Chapter Text
THE FUTURE
CALLER ID: +86 XXXXXXXX
DATE: 6.2.26
[WOMAN] Hi…uhm. I just wanted to leave this second voice message for you. I- I don’t know. Uhm- your friend Infume reached out to me so… apparently you’re a supervillain (dry laugh). Most wanted in the world– Frostbite. Where whoever crossed his path had a 67% chance of surviving. (snicker)
But against the odds, I am still alive. Visiting that one-room apartment filled with incense. Breathing the same dusty air as you. Eating acidic Jollibee spaghetti as you did.
Honestly, I should be more shell-shocked that you stand on death row. I should be less willing to make this voice message to you. But I’m not. I think I would be even less if I spent more time with you.
How’d you even meet this Infume guy? I guess that’s what I want to know before you go on trial. Something’s… not right with him. It’s bothering me that I don’t know what. I want to be honest with you, on your final days, and I want to be open. No more veneers.
He seems capable. Well-connected enough… to know you’re a villain. And devoted. That’s what rubs me the wrong way. That he keeps coming back to see you. He’s not even your sister. Sunday. Sunday. And the next Sunday. I’d be on a yacht if I had a nickel for every time he came. It would make Solidarity pretty upset, y’know.
Who exactly was he to you? He clearly knows you’re a villain. Someone who’s killed and will kill when he has the sliver of chance, just for the fun of it. Like Pa. So why does he cling on? Why does he linger around your room all day, stare as you lay motionless like a stone in that bed? Talk to you for hours on end, about ice rinks and Australian tortoises that never made it back to shore, that receded into the tides of time. Even when you could only barely move an inch.
Hold your hand like it’s the most tender object in the world.
You can’t have this kind of… thing in a day. I saw him. I saw him! On that Sunday before December. I exited your room, and you barely even spoke to me. I’m still sore about that. Anyway, I almost crashed into him, with his frazzled hair and 9 o’clock shadow. He was courteous about apologising, and then slipped into your room, those translucent doors covering his tracks.
So I was curious. I was really curious.
I glanced both ways and the police guards stationed outside your ward weren’t there. I dunno, getting donuts I guess. So I pressed against your ward door like I was in a god damn spy movie, ear against the world. I had the black sheet dress and everything.
I listened. He was very sweet to you. And you were very sweet to him. Even from double-insulated walls, I could hear your grin. He had that saccharine freshener that lingered even outside the room. He was helping you adjust the bed and he asked about your day. You never told me you wanted me to. He asked if you wanted to watch the office with him, and you said yes. You hate sitcoms.
Then you two’d mutter in hushed voices. Don’t think I couldn’t hear you! He would ask what you wanted to eat from downtown, even if unauthorised food couldn't be brought into the ICU. All that for you to ask him to get you a few fries and beef burgers. But at your reply his voice brightened as if money fell from the sky for him.
You’d talk about your days and all. His were comparably lame to be honest, even if you rotted for twenty-four hours in your room. You talked about skies, seas and ice that you had seen on TV. Icarus and Poisonbriar. And me.
That I was there for you all the time. He asked how I used to be before all this. And you replied wonderful. I couldn’t stand to listen anymore, so I bolted.
Not wonderful enough to tell me everything? So what else are you hiding from me?
… you’re a god damn criminal. Why do I even bother sometimes. It's not worth missing C-N-Y for you. One who would hide things from his sister. And I hate you. A lot. This is not even half of what I want to say. Bye.
[END OF VOICE MESSAGE]