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The first time you open your eyes, you find yourself gape at the big bunny ears. The second thing you realize is that you are wearing ridiculously thick layers of clothes, slithery and squeaky.
“Come on, Doctor.” You feel cold, hard ridges around her fingers.
For such a small hand, her grip is surprisingly firm. She heaves you up from the cold confine. The weight of the clothes bears down on you. Your shoes thud on the glistening laboratory floor.
She is not alone. There is an ensemble of armed militants standing dissonantly behind her as you loom over her. Each of them wears an expression, some share the same relief as this little bunny girl, some gave a customary nod — they are covered just like you — and others glare at you with cold fury as if it is supposed to mean something.
You can’t remember.
Your steps are measured, heavy and familiar, your hands as if recalling on their own, slide into the pockets of your dark robe. A nagging sense of weariness and unease creeps at your palms.
“Don’t forget me, Doctor.”
You ball your fists within, and that anxious sense burrows back into your subconscious depth.
A deafening crack shakes the place.
“We need to move now.”
The world outside rumbles. The Amiya girl issues some instructions and you are being escorted out like a headless chicken. She stays close to you and when she blasts someone or something with her black magic (?), — and each of the operators has some kind of magical skills — you almost choke at the destructive display of force.
Doors after doors, streets after streets, they request your tactical command. You are coated in layers of crumbling dust and soot and splatters of blood — you think, you are not sure, you are wearing thick gloves. Why gloves though?
Baffling, yet in your mind, these are the keys that unlock those doors.
Was your pre-amnesiac life this harrowing?
A click. And a door unlocks and another. Familiar tactics and similar operators, rapid skills analysis cramming back to your mind. Aside from those and the familiarity of how your clothes envelop you, you remember nothing else. So, you wave tentatively at those who greeted you with your title, your name even. Friend or foe, you can’t tell.
“Oh, it’s you.” The girl in red with handfuls of grenades speaks, her tone disinterested, but the glint in her eyes sharpens to a butcher’s chill.
“Yes, it’s me apparently.” You reply across the ruined street. You are tired from all this running. “Anything you would like to add about this?” You gesture at your head.
The Amiya girl frowns. Okay, so maybe you do not do sarcasm.
The girl in red laughs hysterically. You could almost see the glitter at the corner of her eyes.
“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”
You sigh. The vapour clouds your mask briefly. This seemed to be the recurring theme ever since you awake. “Okay then, good luck.” You amp up the obliviousness in your tone and let yourself be swept away by the escort team like a headless chicken again.
“Tick tock, Doctor!” She shouts after you.
Fiery red explosions, soot and dust that never seemed to settle. Crumbling buildings, burning streets, and deafening riots against discrimination. Traces of conspiracies, cryptic talks, and unfinished conversations.
You wrap like a delicate cocoon, trailing behind. The burning air flutters with dark specks. It tastes like a homecoming.
Perhaps you are having a lucid dream.
Is Amiya really just a little girl? Or is she much older than her appearance implied? You can’t tell.
When she leans into you after the Ursus escapade, covers in gore and soot, with your robes between, you almost involuntarily squirm.
* * *
She stops leaning in after that. The bravado from the mission evaporates when she talks to you. She skims around you, careful and polite, like tiptoeing on thin ice.
A gust of strong wind almost whirls you up to your toes, your robes flutter with the gust.
The world has always been weird. The people around you are particularly confusing. Despite your previous fearsome reputation (?), they talk all over you, and decisions made.
“So, you are the Doctor.” Someone gives you a once over. She has bunny ears and holds a hammer. Cautus. You remember.
You will more to pop up in your mind.
Nothing.
You smile before remembering they can’t see your face. You hitch your voice and saturates your sentence with a cheery pitch. “Would you like a medic instead?”
“Oh, a funny one too.”
To be fair, you seem to be one of those juicy topic pieces people murmur behind your back, the same batch would not stop expecting you to come up with some brilliant strategies. Honestly, it feels more like a muscle memory instead of your geniuses. An automation.
“Oh, someone is?” You respond with dense platitudes, glancing around for someone who is laughing. There is Lappland laughing over there. So you nod agreeably.
“Woah, are we trading jokes?”
“Am I?” You reply with the sincerest tone you could muster. Until you know who you are and what your stance is, you will allow yourself to drown in this flood and see where it flows.
She slaps your shoulder with a force that lurches you forward. “You’d never-”
“Savage, go bother someone else!” Amiya pushes the Savage bunny lady away.
