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She finds herself in a darkness without sensation.
She can't feel her body. She can't feel anything around her. She sees nothing, knows nothing, other than this deep dark. There is only a singular sound. The low, thrumming noise of her own heartbeat.
The fear passes quickly, replaced by anger. Rage.
Why is it that she is stuck here?
Why did things have to turn out like this?
Why is it always her?
Why, why, why?
In that infinite void of her future, all she has are these questions. In the nothingness that has become her life?
All that she has left is hatred.
The nightmares began in Redo.
She had nightmares before Redo. Ordinary ones, about her Mom and about being back in school and about all the various ways her life could fall apart. Bad, sure, but she would wake up from them afterwards, forget what happened, and go on with her quiet little existence.
She slept often in Redo. Not because she needed to; Regret was built without need for either sleep or sustenance. No, Sayoko slept in Redo because she got bored. Bored of watching everyone go about their perfect little manufactured lives. Bored of sitting in her cage, a girl locked away on top of a tower. So she would sleep, just to pass the time.
The Go-Home Club helped that a lot. They were far more interesting for her to follow. She slept a lot less when they were around.
In Redo, she dreamed other people's nightmares. The things they wished to forget instead became hers. Trauma and heartbreak and so, so much regret. She saw all of it, in bits and pieces, but despite how it sounded, it wasn't actually that bad. What she saw there felt like she was staring at it through a layer of water. It was distant, distorted. Even as she felt every emotion, they simultaneously also felt unreal. Like they were happening to someone else rather than happening to her. Probably because they had.
But after coming back from Redo, what we're once distant scenes of suffering became visceral. Concrete. There was no longer any distance between viewpoints. Just raw memories of the worst moments in other people's lives.
She doesn't know why she still has them. She's not in Redo anymore. She shouldn't be experiencing anything like this. The best Sayoko can grasp is that it's some sort of strange, traumatic backlog of sensation. Her mind reliving the things she saw there, this time without the remove offered to her as a Goddess. If that's the case, then they'll stop on their own, and she can't think of any other reason for this to be happening that isn't far more concerning, or completely implausible. So she accepts it.
In the meantime, though, she has to deal with the misery. Which is fine, all things considered. Sayoko is used to dealing with adversity. What is one more thing going wrong in her life to add to the pile?
She steps out of the shower, grabbing her towel off the counter to dry. Today is an important day. A day she's spent weeks preparing herself for. She's got an important meeting, and she wants to look presentable for it, even if she knows the subject of said meeting probably won't care how she looks. It's the principle of the thing.
She wipes down the mirror with her hand as she finishes drying herself off, and she can't help but stare at herself. It's been weeks since she got her hair cut, and she's still trying to get used to the new look. She's had long hair her whole life. Thick, dark, and curly, spilling over her shoulders. Now? It's been chopped off, with maybe half an inch left on the sides, with some volume left on top.
She got her ears pierced after, with silver stud earrings, since it compliments her new hair well. She likes it, but she's still not used to it. She runs her fingers through it, once, twice, before she picks up her comb off the counter. Combing it, rubbing in some product, she smirks at her own reflection for a moment, before turning away in embarrassment.
She doesn't look anything like Regret. She never really has. She never minded Regret's appearance. It was one of the aspects of the false virtuadoll she herself created, that she herself had control over. And once, that ideal served only to illuminate the gulf between her real and imagined lives. But being able to look at herself in the mirror, and see her own face staring back, it feels good. She looks good , in an entirely different way than she's used to. It's a surreal experience, but it's far from a bad one.
But even so, it doesn't really matter that much. It's all a distraction, in a way, because as excited as she is for this, she's also incredibly nervous about her meeting. After all, the person she's going to meet with does tend to be… difficult, to put it nicely. But it's important to her to do this. Among the many affairs she has left to settle after Redo? This is one of them, and it wouldn't do for her to leave it hanging for longer than needed.
It's funny. In these past weeks, she's left her house more than she has in literal years. Most of it for business, granted, but still. It's something she never could have really imagined doing before. Then again, it's not like she could have imagined living out a whole stint as a Goddess either. Life has its way of surprising people.
