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Isaac rolled over in bed with more ease than he was used to. He blinked his eyes in the rays of the morning sun shining through the curtains, blinking a few times more when his vision didn’t clear - that was when he was reminded of the absurd truth he had had to re-comprehend each morning.
He stretched out the arm of his nephew towards the bedside table, delicately picking up his glasses to place onto his face. His vision cleared in a manner he had still yet to get used to. He had just started to sit up when the reality of the situation made itself clear once more, sending him dropping back onto the pillow and staring up at the ceiling.
Why?
He asked himself that every morning. There was no other question which he needed an answer to more than that one. It’s as if he was hoping a small portion of his nephew’s memory remained that could give him an answer.
Well, he knew the answer. Jack had told him himself on the tape recording. But the point of Isaac’s question was more than just the motive.
Why?
Did he truly think his plan would make the world a better place? The thought of living surrounded by millions of copies of himself sounded like a nightmare to Isaac. And how was this supposed to increase progress if everyone was the same?
Did the boy really idolise him that much?
If so, why did he, for all intents and purposes, kill him?
Isaac slowly pushed himself out of bed, trying as hard as he could to stop fretting so much, despite knowing he failed to do so every day prior. Despite his younger body, he felt twice as frail as he had ever been in his original one. Now in the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face, before realising he had forgotten to take off the glasses.
He still remembered the gleam in his young nephew’s eyes. He could tell that, even from his early youth, he had a true passion for knowledge. Isaac was not exactly a cheerful person, but he couldn’t help but be invigorated by the energy radiating from Jack whenever they worked together on an experiment. Even when he didn’t have the equipment for any kind of project, the boy was never disappointed - Isaac would simply ramble on about whatever network or algorithm he had been working on, and he would absorb every single word with the reverence of a follower listening to their holy text. If one of his students had flung so many questions at him, he would have given them a brief recommendation of a library book and left it at that - from Jack, he would gladly give answers until one of the two fell asleep.
Having wiped down the glasses, he returned them to his face and stared at his nephew in the mirror. His eyes, still clearly the same, were so very different. They were tired and bitter, dark bags beneath them and wrinkles beginning to form nearby. His face was worn and haggard, but Isaac could still make out that same child in it. Maybe if he stared a little longer, the face would start speaking back to him. If only.
Isaac supposed he must have assumed that Jack’s enthusiasm for lengthy discussions extended to more than just his uncle. He knew that the boy wasn’t exactly like the other children in many ways, and that he had certain difficulties connecting to them, but he must have guessed - or maybe hoped - that he would have at least someone he could share his passions with other than Isaac himself. It seemed to him now, however, that that was likely not the case - or, at least, that things had changed at some point.
His nephew had kept him informed of his adult life, with the same love of knowledge Isaac remembered still occasionally shining through the ink on the letter - yet, more recently, it had become much rarer. Isaac liked to complain about people as much as the next man of his late age, but all Jack seemed to do in his most recent letters was complain - about his coworkers, his superiors, people on the news - it had begun to worry Isaac in a way he couldn’t really understand at the time.
When he had received that picture of the pair of them and their first ever experiment, it had quelled his fears - despite the infamous moment of peril, it was one of his fondest memories, and clearly his nephew felt the same. Now, however, a dark thought clouded it:
Is that what gave him the idea?
If he hadn’t found that picture, would he not have done what he did?
If the two had spent less time together, would Jack not have had that warped, idealistic image of him?
If they had never done that experiment, would he still be here?
Isaac buried his nephew’s head in his hands. Jack was a fool - no, Isaac was the fool. They both were. He should have never let that boy idolise him like that. He wasn’t a genius. He was just an old idiot who got famous off of faulty theorems. And he should never have let him become so enamoured by the pursuit of knowledge and progress. All it did was destroy him. It was all Isaac’s fault.
Why did that same sweet, innocent little child try to do that to everyone - to do that to himself?
Why?
Isaac let out a deep sigh, choking on it halfway.
He knew everything he was saying wasn’t true. He couldn’t regret his choices. The vision of that boy looking up at him with eyes brimming with wonder wouldn’t let him.
He finished his morning routine in as much mental silence as he could muster. He took another deep breath, staring deep into the mirror, then exited the bathroom.
Slowly, he made his way over to the television. The tape, as always, was sat right next to it. He placed it gingerly into the player, then lowered himself into the armchair.
And there was Icarus, speaking to him once more.