Savage laughs and hobbles away.
“Doctor…?” She tugs the edges of your robe (or jacket?) tentatively.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice soft.
You rummage for holes and tears in your clothing. It rustles and squeaks beneath your touch. “I think so. Are you okay?”
“Yes, thanks for asking, Doctor.” The conversation ends, and she looks away. But she lingers on.
You thank your common-sense that you know there’s more to come — perhaps you should chalk it up to your strategic premonition, always knowing how many more enemies to come — and you wait.
She fidgets under your stare, “I’m sorry that everything is so annoying.” And decides to put her restless energy in twiddling the edge of her oversized jacket.
You blink.
“Why would you say that?”
Her grip tightens, “I know I did.” Her voice down to a whisper. “I feel your unease.”
How do you answer that?
Click.
“Did you lie?”
“Yes.”
The voice laughs, delighted.
“I… was disorientated, and overwhelmed.” You admit, one hand sliding back into the comfort of your pocket. “But I think I’m okay now.” Carefully, you reach out with another hand and pat her head with featherlight touches, avoiding her ears. “Give me some time.”
“Okay.” She refuses to look at you, instead, her two fingers pluck and tug your jacket. Her face red.
Idly, you think it might be better if you nudge her toward the shady tree.
* * *
“So you have come.”
You almost sigh in equal parts of surprise and relief before the doctor tosses a bristling look that almost freezes you to your bone. Something lodged in your throat and your stomach churns. Your hands throb.
Click.
“Victory at all cost.”
“Stop-”
Sometimes you wish you are as agile with your snark as you are with your tactics. Like swapping ST medics to AoE guards. You clench your fists; your gloved fingers dig bluntly into your palm.
A slight pull on your robe and then you are off to another mission.
* * *
It is a split second, black lightning crackles and streaks across the field. It pierces the little fella a few paces in front of you. Their oversize launchers slip from their hands and clunk on the ground.
The frantic noises die down.
Amiya stands still at the other side of the field with the rest of the main squad, unmoving.
You cringe as your shoes squelch with each step you take, leaving a slipstream of blood behind. Soon, you stand in front of her, holding her shoulder.
She looks up. "I-"
Words that you had gathered and unpacked from the bundle of emotions dissipate. You do not know what to say. You resist the urge to slip your hand back in.
Instead, she just tugs your sleeves, and her eyes cast down at your blood-stained shoes.
How do you inspire such fiercely protective loyalty in a little girl like that?
Not you. Your voice reminds.
Click.
"Me? I'm just a teacher." Your voice laughs.
* * *
Misha dies, and Amiya is away.
You are stuck in this room with grumpy Dr. Kal’tsit, and you let your tongue run off in the Medical Wing. “It’s cruel. To dangle the carrot before her.”
“That is rich coming out from you.” It is all she says.
A beat. “Of course, which is also rich coming out from you.” You retort a second too late. You wince. Machines at the background whir in agreement.
As you learn in your brief time together, Dr. Kal’tsit is an accomplished minimalist and pragmatist, she deals with you via a need-to-know basis only.
Tell me more. Who was I?
Dormant questions flood your little brain. Why is Amiya doing this? How long has this little girl been running Rhodes Island? What happened during my absence? What happens if I die? Was I dead before? You inhale and open your mouth-
“Do your job and keep her safe.” And she let her searing glare does the rest.
You nod mutely as you do with most things that do not go against your morality.
Click.
“Morality? Do you still have one?”
That night, you dream of lush pink threads and lightning horns.
“Tick tock, Doctor. You can’t stay on the fence forever.”
* * *
Click.
“Would you rather have powers and die a painful death or live a long and boring life?”
Arts.
“Yes.” your voice answers.
Raising your hand to shield from the glaring sun, small rays escape through the gaps of your skull-like fingers, your skin a bluish tint.
What races are you? You wonder, looking at the horns and ears, tails and feathers around you. Aside from your memories, common knowledge returns like gentle rains of a breezy morning.
Amiya skitters around you, always an arm’s distance. Her bunny ears poking upright in every scene you glimpse.
Gently, you pull her into your space and bend down so she stands over you instead.
“Doc- Doctor?” Her face is red. Pale skin blushes easily under the sun, you note.
You raise her palms. The rings on her fingers are cold despite the heat, her palms are rough and calloused against your bony smooth fingers.