But this feels, well, good. She's happy that she's doing this. And more than anything else? That thought absolutely terrifies her.
Returning to the real world hasn't been as boring as Marie thought it would be. She hadn't known what to expect in Redo, in truth. Marie Mizuguchi didn't remember much of her life then. Bits and pieces, frightful images of a past just out of reach. When she first woke up, she was prepared for a life of complete and utter boredom. A painful reality where she couldn't move, where she was stuck staring at the ceiling, listening to the maddening, repetitive beeping of medical instruments.
But the world has changed since she entered Mobius. What has once been cutting edge tech now is much more widely available. So Ryuto, knowing of her condition, helped make arrangements to move her to a nicer hospital facility. He used his rich kid wealth to buy her a proper computer, setting up eye controls so that she could actually use it herself. It kept her from getting too bored, at the very least. She could watch people get into stupid arguments about inane bullshit, get into stupid arguments about inane bullshit, find awful movies from 1987 with like five hundred views and watch them in a state of fascination about how anyone could think this shit was good enough to release to an audience.
The Go-Home Club would visit her, which helped break up the monotony of it all. Noto and the President stopped by most often, which makes sense. They used to be her classmates, after all. It only follows that they'd consider her closer to them than the rest. Tsurumaki also came by decently often. His sense of honor and justice, presumably, compelling him to make sure she had company. Stupid of him, but well, it did keep her occupied, so she wasn't going to complain to him about it.
Kobato stopped by too, but he always seemed uncomfortable with Marie Mizuguchi, even more than the others. She quite likes watching him squirm just looking at her, getting all riled up by her very presence. Seeing this twisted, distorted thing replace the girl he wanted in the pants of. Ryuto is the most surprising in his dedication, but if she gives it a bit of thought, she can see his reasoning.
They don't come for her, of course. They come for Marie Amabuki. And she can give them Amabuki, of course, but she's been doing so less and less lately. She spent a long time living that girl's life. It's only fair that she get to live her own for a while, miserable and empty as it may be.
Sometimes, she thinks of trying to reach out to the old Mobius gang, but she dismisses the thought each time it surfaces. She was never close with any of the Ostinato Musicians back in the day. In fact, she found them all insufferable, and somehow she doubts that if she spoke to them again, her opinion would change. Plus, even if she didn't despise them, she doubts that they really remembered her from back then, or even wanted to hear from her as all. It was a similar deal with the old Go-Home Club, with the added bonus that with all she'd done to them, they almost certainly didn't want to hear from her.
She still read Naruko's work, though. She doesn't know why. Boredom, most likely. Even so, our of everyone? She especially has every reason in the world to not want to hear from her.
She's watching a movie when the nurse comes by. Not anything good, or even anything anyone's ever heard of. Some strange Italo-horror film from the 80s that's as baffling as it is fascinating to her. It's her third time watching it, and she still has no idea what the hell is going on in the movie. Her best guess is that it's about the world's worst divorce, because that's the funniest potential plot she can think of for this utter nonsense film.
She's gotten good at tuning out the presence of the hospital staff. If she didn't, she would have lost her mind completely by now. So she hears something about a visitor, but it's not like she is paying attention to the specifics, which is why it surprises her when the person who enters her room is someone not on the usual guest list.
She's decently attractive, in an alternative sort of way. A more raw, pheromonal form of attractiveness, rather than the dolled up look of some idol. Like the popular lead singer of an underground band, with her short hair and black bomber jacket. Marie could imagine a number of women fawning over her.
Indeed, given her look, it's unsurprising that Marie is thrown for a second loop the moment the girl opens her mouth.
"Hello, Marie," the singer formerly known as Regret says, "...What are you watching?"
Marie pauses the film, switching over to her text to speech app. Regret pulls up a chair for herself, in such a position that she can't see the screen. Presumably, she's trying to be polite with that. It's always a bit rude when people read her text before she actually gets a chance to say it. She can still type like this, even if it is laboriously slow. The silver lining of that, however, is that it gives her plenty of time to compose herself.
