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In one flash, in one bang, Isami's world upends.
He does not hear warning sirens. He does not hear Bravern. He does not hear the screams and wails of his comrades, his friends. He can only hear Smith's voice. But the dead don't talk. Hallucinations? Memories? He can't explain it. He won't explain it. His blood boils.
He wants to wake up. He wants to force himself from this dream and wake up to Smith still there. Of course he's there. He cannot be gone. Despite his efforts, the nightmare remains. He couldn't save him. Bravern all but refused to. Fuck. Bravern .
Memories flash and build. Every word Smith ever said, every smile, every hug, every moment of his unbridled optimism and warmth. Every moment where Isami brushed him off, pushed him away, fought with him, ignored him, hated him now stabs him in his soul. He'd wasted no much time resisting him and he could never atone. Every touch they shared felt like a searing burn on his skin. Words unspoken remained on the tip of his tongue never to be heard.
Fuck Bravern. Fuck Superbia, fuck Pessimism, fuck Vanitas, fuck all the Deathdrives who had ripped Lewis Smith away and taken half of Isami's heart with him. They wanted death? Isami could do that.
He can hear Smith trying to talk him down. His kind voice is there encouraging him to calm down, to assess his situation. To listen, to understand, to come to the best solution for all involved. To find a way to peace and protect everyone like a true hero. That's what Lewis Smith would do. Isami’s grip on the control sticks clench to the point of pain.
Isami Ao is not Lewis Smith.