“Dr. Kal’tsit told me to monitor your rings.”
“Oh, right.” She looks away, redder than before.
“They look fine.”
She smiles a thousand watts. “Don’t worry about me, Doctor, I will take good care of myself.”
Click.
“Hey, Amiya?”
“Hey, Amiya?”
“Yeah?”
“How different was I then?”
Her brown eyes widen. “It’s-” She closes her mouth.
When she opens it again, she looks into your eyes. “You were kind to me, just like you are now.” There is an appreciative glint in her brown eyes, the way they squint as if they are smiling.
You know when someone is trying too hard to sell something. “I’m still the same then?”
She deliberates, a shift in her posture, before staring back into where your eyes are behind the mask. “You were good at what you do, like you are now. You helped me when I was young and fragile and weak.” She pauses.
“You taught me strategies and tactics. I had learned so much by watching you, you helped us so much, that…” her voice trails and she falls silent, her gaze far away.
By now, you could roughly guess why. “Amiya?” your voice soft. Was I heartless then?
Her eyes snap back to the present. “Doctor?”
“Do you ever lie to me?” Because it’s too soon to ask otherwise.
“No, never.” She breathes. Her voice takes on a hard quality that you seldom hear outside of a mission. “But from your question, you implied that I did.”
Ouch. And you have your answer.
Click.
“Touché, Doctor.” Their grin splits wide open, bloody teeth and torn lips.
“Sorry.” You stutter with an apologetic smile that you doubt she could see.
That is the price for underestimating a girl who leads and negotiates with city leaders, and her battle-tested defence mechanism.
But you are unconvinced with her answer.
She frowns.
And you think she knows that too.
* * *
Click.
“I only want the power to keep them safe, please.”
Click.
“It’s not enough, I need more.”
Click.
“There is a limit to how much I can care.”
From one fray to another, the little bunny girl keeps ushering you forward.
Click.
“Onwards, Doctor.” The voice giggles.
While it is endearing to have someone endorses you when you don’t even know who you were, you are tempted to tell her she places too much faith in someone new.
“So, how is it, Doctor?”
You are sitting with a table full of scenery photos scatter on your desk. And Amiya is hovering beside you, giggling and eager.
You hum. “I guess I’d been to this place before?” You point at one with a sunny beach. Huh, how did they manage to capture the beach so empty? It used to be filled with-
“Doc- Doctor! What about this!” She squeaks and pokes at another photo quickly.
Over the top gothic high rises. “Londinium.” You laugh.
“Oh, this one is peculiar. There’s a shady figure under the tree while a cute little Cautus frolicked in a meadow of vivid green. They look familiar?”
“Cu- cute?” She squeaks. Her face flushes with vermillion red. She snatches the photo away and clutches it close to her heart. “This is not part of the game!” She refuses to meet your eyes.
A familiar shade of pink catches your eye amidst of grey, blue, green, and red. A tattered photo. You were standing at a corner of an old dusty office, back turned. Kal’tsit looked up from a crummy work desk, frowned at the camera. A pink-haired Sarkaz lady cuddled Amiya enthusiastically.
“Tell me about this one.”
Her eyes flicker to the photo. The moment stretches and when she speaks again, her voice is wistful. “It was the old office before Rhodes Island was founded.”
Click.
“How long have you been here?”
“…Too long.”
Click.
“I will see you again, Doctor!”
* * *
You feel so exhausted sometimes, you just want to close your eyes forever. You wonder if there is someone else who is supposed to wake from that Sarcophagus?
"She is reckless when she comes to your safety. You have to curb that temperament of hers.” Kal’tsit remarks as she looks at your battle reports. “Otherwise, her attachment to you will be the end of us all."
“Of course.” You could never miss the bitterness that seeps into her acerbic tone. “Anything else?”
She glares at you. You shrug. It is just another usual terse dance between you two. Unless she is going to reveal more, you don’t deign to respond.
“They saw something in you.”
“And now, everything is in ruin and ashes.” You respond instead. “Do you think they still see something in me?” Have you ever?
“Most of them are dead now.”
“Anything else?” you suppress your yawn.
“And you betrayed her.”
You blink. Did she say that?
“I can never trust you.”
“Yes, gatekeeping at its finest.” Your yawn breaks, you pull your hood over your head, and doze off on the metallic table.
* * *
You remember touching your face and feel the puckered flesh crisscross on the left side of your cheek. It is no longer there.