"Just some old trash movie. It's not important. What is important is why the fuck you're even here."
After all, their last interaction was Marie beating the shit out of her, and while Marie enjoys that kind of thing greatly, Regret seemed to be having a rather miserable time of it. They spent their whole time in Redo as enemies. While Regret may have been sabotaging her own Musicians for their sake, it's not like they ever spoke before that point. She has no real attachment to Amabuki. Not enough that she would reach out to her first, and if Regret had reached out to any of the others? Someone would have said something in the group chat about it.
It's suspicious, to Marie. The girl has some sort of agenda here, and she has a sinking feeling as to just what exactly that agenda is.
"Well… I guess I just. Wanted to see how you were doing." She folds her hands in her lap, staring at the wall, avoiding making direct eye contact. "After all, Bluffman… did use your Mobius, to make Redo. With that all gone, knowing your circumstances… why wouldn't I come to make sure you were okay?"
And in an instant, it all clicks into place for her. There's another benefit to the agonizingly slow process of speaking, now. It can really drag out the anxiety for someone like Regret. Make her squirm in her seat. Just like Wicked wants her to.
"Give me a fucking break. Do you think I'm idiotic enough to buy an excuse that pitiful?"
"...What do you think I'm here for then?" Regret looks up at her, leaning forwards, hands still clasped together. She's clearly hanging on her every word, and as she waits for Wicked's answer, she seems to grow more and more fidgety in her seat. Good. The antsier she is, the more Wicked can dig in her claws.
"Do I need to spell it out for you? Come on. This is all just a ploy from you, a way to appease your guilty little conscience. You ruined people's lives, and now you want the Singularity Point to absolve you of whatever responsibility you're feeling. Well you came to the wrong fucking person."
Marie doesn't have the patience to play with the girl. She holds nothing against Regret, but she easily could have led her on. Given her that forgiveness, led her on, found an angle to work with. But she's too annoyed with her to bother. Stuck in a bed like this, with her lost years and dead end of a life, she can't be bothered to even try and ruin the life of Sayoko Hitomi. The flame doesn't burn quite as hot anymore. She just wants to go back to her stupid Italian movie, not keep dealing with this nagging little girl coming here to use her like a prop.
But at that answer, Regret raises an eyebrow. "But that's not why I'm here though…"
Maybe you can't admit that to yourself. I think it's as clear as day.
"No, no, really. It's… not." She takes a deep breath, going back to staring down at her lap. "I… Just wanted to talk."
As much as Marie's tempted to call her a liar… she doesn't actually disbelieve the girl's claim. It's strange, and baffling, and it makes her want to burst out laughing, but she believes it. Because no one, no one , would make a claim that absurd unless they were absolutely honest about it. And that, really, is the most hilarious part of all.
"So you came here for, what, company? Are you that fucking desperate?"
"No, I…" Another deep breath, and when she speaks this time, it's softer. Less confident. More self-conscious. "I wanted to speak to you. To, Wicked, I mean."
It takes Wicked a moment to process those words. It just sounds like she's stating the obvious at first, before the implications hit her. And when they do? Well… she laughs involuntarily. With her condition, it comes out more like a wheeze, like she's hyperventilating, but she knows that she's laughing. Because this? This might be the funniest thing that she is heard in years.
She's a fucking fan. Of course she's a fucking fan, the little nerd. Now all of this makes sense. The nervousness, how weirdly friendly she's trying to be. It's not just a socially awkward girl trying not to botch a conversation - it's the response of a fan trying to speak to one of her idols for the first time. And that idol is Marie motherfucking Mizuguchi. Wicked, the idol of virtuadoll Regret. She would be hard pressed to think of anything more hysterical.
She stops, not wanting to suffocate herself laughing, which with her condition is a very real risk, getting her composure together enough to send a message.
"Holy shit." The sound of the computer voice in this particular context nearly sends her into a fit again. "Well, you're speaking to her. Am I what you imagined, kid?"
