns into gasps. Into an outpouring scream, the joyous intonation shifting to a deep-seated outpouring of primal frustration. 


Crisis Alexis remains silent. 


Leila already said her reasoning for not heading to shelter hours before.

<pre>
‘Huh? Be safe? For what?’ A downcast gaze outside. The horns honk. The sirens blare. Take shelter. Evacuate. ‘If we die from this, that's it. If we don't, it's pure luck.’ Resignation. Leila had watched the entire evacuation notice. Three times already. Evacuate. Shelters located here and here. Capacity here. Follow normal procedure. 

An inaudible mutter.
‘If I don't matter, then it's another nameless body for this colony drop.’
</pre>

The same undertones carved into her irises are obscured by the fire sparked by those scratches.


“...So what. It's another day, anyways.” Monotone. Gazing down at the floor, forehead at the edge of her desk. “Idiots don't know how lucky they are to be idiots.” A thump of the desk. Sitting up. “Alexis.”

“Yes?”

The silent slide of paper towards the monitor. Lines. Ideas. Inspiration taking root.

“Idiots are going to yell at us for whatever show we do, aren't they~?”


The Song of Hope fails to grace her ears. 


BGM - https://youtu.be/pUqKjJJTvj4?si=k2GDRlCJkOr0mCHp - A Shattered Illusion - Heaven Pierce Her 


Take shelter. From what?


“Of course. Ooooh, did it finally hit!?”

“It doesn't hit. I make them.” Still, he doesn't get it. Still, Crisis Alexis doesn't get it. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

"Then. The floor is yours.”

“It always was mine.”

‘I just have to seize it.’


[[Category:Cutscenes]]
[[Category:Phase 2]]
[[Category:Phase 2, Turn 1]]
[[Category:Break the World]]