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The first thing Medkit hears in his apartment is the soft click of the doorknob locking. Its metallic sound echoes through the apartment, signifying Medkit’s entrance and his planned stay.
It’s an easy way to know he’s a little safe in his apartment. The only Inphernals who seem to ignore the common courtesy of knocking before entering are Sword and Rocket, who, for some reason, know how to pick locks (Sword blames Rocket, and Rocket blames the Crossroads development plans).
The second thing he hears is his shoes tapping against the floor as he walks further in. It’s of a similar echo-y noise to the lock, but it’s familiar, and the noise is subtle enough not to bother Medkit.
The creak of a chair being dragged backward, the shuffling and grasping of papers—it’s all done to a rhythmic degree, just how he likes it. The mundane sounds comfort him; as someone who’s had such an unconventional upbringing, it’s not surprising for him to appreciate the smaller things that make up an everyday life.
Though, it might be a bit inaccurate to say Medkit likes doing paperwork at close to midnight. The content of it doesn’t really interest him, it’s rather the act of doing it in general; a sort of structure, something he can do instead of letting his mind wander. It’s better than trying to go to sleep, at least.
But the next thing he hears—
Ring, ring.
Medkit’s hands clench up, wrinkling the edges of the paper he’d been holding. His eyes dart to the noise emanating from the edge of his desk.
It’s that damn phone.
The constant, throbbing ringing—it’s familiar, all too familiar, an uninvited guest taking up all of the space in his cramped apartment. The other noises are almost identical in their sound and tone, but there’s one thing that sets this one different: it isn’t even remotely welcome to Medkit’s ears.
Why did he even need to call him? Medkit had visited Lost Temple only a few days ago to pick up the new commissions. There’s no reason for the Broker to get a hold of him again.
Unless…
Medkit exhales. It’s just a call, he thinks. He’s done this so many times before.
But he can’t shake off the feeling.
This sounds exactly the same as that day.
Medkit had arrived back home from an outing, just like before, he had been doing overdue paperwork, just like before, he had gotten a call just like this—
Stop overreacting. The Broker’s probably just letting you know about something insignificant, he reassures himself.
Medkit shuts his eye, taking a deep, shuddering breath. His hand feels utterly foreign as it wraps against the cold resin and picks up the phone.
He sucks in a breath. “Broker—”
But what he is greeted with isn’t a high-pitched, grating reply.
“That is certainly a way to greet a stranger.”
Medkit’s eye shoots back open.
The voice on the other end of the line is completely unfamiliar to him.
“But perhaps I should not judge,” they continue. “After all, I am sure you have not met anyone else calling this line, correct?”
“You’re not the Broker,” Medkit dumbfoundedly says.
The caller seems subtly stunned at Medkit’s directness. They don’t reply until moments later. “Well, naturally.”
“Who are you?” Medkit quickens the pace of his words. “How did you get this number?”
“The origins of this conversation aren’t yours to know. But if you insist on knowing something…” The voice trails off. “You may call me Katana—if names hold any meaning for you.”
Katana? Medkit knows he hasn’t heard that name before, but something about it gives him an unsettling feeling; he simply writes it off as deja vu. “Are you part of the church? The Broker and his connections are the only ones who use these phones,” Medkit interrogates, “and the Broker’s the only one who has my number. Why are you trying to contact me through this?”
“I am not a part of the church,” Katana replies with haste. “If you must know, I am using the Broker’s rotary phone.”
“Is he not there right now?” Medkit counters with the same amount of haste.
The caller’s voice gains a certain edge to it, as if it’s intended to sharpen to a knife and stab him through the line. “He has not been here. Or anywhere, for that fact.”
Medkit hesitates for a second, swallowing down the rising bile in his throat. “You’re saying he’s missing?”
“Precisely.”
The Broker going missing… Medkit supposes it isn’t much of a surprise. The acolyte often disappears for days on end just to return back to the church unscathed—Medkit assumes these occurrences are simply a side effect of his ‘information broker’ status.
“He’s most likely just out in Crossroads doing god knows what. Give it a few days and he’ll appear back at the church,” Medkit replies. “That is, if you are actually searching for him.”
“That’s a generous assumption,” Katana says. “If we are talking about what I am doing, then sure, I am searching for the Broker.”
What an obnoxiously vague answer. Medkit isn’t one to leave questions unanswered, but there’s a more important query on his mind. “Why exactly are you looking for him?” he asks. “If you aren’t associated with the church, like you said, I don’t see much of a reason for you to even know of him.”
The other end of the line is uncharacteristically silent. Medkit knows they’re thinking of an answer—which is particularly suspicious of them, but everything else in this conversation has been equally as suspicious, so he gives them the time to respond.