"I mean… I know who you are, because of Redo," she says, and she's clearly rather embarrassed by Wicked's reaction. Maybe she thought she could play it cool, keep things close to her chest, and Wicked wouldn't figure it out. A silly thought. Regret is a painfully transparent person. "But if you mean from back then? No, but it's not as if I was imagining much about you in the first place. I just… really connected to your music. That's all."
She blushes as she says that, as if she can downplay her feelings. It's a futile effort, though a hilarious one. Wicked can see right through her like an open book.
"You have that in common with a real virtuadoll. Shit taste. Shouldn't you have looked up to someone more respectable?"
She's being facetious with the question, but Regret actually seems to consider her answer. She nibbles at her lower lip, before letting out an awkward little laugh. "I don't think anyone respectable had much to offer me back then. It's not like I'm a very respectable person in general, really."
Well, someone is brutally honest with themselves. That's a bit annoying for Wicked. It's not fun to poke at a person's insecurities when they simply agree with your assessments of them. When they are painfully aware of their own flaws and shortcomings. There's no fulfillment in it. Marie has always preferred to expose the flaws in those who deny them, the dark underbelly that mainstream society so desperately tries to sublimate. Someone like Regret, who has no illusions about what she is, doesn't quite give the same sort of satisfaction.
"Although, I don't know if I'd say I looked up to you, exactly."
"Please. It's written all over your face."
"I guess." Seems that it's not a point she's interested in pressing too much. "Your music always felt so raw, you know? Visceral. Like a scream of rage, shouted right into the void. You really put your whole heart into it, in a way that few people I think were really comfortable with doing back then. And that made it real , for me. Like, someone out there actually… understood. Just how awful things could be."
She's so genuine that it makes Marie feel sick. She's never had someone praise her work to her face like this. She read comments, heard people talk about her work in the abstract, but it was always at a remove. Inauthentic, in some sense. This feels different. It's a profoundly hollow, empty feeling.
Because she isn't wrong about that. Wicked's songs were an expression of her hatred of the world. Of anger and disgust and envy and all of the worst emotions of the human heart. They weren't really meant to be comforting . The opposite, really. They were a confrontation, between so-called upright citizens and the reality of the world that Marie knows all too well.
But then again, she never imagined anyone like Sayoko listening to them. She imagined people like her classmates, kids with stable lives and happy families looking to secretly indulge in their worst impulses out of view of the world. Where they'd stew in anger, making excuses for their indulgence in misanthropy even as they clicked play again and again and drove her up the charts. Nowhere in her imagination did she picture a little shut-in kid sitting there, with no imaginable future, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling as Wicked spewed her hateful words, feeling comforted by it. Like there might be someone out there who understood.
Marie considers herself to be something of an expert when it comes to depressing shit, but that mental image? That mental image easily ranks up there among the top. So much so that, thinking about it, there's really only one thing she can even think of to say to it. One thought that runs through her mind.
"You are the saddest little girl in the universe, Sayoko Hitomi."
Sayoko just stares at her in response. She doesn't seem offended, or even really hurt, which is a shame. Just, thoughtful. "...Really?"
"Yeah." It doesn't take Marie long to type up her answer, this time. "You are."
She puzzles over that for a few moments, before laughing awkwardly to herself. "Well, hey. Guess I can put that in my bio. 'Saddest little girl in the universe,' Wicked."
"Awful sense of humor too."
"Awful sense of humor too." She chuckles again, before her expression shifts back to something more nervous. Just when she seemed to be loosening up, too. A shame. As fun as it is to watch her squirm, it is an equal amount of annoying. She groans. "God, sorry. I totally forgot. I… I have something I want to ask you."
And just when things start to take a turn towards the boring, Sayoko throws in a curveball. At least she has a way of keeping herself entertaining on her own. Wicked would be contemplating ways to kill herself otherwise.
"Hit me."
"...Are you still composing?"
The answer to that question is a complicated one. One of the first things Marie set up once her computer was composition software. Strictly speaking, she still has the ability to compose, and she has tried to numerous times. But nothing ever came of it. The font of inspiration she once drew one, that deep well of hatred that boiled in her chest, no longer burns as brightly as it once did. In the few attempts she made to make a proper song, she was never able to create anything she could be satisfied with. She ended up scrapping her work each time.
