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If you told me that I’d be taking the portraits of each member of the Diamond Cutters a few weeks ago, I’d have you pegged as a madman. Really? That soon? You’re probably delusional!
But the powers that be had a certain sense of humour. I felt myself…drawn to their heroics, as small and disastrous as they may be sometimes. Some refresher in the arts and portraiture, a good word put in here and there, and voila—I was in line to be the strike team’s photographer! Frankly, photography is something I still struggle with, and the industry can be so cruel sometimes—fondness for sharing knowledge is frowned upon, especially when it can get in the way of your call to fame. But that beetle, Jewel, seemed content with my previous work, and my services were called. We met in a fancy restaurant, where she put forth her proposal over lunch. The meal was unremarkable. Though I guess it’d be more accurate to say that I couldn’t remark anything—my focus was on her, in search of any inkling of her denying me my hard-earned opportunity. (There was none, of course.)
I accepted it, then. I had to.
[I: Whisper]
Arriving at the crack of dawn was my way of surveying the newly-rebuilt Restoration HQ for potential future endeavours. Yet, to my surprise, there was someone already there to receive me: Whisper. Should’ve guessed. Regardless, she was certainly vigilant. I smiled, wry. Running about during the war would do that to you.
For some reason, I reflected. Whisper had certainly changed a lot. How would she feel, waking up every day to stare at a mirror, and the memory of a greater self? Perhaps she was regretful of this. Perhaps she was not. I’m not. Change is necessary; sometimes, you have to let go of the past.
We continued to amble through the facility. I didn’t want to talk to her much, but I had to, lest curiosity sprout from the quietness. Hoping I didn’t come off as a person starved of social interactions, I tried for some small talk. The usual—discussion about various hobbies and whatnot. Whisper remained silent for a while before she replied: “I’ve dabbled.”
She’d said in a manner that suggested that she had disposed of such encumbrances, or that it wasn’t worth discussion. Heh. I understood where she was coming from—we dared to hope, and paid for it dearly.
Soon, it was time to do my job. Whisper stood in front of my camera: stiff, wary, shuttered. A star in the sky, murked by perpetual mourning.
I took the photo, and smiled at my handiwork.
[II: Tangle]
Tangle came running along not long after; social etiquette required Whisper to make introductions. Instead of doing that, though, she merely awkwardly gestured between us two, shrinking into herself all the while. It took the lemur a fair bit, but she eventually connected the dots, cheerfully greeting me with her tail as she ushered her partner away. Meanwhile, Whisper looked like she was trying to delete her fumble from her long-term memory. I chuckled. That’s just how it goes. Memory is a curse, and I its wielder. (An old, one-sided joke with a not-so-old acquaintance. How I do humour myself.)
Tangle all but dragged me to the outskirts, where she knew “a good pair of stumps”, whatever that even meant. I had expected there to be no one but us, but surprisingly, there were still a bunch of construction workers there. Unfortunate. I was hoping for a private face-to-face so I could better open her up.
There, we chatted. Well, she did. I listened. And listened. And listened. As she sat perched on the stump, Tangle went on and on about plenty of things. Whisper, mostly. The two were made for each other. But she also babbled about some so very beautiful hills and vales Sonic brought her to, their latest mission involving trains and explosions, and a “cool rock” she found and subsequently “adopted as a pet”.
Several escapades later, I finally got a question in: “Does it ever get tiring?”
“A little,” Tangle replied, “But I fight better when I know there’s someone watching over me!”
A predictable answer, but no less quaint. The rube was a very “whole” person, so to speak: sure of herself, impossibly outgoing, and if there were any emptiness in her, her cheerfulness didn’t let it grate out its prophecy.
I sighed as I took the photo, eager to get to my next client.
[III: Lanolin]
I didn’t get to my next client as soon as I’d hoped. Lanolin had been running about the building, doing Chaos knows what. Always a worrier, but never about the correct things. She made things harder for most people, but she’d been helpful to me. Very helpful, indeed. One thing she was good for seemed to be handling menial tasks that others couldn’t be bothered with. A quality I could admire.
I asked Lanolin how she felt about leading the Diamond Cutters. Setting her mug down, she responded that at first, it was merely something that needed to be done. Managing a group of wildly different personalities—that, more often than not, were at odds with each other—was tough, but she enjoyed their company, and it was something that needed to be done. That phrase seemed to pop up a lot. I’d say we were kindred spirits, but that’d be an insult.
Unfortunately, work of the restorative coppers beckoned, and she had to down her coffee in one gulp. I took the photo, and she excused herself.