Katana eventually replies, their hoarse voice blaring through the receiver. “Let me paint a picture for you. I’m in a seemingly abandoned office. How I got here is irrelevant. But someone had told me the Broker would be here at this exact moment,” they explain. “Of course, this place is completely empty and worthless, save for this old phone.”
Medkit can hear the spiteful poison in their voice with their last line, though subtle.
“It is nothing short of a miracle for this thing to still function,” Katana quips. “Honestly, the Broker’s affinity for ‘classical design’ is nothing but an inconvenience for me. It is no matter, though.”
Was this ‘Katana’ person some kind of thief? But Medkit questions the reasoning for someone of that occupation to be seeking out the Broker. Perhaps someone involved with Banlands? Maybe even another gear launderer? No single prediction stands out to Medkit, so he holds his tongue, letting the caller continue their explanation.
“Out of curiosity, I searched for anything notable in his office. That’s when I found an abundant amount of papers mentioning a particular Inphernal I had never heard of before,” Katana professes. “For someone the Broker has never mentioned outside of his little bubble, Mr. Medkit, you certainly seem to be of utmost value to him. Almost all of his documents as of late have referenced your name.”
Medkit had a hint already that he’s particularly valuable to the church—he is everywhere, it seems—but the way Katana is describing it makes it sound like the Broker has some apparent infatuation with him. Considering the lengths the church had gone to keep him at their side… Well, it lines up, but it still doesn’t sit right with the healer.
“I have to say, it is a bizarre thing. You’re like some kind of ghost in the machine, perhaps the next hallucination they’re worshipping over. So, what exactly are you?” Katana’s inquiry has enough inflection to make Medkit shiver, even over the phone. “Are you an undercover Banlands agent? Or maybe just an imaginary friend?”
Medkit huffs. With the overwhelming amount of confidence in Katana’s spiels and accusations, Medkit feels as if he should end the call right there—but considering he’s been on the phone for this long, he’s accumulated his own set of questions, and he’d rather not leave without knowing anything about what’s going on. He has to admit, Katana is able to talk endlessly without answering any of his questions (and somehow making him want to ask more).
With a sigh, Medkit answers Katana. “I couldn’t be with Banlands, even if I wanted to,” he states. “I’m not the Broker’s ‘friend’, either. We’re co-workers and nothing more.”
“Oh, so you’re touchy about calling him a friend. I understand,” Katana says. It’s probably the most lighthearted Medkit’s heard their voice go so far. “That’s a much different reaction than I had expected. But it seems almost mechanical.”
Medkit scoffs. “‘Mechanical’? I’m not a program.”
“That wasn’t what I was implying, but I’m glad you’ve cleared that out of the question,” Katana jokes. “I can tell you’re much different than the other members. And yet, oddly enough, I feel even more confused about you than when I first learned who you were.”
Medkit almost says the same to Katana—that this whole conversation has led him to even more questions—but something about their last sentence makes Medkit think. “That sounds like you’ve heard about me before all this,” he comments, returning to his apprehensive inflection.
Katana responds with something akin to a laugh—Medkit can’t really tell. “You know, I have traveled to nearly every faction in the pursuit of knowledge and strength. It has led me to some truly unusual encounters,” the caller explains. “The Church preys on the weak and vulnerable. But someone of your caliber, being in a situation such as this… it almost strikes a chord in me.”
Medkit hesitates. “What do you mean?”
“I am one of the few who have heard the rumors,” Katana replies. “The Blackrock ‘traitor’ who fled the faction after an altercation with their co-worker. It is not unfounded to assume that this Inphernal is you, correct?”
Medkit stares into his window’s curtains for what feels like forever. “…And what’s it to you?” he finally mutters.
“I believe we are in the same position.” The voice wavers for a moment, but Medkit can’t tell whether it’s the shaky connection or purposeful hesitance. “As the prisoner who had escaped the cave and saw the truthful forms of the world.”
“Prisoner? Cave? I—I’m not…” Medkit stammers. “What exactly are you talking about?”
“Simply an analogy,” Katana answers. “It is a commonly told fable.”
Medkit isn’t one for lengthy stories—certainly not when he has work to do—but with the way Katana is talking, the healer assumes this is the only way he’ll get an answer to this mysterious phone call. “Go on,” he replies.
Katana quietly clears their throat, though Medkit can still hear it from the other side of the phone. “It describes a group of Inphernals imprisoned in a cave. Behind them was a fire, and before them was a tall, solid wall,” he explains. “Their legs and necks were chained and fixed, so they were constrained to gaze only at the wall in front of them. When they dropped their eyes, they saw their own body. When they looked up, the flickering light of the fire fell over them, and they only saw the shadows of what was passing behind them.” The static coming through the phone starts to sound slightly amplified. “No one had lived a single day outside the cave. The shadows cast on the wall were all there was to be perceived as reality. They had no knowledge of the real world.”