You remember a flowing stream. Grey snowfalls. Vivid blue sky saturates with rising columns of smog.
You remember how winter chill brushes your pale skin. Something burns in the air. It tastes like charred flesh.
You remember how hard it is to breathe even with your mask off, how light it feels without the weights of layers upon your shoulder. Your face burns.
“It’s alright now, little one,” you murmur to the little bundle curl beneath you. You grimace. The burned flesh pulls as you speak.
She whimpers.
You rummage for familiar vials in your burned pocket. Vials of medicine crumble in your bloody palms. Shattered glasses dig into your hands.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you bring her to a battlefield?
“It’s okay, I’m here.” You embrace her tighter. How small she feels in your hold.
“Recon Team!" You shout across the ruined factory. Your throat grinds against the air that fills your lungs. It burns like everything else.
“Babel, come in!”
“Babel!!”
… You don't remember how long were you shouting before someone comes. Lengthy and graphical memories like these are far and rare. When it transpires, it smacks you with the force of a dozen Sarkaz mercenaries, leaving you to wobble on your feet.
“How did you cope?” Vapour and warmth escape from your mouth.
Amiya blinks, she stops rubbing her hands for a moment.
“Doctor?”
You are in a caravan en route to the Yeti’s holdup. The frost burns.
“How did you cope during my cryogenic sleep?”
Her fingers pull the hem of your jacket before she speaks. “I keep myself busy, with the studies and lessons you left behind.”
That is all she says. But you know that is not all that she did.
* * *
FrostNova dies in your arms.
Something inside you shrivel to dust. Your hands grip tightly at limp arms, hard and frozen. Phantom pain sears in your palms.
Something crumbles in the distance. Desperate shouts echo in the cavern. You see nothing, and you hear everything. They are in a cold blur, glaze by a haunting white fog.
“How do you connect with the world?” A familiar voice asks. Pink fluttering, a pair of horns jutted out, and a face full of smile pans in.
* * *
You slouch on the metal cold chair with your hood off.
“You used to let them die.” Kal’tsit mutters.
“So I’ve heard.” You answer without a beat.
She tilts your face away as she inspects the specks of black crystals latch around your left ear and cheek. You do not know how they get into your overcompensate protective gear.
“Demystify me then.”
She scoffs.
“Tell me who I was and what I did.”
“No.” She snaps close her box of medical tools.
“Why not? Tyrants always fear the truth because tyrants want to mystify while truth clarifies.”
Click.
“Objective truth or personal truth?”
She stands up. “We are done here.”
“No.” You step into her path, grateful that for once, you are not wearing your mask. “Not this time.”
Her brows wrinkle with a withering glare that is so full of disgust.
You will the liquid in your empty stomach to stay still.
“Tell me about Amiya then.” You speak. “How does a girl so young be responsible for all these? Why does she have all these powers?” You gesture at your surroundings.
“Tell me how she endures all these craps that we pile on her all these years.” Your palms tremble, you clench them tight, your nails dig into your skin. You slip your fists into the comfort of your pockets. “Please.”
The crease between her brow softens, she looks away for a fraction, her million watts glare settles into a scowl.
“… You should ask her then.” Her voice is soft. She steps around you and walks away.
You already did that. It is not enough.
Click.
“Probe deeper.”
* * *
It hits you like a D32 steel block when you realize you have not seen Amiya outside of work and inspection for a while now.
"Amiya has been evading you." A scratchy voice casually and helpfully speaks behind you. You turn around. There is nothing there.
"Do you know why?"
"Why don't you ask her, Doctor? She's with Rosy doing target practice.” There is a brief pause. “I think they are almost done.”
"Right, thanks Ethan."
"Happy to help." The voice drifts off to the other end of the control room.
You slip into the training room just as Rosy and Amiya are cleaning up.
“Hello, Amiya. Hello, Rosy.”
“Hi, Doctor.” There are is endearing innocence and delight in the way Rosy looks at you.
“Doctor?”
It hits you again when you realize you don’t even know why you are looking for her. “How are you two?”
“Fine. Is there anything that I can help you with, Doctor?” Amiya speaks.
“Oh, um- it’s been a while but let me see your rings." What a terrible pretence. You are grateful when Amiya says nothing of the inspection that Kal’tsit did yesterday.
You take your time to inspect the rings one by one, while she shuffles from feet to feet.
“Are we done?”
You nod.