She's curious as to why Sayoko is asking her about it. A fan inquiring into the work of her idol, perhaps, but Marie gets the sense that there's more to it than that. A question which Sayoko, on cue, swiftly gives her the answer to.
"Well…" She fidgets nervously in her seat. "I've been thinking of putting out an album. A proper album, as Regret. And… I, guess I wanted to ask you if you'd maybe be willing to do a song for it. Having a song on there, written for me by the Wicked… it would, it would mean a lot for me, you know? And you don't have to agree, but-"
"Sure." Her eyes type out the answer before her mind fully registers the question. After all, this whole conversation has given her plenty of inspiration to work with, and more to the point for Wicked… well. It just sounds utterly hilarious, if she's being honest about it.
Composing a song for Regret. Given how much of a fan the girl is, Wicked doubts she's going to try and restrict her creativity with the project. She could make the kid sing an entire song about her own failings and insecurities, and she'd think Wicked for the privilege of getting to sing it. She could musically tear her to shreds, and she would still look up to her with that same gleam in her eyes. It was sad, pathetic. And deeply, deeply funny.
That's something she has in common with a real virtuadoll, at least. Utterly garbage taste when it comes to musicians.
Regret blinks a couple of times at Marie's answer, in disbelief presumably about how quickly it came. "Wait, really? Just like that?"
"Yeah. As long as I have complete creative control."
"Well… of course," she says sheepishly, "I mean, Wicked's music isn't, real, unless it comes from a genuine place. I wouldn't, try and impose some sort of creative mandate on you. That would go against the spirit of the thing."
She's right on the money, it seems. Regret really will just let her get away with anything. Good. Wicked wouldn't be on board with this under any other circumstances. Still, there is another nagging little question left.
"So you're going to keep being Regret, then?"
Sayoko takes a deep breath, forcing a smile to her face. Marie can see the strain at the corners, the clear anticipation of the question and the anxiety it brings with it nonetheless. It's kind of annoying to look at. "Yeah. For now, at least. Until I get a better idea of what I want to be next."
As much as she wants to, Marie can't really hold that against her. Here she is, still thinking of herself as Wicked, still trying to compose songs, hell, even outright agreeing to make one for Regret. Sure, it's kind of pathetic that Sayoko somehow isn't ready to move on from her little make believe game that got hundreds of people trapped right on in there with her… but what kind of person would Marie be to hold that against her, when she doesn't even really know who she is herself? Well still, even now, she's still not ready to leave Wicked behind.
Doesn't make it any less pathetic, of course. Marie just isn't any better than Sayoko in that respect. She can still find it as sad as she likes. Her one concession to herself.
"So, is that all?"
"Yeah… pretty much. Thought, we'd make more conversation first, or something. Do you want me to give you my work email, then? Although, it's publicly available, so you can always just… find it."
She's rambling, groping around for conversation. Marie recognizes this, and she's tempted to just dismiss her entirely, go back to her film. But instead, another thought occurs to her. One final way to needle Regret, before she leaves to get back to whatever the hell it is she spends her time doing now that she isn't playing God.
"I'll find it. I have a request for you, though."
Sayoko bites her lip, anxiously anticipating her next words. "Okay… What is it, exactly?"
And Wicked already has her answer ready for her.
"Sing Cosmo Dancer for me."
The girl stops right in her tracks. She blinks once, twice. Wicked knows exactly what she is asking. Asking a fan to perform her idol's song for said idol would be stressful enough, but for a girl as neurotic as Sayoko? Well. She's surprised the girl is outwardly keeping it together as well as she is.
The girl takes a deep breath, in, out, in, out, bracing herself. Marie fixes her eyes on her, refusing to let up the pressure. Regret looks at her nervously, then away from her, and she takes one final deep breath and says, "Okay. I can try. Not sure how well I'll do at it, though."
"Give it a shot anyways."
And she does. And there, without any accompaniment, alone with one of her idols in a hospital room, Regret sings.
And it's the best rendition Marie's ever heard.