Medkit can feel his grip on the phone tighten. This is certainly direct for a simple analogy, he thinks to himself. It sounds almost like…
The healer focuses back on Katana’s spiel before he finishes his thought. “However, one day, one of the prisoners escaped from the cave, walked into the light, and saw the true world with their own eyes for the first time,” he continues. “Everything the prisoner experienced in the cave was nothing more than a mere shadow of the object’s true form.”
Katana pauses. “Our world is a poor one, ‘traitor’,” he laments, the inflection of his words changing ever so slightly from the storytelling tone he had been holding before. “It is ugly and pointless, filled with hollow desires and meaningless struggles. The only way to remove such a pain, it seems, is to stay willingly ignorant, shutting oneself in a cave and mindlessly watching some humble fractions of the truth.” He takes in a small breath. “Everyone is born into that cave of ignorance. It makes all the difference when someone is able to walk out and see the world as it truly is.”
Medkit crosses his arms, leaning his head closer to the phone. The point Katana is making is understandable, as convoluted as it is, but he fails to see the reasoning behind all of this. The healer doesn’t see a clear connection with the story and the conversation they had been having beforehand.
Katana had made a remark earlier about them ‘being in the same position.’ He compared the two of them to the prisoner who had escaped the cave. It isn’t clear from Medkit’s first interpretation of the story, but when he thinks about it further… If he thinks of the cave not as a whole society, but rather…
The scattered ideas in his mind finally connect, locking into a discernible pattern. This time, the healer finds his answer.
“You’re an ex-member of the church,” he declares, “and you’re trying to find the Broker, for whatever reason.”
Katana simply lets out an intrigued hum. Medkit takes the lack of a meaningful response as a sign to continue.
“If you’re looking for his location, I can’t help you. I couldn’t know less about where he is.”
Medkit has realized moments ago that Katana does not have a particularly emotional voice. But somehow, he swears he hears the miniscule raising of a pitch when the caller speaks up again. “Do not be so hasty. The truth is akin to a thousand strands, inexplicably entangled and forming incomprehensible patterns. So I am content to start with something simple,” Katana proclaims. “Tell me about your work—what role you play in the church. I do have to wonder what an Inphernal with such an enlightened mindset is there for.”
Medkit huffs, almost amused by the question. “The work I do there isn’t very interesting.”
“What you mistake for incomprehension may be the first flicker of a clue,” Katana disputes. “Additionally, I am quite curious as to what the church truly uses you for.”
Medkit grimaces at the receiver’s choice of words—particularly the mention of being ‘used’—but with a sigh, he reluctantly gives in.
“Primarily gear modifying,” he answers. “Originally, I had only modified Scythe’s gear and built her prosthetic arm in return for her protection. But after that, I’ve been taking up commissions from the acolytes.”
“Oh? For a moment, I thought they would use you as medical assistance.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Medkit growls. His eyes narrow, though his gaze is locked to nowhere in particular. “I don’t even have a medical license.”
“Of course.” Katana seems to stop for a moment, as if stifling a laugh. “I’m quite surprised you are able to tolerate the acolytes with this attitude,” he jests. “Regardless, you seem not to align yourself with the church, correct?”
“Why would I? The Inphernals here are insufferable,” Medkit complains. “Honestly, I just keep my head down and do my work.”
“But you still participate quite actively in the church, despite your ignorance to their faith,” Katana retorts. “I am only worried that you may fall deeper into their corruption.”
Medkit sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You think I don’t know that?” he argues. “I know my situation isn’t—it isn’t exactly ideal, but it’s not like I can leave—”
“You cannot leave?” Katana interrupts him. “Who decided that?”
Medkit hesitates for a moment to recover from the sudden response. But the answer to Katana’s question is obvious. “I’d—I’d be hunted down. It’s already stressful enough being hunted down by Blackrock. I don’t think I could—I wouldn’t be able to live with another group wanting to capture me,” he explains, stumbling over his words. “And—And just because you left doesn’t mean—that doesn’t mean everyone else can just walk out of there without any struggle!”
“I am not implying that it was easy to leave, of course,” Katana calmly replies. “However, from my point of view, you are not making much of an effort to separate yourself from them. It is quite contrary to your heavily negative opinion on the church.”
The healer starts to realize his breathing has become rapidly inconsistent, taking in quick, frenzied gasps between the pauses in conversation. The phone seems to vibrate from his shaky hand, and Medkit needs to hold it with his free hand in order to keep it steady.
“Whether it is your intention or not, you are forcefully keeping yourself vulnerable,” Katana declares. “You may think that fate has put the shackles on you, but you purposefully walked back into that cave. The blame can only be put on yourself.”