I really should thank her later. When we’ve properly met each other again, that is—this little excursion hardly allowed for proper tête-à-tête. Then again, my profession doesn’t exactly allow for long meetings.
[IV: Surge]
Many people have, in one way or another, had their run in with this troublesome, annoying brat. I was one of those forsaken by the powers above. She poked and prodded at my skin, at my very being, like the child she was. Answering one of her inane questions led to several more. Chaos, was this what Whisper had to deal with?
I took the photo hastily. Could you fault me for wanting to leave promptly? Interacting with Sonic’s latest insane abhorrer was something I wanted to stay clear off. But something caught my eye just then: Lanolin entered the room, and her face and Surge’s immediately brightened at the sight of each other. They weren’t risque—not with me there. But it was obvious from the way they acted in each other’s presence: they cared about each other. Both were less prickly and more…normal, for lack of a better word. Yet, at the same time, their actions still remained as each other’s antithetical, and even then, they…hm.
As I sauntered away, dazed, I pondered upon this intriguing snippet of their lives. Them both? Really? Well, perhaps they just gave each other a chance, let the other into their life, and…
…
No, I’m being foolish, I— they were being foolish. Just another phrase in their little Greek tragedy. All expected, though. After all, what are we if not a string of contradictions woven by the perception of others, ready to unravel at a moment’s contemplation?
[V: Kit]
I found the fennec fox buried in his workbench. This kid…he was certainly infirm of purpose—his entire being seemed to revolve around Surge. To anchor your purpose onto someone else…how asinine! Not that I’ve ever done such a thing.
Still, I suspect that Surge’s plays during the Clean Sweepstakes had to do with Kit. He was supposed to replace Tails… Oh, well. I’ve seen it all; there wasn’t any reason for me to worry. Given Kit’s nature, he didn’t talk very much with others, only grumbling something inaudible before allowing me to take a photo of his small frame, thatched in finite automata.
Someone will miss this pitiable thing.
[VI: All]
Finally, it was time for the group photo. A visibly-vibrating Tangle brought Whisper (and everyone else in the vicinity) closer with her tail, making a mess of things as always. Whisper smiled bashfully, not noticing Surge sticking her tongue out at her as a worried Kit glanced at them. Standing in the middle, Lanolin tried her best to look annoyed, but the small smile that tugged on her lips betrayed her efforts. The wisps joined in, too, huddling at those closest to them.
Tangle had met me in secret before the gathering, asking me to take some ‘quick shots’ of her intimate partner in silly faces. “Zoom in on them. I’ll pay you extra,” she said, with such determination that did not fit with her mischievous glee. I considered and told her my price, and her tail drooped. She looked down and scratched her head.
“...then could you just give me the funniest ones you’ve already taken?”
Sated with my promise, she then hopped away seemingly on her enormous tail.
I set up my tripod, silently grumbling as it refused to extend. Whisper approached as she arrived, albeit meekly to lend me a hand; I politely declined as I fought to level the contraption. She didn’t push further, and when I looked back, she was already a few feet away, in position. I paid no mind and continued to work on my job.
The rest came shuffling along, with Lanolin visibly irritated. It was unknown whether it was the general tardiness of her insubordinate compatriots, or the fact I had pushed for a group photo, taking more of her precious time. Still, she helped by forcing Surge and Kit into positions according to my requests as I viewed the camera. The composition never looked great anyway, so I just threw my hands and gave up.
As I adjusted my palm onto the camera, it slipped and nearly fell off the tripod altogether. Tangle tried not so subtly to stifle her amusement, and Whisper reprimanded her with a light tap on her arm. Lanolin’s gaze followed my movements with disapproval as I scrambled to pick up the camera. I apologised hastily, but felt the best apology would just to get this damn thing finished. So I got into position and leered into the camera. Then, I realised.
So many stories behind each of every one of them. So many narratives that couldn’t be any more different than the rest. It was this unstable alliance the team found itself in, a far cry from its previous reincarnation. Its current incarnation was even dragged kicking and screaming to be willed into existence. But still, it stood. What a marvel. A wondrous creation.
None would ever think of reliving and picking up the fallen mantle of the martyred members, their ultimate fates not a distant memory. But this one did. This team dared to challenge the legacies of their past, ill-equipped and maladaptive as they seem, exclaiming “We can be better.” Their track record since the reestablishment has not exactly been stellar, but they are growing. In numbers. Just like the old Diamond Cutters did.
Here I stood behind my camera, across and distant from the jittery and agitated group. I couldn’t be any more different than this mismatched ragtag squad, me but a curious outsider. Yet, with what’s been established so far, I couldn’t be a better fit for the new Diamond Cutters.
