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The Soul tugged at Kris’ limbs, and their body moved, unerring, unfailingly steady— onward, onward, onward; one muffled footstep upon the computer lab’s carpet after another, marching to the tune of their heartbeat like a well-oiled machine.
Stop.
Kris stopped mid-step as the Soul’s guiding hand tightened on their shoulder, formless yet as heavy as a blade. Their feet shifted back into place, side by side, exactly the right distance apart; their back straightened before they could sink into their usual slouch. Mom’s inescapable childhood litany echoed in their head: remember to keep your chin up; back straight; hands at your sides, not in your pockets.
…A poor comparison, that. Mom was nothing like the Soul: she, at least, had learnt to loosen her grasp. The crimson heart buried in their chest still insisted on dictating their every move. On living their life for them, rather. Mother knows best.
Their gaze slid downward against their will. Berdly sat before them, still and silent; slumped over the desk, glasses askew, head nestled against a blue-feathered wing. Only his chest moved, rising and falling with every breath, as though he was— resting. Asleep.
For all the world, asleep.
Kris knew better. They’d seen—been forced to see, chin nudged upward, eyes spread wide no matter how they stung—the shadow behind cloudy ice, one wing half-raised to shield himself in vain, beak open in a soundless scream.
This sleeping corpse was no more alive than the silhouette trapped mid-motion: the only difference was that one still mimicked the vigour of life. Like a flower preserved long past its expiry date, past the end of the happiness it existed to celebrate, even, Berdly yet “lived”.
He doesn’t seem to be awake, Kris internally remarked at the Soul’s prompting. It was stating the obvious, blatantly so, but their puppeteer was owed nothing more. The Soul had commanded them throughout the ordeal, and through them Noelle, all the way from Cyber City’s frost-stained streets to that accursed alleyway; each action demanded of them had been planned and calculated and deliberate. It had pressured Noelle, compliant, frightened Noelle, like an overbearing mother until she broke under the weight of expectation, arms raised high to cast that final, fatal spell. Even what little Kris had offered was wasted on it, in fact. It knew exactly what it’d done.
Another tug drove them backward. Kris’ legs dragged them away from their thoughts and toward the cabinet filled with spare items in the corner, then the frozen library computers, then the posters peeling off the far wall, then the closet full of servers and ancient junk. The Soul wanted to see everything—it always did—and so Kris commented on everything of note in the computer lab until there was nothing more to speak of.
…If the soft, forget-me-not blue of their classmate— self-proclaimed rival— Berdly's plumage caught their eye as they moved past him again and again, well, the Soul didn’t have to know about that. It probably already knew. But on the off chance that it didn’t— Kris kept it to themselves, along with the telltale sting of tears that would not fall and the nausea roiling within.
At long last, the Soul steered Kris toward the door, promising an escape from the room they’d wanted out of since their return to the Light World. Then—
Stop.
Kris stopped. Turned. Retraced their steps, gritting their teeth every step of the way, until they stood once more beside the only other person in the room, awaiting the next alien impulse.
All they heard was faint, barely-there breathing, slow and steady and all but lifeless.
Their own breath hitched. The Soul’s voice, they could more than do without, but Berdly’s self-assured commentary, his dramatic overtures of videogame-based rivalry, heck, even his occasional jabs at their mental faculties— his voice—
Kris’ throat tightened. No eulogy left their open mouth; the Soul had brought them here to gloat, not to mourn. Not yet. It would have them make some display of sentimentality at the inevitable funeral, if it intended to keep play-acting normality in public rather than bid Noelle freeze all of Hometown solid.
If. If, if, if. The Soul had been terribly unpredictable of late. But if it wanted normality, then it would probably order Kris to procure flowers— or steal them from Dad’s shop, based on its recent behaviour, even though he’d gladly offer them for free. Either way, Kris knew just what to get.
The Soul had strangled their voice, but Berdly would hear what they had to say.