Work Text:
The death of the spirit is a subtler thing.
When someone dies, their heart stops beating, their lungs stop inhaling. You can hold a gentle finger against their jaw and check for signs of life. You can press your head to their bosom and listen, wait for a THUMP.
No one can look into Soleum’s eyes and realize he’s checked out. He’s stopped paying attention, that he’s so fucking sick and tired of the world of the Darkness Exploration Records. That even if he does make it home, this place has stripped his humanity bare.
If the eyes are the window to the soul, why in the world has no one peeked inside and seen the ashes of Soleum’s spirit? Why can’t they tell he doesn’t want to do this anymore, that he doesn’t want to be the top new rookie.
Work, work, fucking work. Every single day— Enter a Darkness, enter a Disaster, risk your fucking life.
He’s terrified.
He wants to go home. Wants to feel the gentle embrace of his mother, asking him where he’s been all this time.
Wants to stiffen slightly as his father pats his shoulder, not expecting the moment of contact. And relax, a moment later.
He wants to be on the subway, commuting home from work and bitching about how his boss shoved yet another report his way. He doesn’t want to be rereading the wiki over and over again, knowing his life is dependent on how well he knows the words.
When your body dies, your limbs go stiff. Rigor mortis, he thinks it’s called. Your fluids bloat and make a messy thing of you, but it doesn’t matter, because you’ve moved on. Your spirit has no more use for a tired vessel. You don’t have a care as your parts crumble and collapse, merging with the Earth.
Or perhaps, sizzle in the embers instead.
But what do you do if your body is still there, a warm and disgusting mass, and yet your spirit has moved on?
Soleum’s been here before, on Daydream’s roof, albeit with different thoughts. His first Darkness. After he spoke with his team members, he rushed straight up here. Pondered leaping off the edge.
Maybe if he ended his life here, he could return to his life back home. Maybe he’d wake up in a hospital bed, hand being stroked with the gentle caress of a worried friend.
They’d tell him that it’s been so long since he fell into that coma, that they’re so happy he’s finally woken up. That would be nice, Soleum thinks.
Too bad he had chickened out like always.
He had taken one feeble step, one foot on the ledge, when the gravity of the situation brought blood rushing past his ears.
He’s going to be encountering a different gravity this time, Soleum’s sure. No more ghosts, blood, gore. Except perhaps for the company employees when they find his body. That would suck. He feels a bit sorry for them.
What is Daydream’s suicide rate, anyways? They can always quit their job, but… Humans aren’t always that rational, that cold and clinical. That’s if the reason they’re leaving isn’t because they saw something too awful to stomach, in the first place.
Soleum had written an entry in which an employee from the Round-off Teams commits suicide upon leaving the Darkness, unable to cope with the loss of their autonomy. Was it some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy?
His finger traces the concrete again. Soleum stares up at the moon. It’s full tonight, illuminating his final act in a ghostly glow. It’s fitting.
The last time Soleum was here, he had brought something he hadn’t purchased in a long time. A pack of cigarettes. He had sat there, crouched with his back against the ledge, and tilted his head back.
Felt the tension slip from his soldiers at every drag.
Chuckled slightly, remembering that the Supervisor and Assistant Manager of the team smoke too. Everyone at Daydream probably smokes. Except the Lizard Squad Leader. He doesn’t seem to be human, he probably doesn’t engage in these vices.
And Go Yeongeun. She seems like a good person. She shouldn’t be working here either, Soleum is sure. There’s been some mix-up, and she’s forgotten she has the choice to leave. Much like Soleum’s going to leave. He wonders if he should have left a note.
He’s tried his best not to form attachments, but someone will probably feel at least a little sad that he’s gone. Or he’ll just be another statistic.
Someone who’ll be sad…
What’s going to happen to the Good Friend doll? Maybe Braun will be freed, released from the plush prison Soleum had bound him to without asking.
That would be nice.
His fingers twitch, skin itches. Ah. He’s craving a cigarette. Well, it couldn’t hurt, wouldn’t harm his health any more than taking a leap off a building. Soleum reaches into his suit pocket with shaky hands, pulling a half-empty box out.
When he reaches into his other pocket for the lighter though… Soleum closes his eyes, feeling what’s left of his spirit die a little more. He doesn’t have his lighter. It’s fitting.
Soleu pulls a cigarette out of the box anyway, putting it between his lips in a pathetic imitation of the act. He supposes this is where it started in the first place. Contracted the disease that’s been making his spirit ill. The one that reached a terminal condition without his notice.
It starts with a loss of joy. Soleum doesn’t remember a time in this world where he’s felt happiness. Even upon receiving items that would no doubt aid in his survival, it was a sense of relief. Relief at the possibility of going home.
Another symptom, then, would be the steady disappearance of his will to live. And now that he’s at this ledge, he’s sure. Kim Soleum’s spirit has died and his body is about to follow soon after.
Jaheon, as he was named in the company, realizes he’s not close to understanding humans at all when he steps out onto the roof.
He had come here to inform Soleum of some company matter, something that’s become largely unimportant after he sees the scene in front of him.
Kim Soleum, a member of his Group D, is standing on the ledge, ready to take a step off.
The voices in his head go crazy, having heard of this phenomenon where humans cut their own lifespan short, but never having actually encountered it. A written report in the hands was very different from seeing a human about to end their life right in front of you.
“Kim Soleum, you are contaminated.” He tries, believes it, even.
The man laughs and Jaheon’s brain shutters a bit. Why is the human laughing?
“No, I’m not.” He steps back from the ledge, but it doesn’t provide any relief because he moves and sits on it right after. Back still to Jaheon, legs swinging.
“This is the clearest my mind’s ever been.”
Jaheon frowns. How could that be?
He steps closer; Soleum would be much weaker than him, no doubt. He could yank him back, send him to counselling until the man’s all better. Until he sees the value of his life again.
He knows Soleum probably knows this as well and yet the man shows no alarm as he grows near.
“Leader.” His voice calls to Jaheon when he’s less than a meter away.
“Pay my respects to Assistant Manager Eun and Supervisor Park, please.”
He refers to them by roles they no longer hold.
“And there’s someone in my batch… Go Yeongeun too, please.”
Jaheon reaches the man just as he pushes off the ledge and—
The Lizard Team’s Leader’s hand clasps around his wrist just in time.
Soleum dangles off the edge, kept alive solely by the man’s superhuman strength. It’s the first thing today that manages to bring a bit of a smile to his face. Very typical.
The man’s hand is dry. Cold, but comforting. And yet it’s not enough.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s a good thing Jaheon had ended up grabbing the arm with the tattoo. He’s able to reach in and pull out the metal bracelet.
A quick burst of strength he would have never managed otherwise and he’s freefalling.
It’s sweet relief he feels as he falls down. Finally, finally his spirit can be put to rest. Maybe he actually will wake up back home.
But he’s not counting on it.
The few seconds of rapid descent, bliss, as he nears the ground serve as a moment of silence for his soul.