Medkit’s free hand is on his desk now, incessantly tapping on the wood. The stimulation keeps him from straying too far from the conversation, especially with how agonizingly personal this one has gotten. “What do you… suppose I do, then?” he says. “Since you’re so knowledgeable on this topic.”
He almost laughs when the other end of the line doesn’t immediately reply. But to his surprise, Katana answers his question much quicker than he expects. “Ultimately, I do not know the extent of your involvement in the church. I barely even know you,” he says. “The events that led to my leave were heavily situational, and I’m sure the ones that led to yours in Blackrock were the same—”
“Then why are you even telling me all this?” Medkit interrupts. He can feel his eyebrows sagging even further than they were before. “If you’re going to critique me, at least give me some kind of solution—”
“—But what I was preparing to say,” Katana interjects, “is that the route to finding yourself an alternative is much easier than you let on. The church builds their organization with lies and empty threats. Not once have they followed through with anything they’ve said to me, and I likely have even more notoriety in their ranks.”
Medkit opens his mouth to argue, but as soon as he finds the words to counteract Katana, the caller continues to talk.
“I suppose you are making good progress. I’m most surprised at the fact you live in Crossroads and not their quarters,” Katana adds. “My recommendation for you is to keep quiet about your connections outside the church. That would be the most convenient way to build yourself a way out.”
Well, too late for that, Medkit thinks to himself. He wants to say that Katana’s solution is practically impossible, that he’s being too optimistic about trying to leave what is essentially a cult. But all of those arguments are merely phrases passing through Medkit’s mind, too fragmented for him to properly mutter them out loud.
What he does instead is sulk, keeping his eyes locked to his desk. He doesn’t even bother brushing away the strands of hair that get in his face when he tilts his head down. “It’s not that simple,” he mumbles through his teeth. His strained hand still insists on gripping the phone as hard as it can.
The caller doesn’t respond. Both of them seem to have lost anything to say. Medkit almost wishes that Katana had continued with his ramblings, because the deafening static is starting to get on his nerves.
Finally, Katana speaks up again.
“I believe I have found out enough about you. You seem to be insistent on keeping yourself in this situation, so I will not pressure you any further,” he says, “but if the words I have told you start to hold any meaning to you, perhaps we could continue this discussion at a later date—”
Medkit sucks in a breath through his teeth and slams the phone down. He doesn’t need to listen to whatever’s echoing out of that speaker anymore.
Katana’s apathetic nature, the horribly perplexing analogy, everything in this pointless phone call pissed him off to no end. What kind of authority did this Inphernal have to dictate what Medkit did with his life? Just because he left that stupid church and survived?
He can’t possibly understand what Medkit has gone through. Right?
Medkit insists to himself that his deals with the church are simply to give himself some stability, to get a roof over his head, to shield himself from whatever machinery or mercenary Blackrock may throw at him. But those mad ramblings keep crawling into his head. He certainly isn’t a good person for protecting himself under a cult—he’s known this ever since he first joined—but had he truly been regressing, as Katana had said?
The analogy hadn’t made sense to him at first; how could he return to his ignorant past self if he had already seen the truth? But Medkit quickly realizes that hadn’t been what Katana meant.
Sure, they had been horribly critical of his actions, but the one thing that stands out to him is that Katana hadn’t seemed to have a goal in it. They had started off searching for the Broker, but the conversation had derailed into something more personal very quickly. The criticism Katana had brought to the table at the end of the call had seemed to come naturally to them. After all, who else can give an opinion on the matter than someone who had been in the same position as him?
If only he had options; if only he had a way out, then he could…
Medkit suddenly notices that his hand has been hovering over the phone.
Katana is probably still nearby. They’re looking for the Broker, after all.
The rational part of him does not want to do this. Why would he listen to someone who had called him on a whim, spouted some nonsense, and told him to keep in touch? Medkit doesn’t know if any of what they had said was true. For all he knows, they could have been some kind of scam caller trying to get his money. Or worse, a member of the church trying to test his loyalty.
But it wouldn’t hurt to call them back. It wouldn’t hurt to hear them out. If it didn’t lead to anything, it could put him in a vulnerable position in the church, sure. But the small sliver of a chance that it does lead to something…
He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at first. It’s like some sort of subconscious part of him takes over for a second—one that’s impulsive, but isn’t as paranoid; one that’s frankly much more stubborn in his own beliefs. One that would lower his hand to the phone and recite the Broker’s number through his head.
Hesitantly, Medkit holds his finger through the rotary dial, slowly listing out every integer. And once he finally completes the number, he picks the phone back up.
The swelling silence is all he is able to hear for a moment. Around ten seconds pass. Then, on the other side of the line, a soft click noise sounds.
In the far distance, someone’s picked up the call.