Work Text:
A TVman on a catwalk above your head talking about coding. One to your left with three walls between grousing about the weather. Another TVman on the ground floor who’s making a comment about being overcharged, his screen an eye-burning purple. Another, right next to that one, saying he should get that checked out.
You
close your eyes
shake
your head
your TV. The overlapping voices fade out like a withdrawing ocean wave, and just the same, they come right back.
Someone chuckling, deep and low. The bubbles of the noise overlap and twist around each other. An engineer complaining about something menial, getting another to reply something snarky, pointless. Someone whispering, whispering, whispering.
Your head twitches to the side, the voices shooed away for a second like a touch too shy to make contact. The wisps of the void call to you, clutch to
your bones face skin
the edges of your screen, your wires. Flashes of a white screen somewhere off in the distance.
You close your eyes
.
Static
behind your eyes
behind your… no, everywhere around you. In your… auditory sensors.
You have to rewrite your brain because you are becoming new. You are dead.
You know this. Footsteps somewhere around you. A TVman threatening a curious cameraman halfway across the world. There, there, over there too. You feel figures coming in and out of the void like it’s a place in your chest,
right
there, inside you; or like a snowglobe in your hand. In, out,
in
, in, some large object in, out, in, out, out. Under the breath laughter somewhere far away, hidden in a window watching the war. Curt, snappy replies when someone asks something genuine to someone else.
In.
In, in, out, out, in, out, in, out.
Don’t look at it, don’t look at any of it. Just focus on where you’re going and don’t think about it
. That’s always worked for hasn’t it?
You can see through a thousand different eyes, battling, relaxing, getting repaired, sacrificing themselves, helping each other. Smaller hands than you
remember having
will ever have again, so weak, and yet fighting so fervently.
Why
?
Endless seas of voices talking about nothing in particular, talking about you, yes you. Wonderful Titan, you’ll do amazing things , they all say. And you will. You have to.
One saying how he’d fight, if he could be bothered, another close by letting out a single dry chuckle. A low hum of amusement watching a speakerman dance from afar. Lulls in conversations, whispers
come here, in, come closer, be with
me
. In
.
You shake your head slowly, focusing on the way the wind washes over your crown, the vents on the back of your head.
We have to start off easy with it
,
says.
The war has already progressed so far, while we’re back here, twiddling our thumbs!
You don’t think it needs more time?
You
clench your eyes shut
focus on something else, as you should.
knows you can hear him, and you know not to spy, as if you’re given the luxury of privacy either.
In.
The void is something coiled tight inside you, boiling, rolling, washing over your inner
you
. With this, you’re connected to everyone.
Everyone
.
No, I do think that. We don’t have more time.