Food for thought. If only… in a different lifetime. But would I have done things differently? Would it have mattered?
My finger hovered on the button. One click, and it would be all over. I let one eye peek from the camera. Each member, present with each of their underlying hostilities and allegiances, still managed to compose themselves to oblige in a tiny smile. The first teamwork I’ve seen from them, all for one unimportant photograph.
“What’d ya waitin’ for, Drey?” The lemur raised her head as she squeezed the entourage closer together, almost instantly ruining the forced smiles of the placated dissenters. The wolf silently protested under her uneasy smile while Lanolin shot me a death glare for worsening their predicament.
“Don’t get cold feet, now!” Tangle’s grin was infuriating. “Just do it! You’re the man, Drey!”
Some people just weren’t meant to be together with others, fated to only be by themselves, aloof and away. Perhaps for the simple lack of synergy. Incompatibility, they say, despite the oddities that have been proven thus far. I didn’t think I was an exception. I didn’t deserve them. And, dare I say, they didn’t deserve me.
I raised my other hand to count down with my fingers. 5… 4… 3… 2… then 1. “Say… cheese!”
I was just too different.
Click.
[VI(I): Mimic]
The camera remained cradled in my dainty hands as my petite body moved along the rhythm of the train, heading off for a destination I didn’t bother to remember. I filtered through the numerous pictures I had taken, clicking on the arrow keys. What subpar quality they are. I recalled the many attempts, the many hours… and the infinite patience required from the subject figures, but at least I got them. Then, I deleted them. Without a second thought. One after another, one after another... As the disposed pictures flashed before my eyes, my calculated conviction only grew. Until there was only one left for each member. I scoffed.
This is not an obsession. This is anything but an obsession. This is a mere… observation. A curious study as to whatever underlying reasons how a team of buffoons managed to survive this long together. An impossibility. Grabbing onto the reins with reckless precision, mocking me with every scuffed turn around this disquieting colosseum of fate. Kicking up the sand to elicit the cheers of a non-existence audience. I watch on.
It isn’t a sin to investigate this miracle of nature now, is it? All recorded within this neat contraption in my palms. Truly for the dedicated research of future pioneers. To uncover the fate-defying force of this cohort of lunatics.
Doomed from conception, it breathes still.
With a wretched undying heartbeat, the disturbing cacophony beats in unison, out of pure spite.
There was something missing. Something I wasn’t getting. An unknown variable. Unfinished, unexplainable underlying uncertainty unbeknown, unaccounted. There must be. But I wouldn’t give it too much credit that it got the best of me—this is but an exercise, a unique problem handcrafted to keep me sharp. Although it is getting on my nerves now. Till today I struggle with this blasted equation. “Fun” has lost all meaning. I seek to end my workings, but I turn and turn the pages. Scribbling my pen with scarlet.
The missing pieces continue to elude me. If only there was some way to brute force this… no, it wouldn’t do justice for all the effort I’ve put into this. They made me suffer: they don’t deserve a quick death, no matter how much I yearn for it. Why do I do this? As a service. A service to whom? A service to anyone who comes across this sorry experiment. A documentation of the impossible, and the deplorable.
It’s pathetic, really. It should have perished all those months ago. Yet, it persists. It refuses. The total undeniable annihilation before my eyes, ingrained as faded photographs in the deepest sinews of my mind; it spat at my face, defiant. Telling me with a whisper:
“You are no God.”
But, I am a God still.
And well, even God has its limits, it seems. A God nonetheless.
All this? Merely the detritus of enlightenment. I’m Mimic—delightfully aware of just how deplorable I am! Confront me about my deeds, and I’ll gladly confess my glory. Whisper…her living breath stains my soul with death. And then she just had to agree to a second generation. Whatever. Their fates are mine to decide; I’ll cleanse it all soon enough.
It was clear that they didn’t want me to forget. They refuse to fade into obscurity, the nothingness I had so tried to assist them with. They don’t want the easy way out. They want to make things difficult. So I sighed. I did what was needed, and here were the aids in my hands. To make sure I would never forget. These monotone photographs would make fine shrouds. And this—with all you pitiful souls huddled together, it would make a fine trophy. In due course.
Because, there will be a day where everyone will forget you. Slow, but the inevitable truth. I will make sure of it. Someday.
And, when fate summons, maniacs must obey.
When I’m finally done with all of you, you’d be on your knees, begging for release. Begging for emancipation from my true purpose. For me to forget.
But not to worry; you will always be in my prayers—now and forever.