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The floor feels sticky, like you are dragging yourself through a swamp. The air too. Too thick and still to transmit any sound. Ever since you've entered the church, there is no sound of floor squeaking, glass cracking, or Kim breathing. As if he has disappeared. This thought makes you panic and turn around. Kim is still there, raising an eyebrow for your sudden movement.
"Kim!" Your shout turns out to be a whisper. It's too quiet, you have to say something: "We will head to the island the minute I give Soona her off-site copy. I'm curious, you know, about the two-millimeter hole in our world, what voice we can hear in it and all." The lieutenant simply nods. He would have said something normally. It is not your bullshit that he is surrendering to, but his tiredness. With the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble, he looks old to you for the first time. Too many deaths weigh on him. That of Titus, Theo, Glen, Angus, Liz, Ruby... And yours, almost. You are glad that you didn't become another bad memory for another good person.
Like a pilgrim, you walk across the wooden floor soaked with urine, blood, alcohol, and drug towards Her Innocence. Her Innocence Dolores Dei looks down into the dark void of the nave from her broken stained-glass window. Under her feet, along with her Terriers, architects, and navigators, there is Soona. The female programmer surrounds herself with screens of radio computer like a lanky insect on a light bulb. You are close enough to hear the sound of her smashing the keyboard: "Ahem."
Soona jumps. "You are alive," she says dryly: "I heard about the shooting two days ago." Before her eyes get glued to the screens again, you say: "We got your off-site copy." For a moment, she doesn't seem to understand you. Then she grabs your shoulders, hands shaking, eyes beaming with feverous light. Kim isn't quick enough to stop her, but it's alright. Despite your pain, your hand reaches into your pocket and takes out a shiny filament memory. Soona seizes that fragile thing, inserts it into her radio computer, and starts typing again. You and your questions are again shut out of her attention.
"It seems we have to wait now." "…Hum?" The lieutenant seems a bit embarrassed by his absent-mindedness. "I said, Kim, maybe we should rest a bit here. She needs some time to set up everything." Kim nods again. He realizes that his unusual silence disturbs you, but tiredness stops him from coming up with something to say. Finally, he resorts to an old question: "Have you remembered anything… I mean, from your past?"
Your past. Something has entered your head in the darkness of the church. The new guns sponsored by Wild Pine company, you can feel their weight in your hands again. Your precinct got a tip about Union members cooking drugs in the church. The door of the church was busted. Outburst deafening music and shouting of hundreds of people. Someone inside opened fire. Or maybe not, it was too loud to tell. RCM returned fire. Shouting turned into screaming. Those dancing inside started pushing and treading. You can see their screaming faces pressing against the windows. Then these faces turn into those of Titus, Liz, Ruby… No. You found yourself standing in front of Her Innocence's stained glass window. A girl with red hair was lying on the ground, blood bleeding from her chest. She was the prime suspect. You tried to press on her wound, but she spat on your face: "Fuck off Pig. I'm a silver bird." The eyes of Her Innocence were shut, but her eyes were wide open. Tide is rising in you. Tide of death, tide of the past. Yet the only thing that comes out of your mouth is: "I broke Dolores Dei's window."
The lieutenant's eyes widen. Surprise makes him look young -- unburdened. Then his lips curve: "It sounds like you." You don't expect him to say anything else, but he continues after a short silence: "Some people find Dolores Dei terrifying, inhuman. Not for the glowing lung or unnatural warmth. But because she is the inevitable. There is no running away from history." His eyes hide behind his glasses, glowing with the reflection of light from computer screens. "Kim, I always thought you are a believer of moralism."
"I am. At least for the part against killing. But maintaining the status quo…" Light is flowing on his glasses when he tilts his face, looking up to Her Innocence. His voice sounds old again, speaking in your head what the lieutenant will hesitate to say despite his honesty: we are dying in the status quo, just more slowly. The Coalition and their warships are the new Innocence now. Your sight follows the lieutenant's eyes, those glowing small rounds in the dark. Then the light goes out. You look away.
A thousand year has passed, or ten seconds. "Are you alright?" You hear Kim again. He is talking to Soona. She has stopped typing long ago, staring blankly into the screen. "It is done," she mumbles: "It is done." Kim's voice is calm and comforting as always: "So what's wrong?"
"We can hear from the hole now… But I'm not sure about this anymore." Soona looks at the lieutenant like a frightened child: "What are we going to hear? What if nothing is… nothing?" Nothing. That sounds too good. Something is screaming in your head -- you can no longer tell the screaming from the church raid from that of the tribune. They are all screaming. You hear yourself speaking: "What can be worse than now?"
Soona's right hand is cramping, shaking like her fingers are going to fall off. She struggles to place her equally shaking left hand on her right. Two hands together, she presses the button. Nothing but devouring silence. Then, the whole church starts trembling. Dust, wood, glass, all falling down like snow in the soundless scream of nothingness. "Make it stop!" "I can't! I unplugged the computer, but it won't stop!" "Hide! Harry! Hide!" But you don't want to hide.
Everything is falling apart.
You want to dance with the music that is no more, or you want to cry. But you are doing neither. Instead, you run towards the rafters of the church and start climbing. Higher and higher. Kim is shouting at you from below, his eyebrows frowned, his mouth opening and shutting. But his sound will never reach you again. The church is crumbling, and you climb upwards. Into the darkness. Into the nothingness.
Who knows where that two-millimeter hole can be, when it will shoot through your head. But here it is --
Glowing. Warm. From the past. From the future.