“Okay, Red and I promised Rosy to help her with homework." She pushes Rosy out of the room. Rosy waves at you. Your heart throbs at such display of cuteness.
“Okay. See you la-ter?”
They are gone before your speech ends. The room is empty. A profound sense of melancholy and loneliness hits you from head to toe, and you wonder why.
* * *
You slump over your working desk.
It is a slow day. Somehow there are still so many things to do. Having shared space with Kal’tsit, you finally found the good thing about enduring her presence.
“How long do you think I have to keep this up?” You absently push your lunch away. At least the hypothesis of your cooking skill is verified. You note mentally that you should talk to Matterhorn about his kind offer when SilverAsh is not around.
“As long as you have to.”
You hum. “Unappealing.”
“You owe Amiya this.”
“Tell me why.” You stretch your body and hear some cracks within.
“The sins of the father do not excuse their children. They fester.”
You sigh. "Do you think I can leave Rhodes Island?” You gesture at the mountainous reports behind you. Platinum’s file is open, you make sure of that. The way you smirk down at Kal’tsit, a smug challenge.
Her ears twitch. “You can’t.”
There is another barely visible twitch at the corner of her lips that looks suspiciously like a smile if seen from a certain angle.
You stand up, taking your leftover lunch. “Indeed, I’m stuck.” You recite with a dramatic flourish and watch her ear twitch again. “And you are stuck with me.”
For added effect, you take a spoonful of mash and flick it. It lands with a smudgy splatter on her doctor’s robe. Thanks for the idea and practice, Plat.
You do not stay around to watch her ear twitch for the third time, nor experience Mont3r’s thundering roar. You decide to take emergency leave that day.
You refuse to think what Kal’tsit has in store for you tomorrow.
But it feels liberating.
* * *
Everyone does it differently.
You used to do it with an ever-shortening range until only a few comrades could bear, while Amiya tries to encompass everything and everyone.
Click.
“What about you?”
You blink, and the scene in front of you refocuses.
Ch’en brandishes her sword at Yen Weiwu.
“What is your choice, Doctor?”
* * *
Your schedules are packed.
When you are not wading around the battlefields, or fortifying yourself with looming document and stacked homework, or dozing off with drools down your lips, you are spending time with someone.
“Hello, Skadi.”
“Be careful, Doctor.” It is her turn to be your weekly assistant. You enjoy Ptilopsis’ jokes last week. And you miss Amiya while she used to be your assistant back in your early days.
“Is there something bothering you, Doctor?” She asks quietly, her gaze gentle. “It would be my pleasure to demolish anything that bothers you.”
You laugh. “I know I could always trust you.” Your heart warms as her blushes blossom on her pale cheeks and she averts her gaze. She is bashful as she is blunt. Would she tell the truth?
“Skadi, do you believe in free will?”
She looks back at you.
“I…” She trails off. “I would like to believe each of us has our own will. That’s why I’m here.” Her crimson eyes look at the blue of her hem, fluttering lightly in the air-conditioned room.
“This surface world… is a dry and strange place. The more I push people like you away, the more they coalesce around me.” Her voice simmers down to a whisper, her eyes lock at her feet. “But I’m glad I meet you, Doctor.”
You realize Skadi connects to the world by her need to protect others and does so by pushing others away. There is no right or wrong in that.
"Likewise." You grin. “You know, we are cruising along the coast these few days and I heard from Astesia that the nights in this region are especially clear.”
Despite being in the centre of this whirling shithole of conspiracies and secrets, you are just a passerby in their stories. You will help her, so she is not alone for her time here.
You take off your mask and put on a serene smile. “Let’s stargaze tonight.”
* * *
“Do it.”
Click.
* * *
“Amiya?”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Could you come to my office? I would like to talk to you.”
“If you don’t mind, could we talk outside?”
“If you are concern, I could ask Kal’tsit to sit in as well.” You are not deaf to the rumours that fly around.
Horror dawns on her face before she looks away. “No, it’s not that.” Her fingers twisting her jacket. “I will talk to them about it.”
You sigh. “The stars are out tonight, let’s go to the dock then?”
“Will Skadi join us?”
“Would you like her to?”
“No-, I mean I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry, Aak and Doberman will be by the control centre.”
You feel an exasperated tug. “That’s not what I mean-“
“I know.” You swallow down incoming guffaw. “Don’t worry too much, it is just a talk.”
You watch her demeanour shifts. She stands straighter, her presence expands, fortifying. “Okay.”
You step out onto the dock. Winds from the valley howl. You sigh and put on an earphone while passing a Cautus headphone to Amiya. “It’s a private channel.”
She nods and slips it on.
Here it goes.
“Amiya, I know I have not been honest about my feeling on Rhodes Island. You know how I feel. I’m confused, the past is restricted and confidential.” You pace your words and calm your breaths.
“Without the full picture, who’s to say I am making the right decision and of my own will.” You clench away the haunted pain in your palm.
“The choices we made influences Terra, yet my choices and actions could cruise on a track that is predetermined by the generosity and manipulations of others.”
You take a deep breath. “I resented that I was pulled into the middle of things without context and that ugly sentiment bleeds out to you. I know it is not your choice, you are probably as fog up like me.” You look at her. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
She fidgets. Her fingers fiddling the hem of her old jacket. Her armour vanishes. “I’m sorry too. I keep pushing you, latch on the mantra that ‘there’s no other way but forward’, that I’m different, I’m strong now. Your memories will return, and we are together again just like before without the…” her voice trails off.
You brace yourself for the word that has been stalking you like scraps of empty cans screeching the weathered asphalt road ever since you wake up.
But she carries on. “That is naïve. You are different from before. You are you now. What passed is done.” Her speech speeds up, slurring into a single thin thread.
“The truth is, I’m terrified-” Her voice hitches. “-terrified that you do not feel the same anymore, terrified that I push you too much, terrified you might leave Rhodes Island and m-! I can't-” She breathed in. “People die. Our friends die. Misha dies. FrostNova and Patriot-!”
Her stoic expression crumbles. She looks away. Her arms fly up to cover her face, “I don't want to be alone on this path again-!!” Her pitch soars into a muffled crescendo. “I thought I’m strong enough now! I'm not that fragile, scared little girl anymore! But-!” And it breaks.
She uses her sleeves on her arms to wipe her tears and conceal from your sight. “I still feel so helpless, I’m tired.” You hear her sobs through your earphone.
“There’s no other way but plough onward.” she echoes weakly.
Your heart throbs wild, and your lungs squeeze hard, begging for more air. Your clenched hands tremble, phantom pain gnaws hungrily at them. She is one tiny speck against this vast moving cosmos that looms so high above.
The old you bulldoze onward, clearing worlds with everything you got. Was she why you were so ruthless?
Click.
“Truth can wait.” You declare as you glance every one of them in the room. “Paths needs to be clear before it presents itself.”
“Maybe.” You mutter as you step into her space and gently pull her close enough so she could lean in if she wants. “It’s okay.”
And she clings to you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her grip tight. You stroke her small back as she hiccups her sobs. “I am still with you. We carry on together.”
“Promise this time you will be with me all the way?” her voice sounds so small, so meek against howls of the night wind that threaten to blow your hood off. Despite so, within her voice, there is a tiny glimmer of hope lay bare.
“I will try.” You smile. There is something damp in your eyes. It is not a promise, you don’t know how long each of you will last. Perhaps another you will take over down the line. But you will make sure you will not be the last one standing when it happens.
She lifts her head. There is quiet understanding in the way she looks back at you, “I will help you stay on longer then.” She sniffs.
You brush her tears and snots away. “And I to you.” You embrace her as tight as you can.
You don’t know how all this will end. But it will be sublime while you last, you swear.
She tightens her grip around you.
“Everything will be okay, Doctor.”
* * *
The girl in red joins Rhodes Island.
“Hello, Doctor.” There is that reassuring maniacal grin again.
“I heard you are fond of pink hair horned ladies.”
“Wha- Who tells you that?”
You nod in the general direction where Kal’tsit and Amiya are. You are good at this.
“Here you go.” You hand her a box of random photographs fill to the brim. Of various pink hair horned ladies that you scour over your time here. “Your welcome gifts.”
Hopefully, one of them is who she is looking for.
“Enjoy!” and you scurry away. You hope Scene captures that.
* * *
How did you connect with this world?
You look at the assortment of Tokens scatter in your room.
Someone knocks on your door, metal upon metal, pace even and eager. The door slides open. “Doctor?”
How do you connect with this world?
You tug your jacket on. Delicate fingers pull at its edge, and you ruffle the owner’s hair, messing her bangs.
“Doctor!” She pouts.
You chuckle. “Let’s go, Amiya.”