Work Text:
It was late evening, or maybe already night. Because of the pitch-black darkness outside and the artificial street lighting, it was hard to tell exactly what time of day it was, but the very human urge to look out the window to check the time had stayed with Roland even after five years of living in the Underground City. With a pensive look, he peered through the window blinds.
There was tension in the air, and unfortunately, it was far from sexual. In the spacious office with peeling walls, the smell of stale alcohol, and bottles of booze neatly arranged on every available surface. Two living AIs, a woman and a man, sat on the sofa in the middle of the room. Both stared intently at Roland, who was leaning on his desk, littered with all kinds of rubbish and necessary documents. He tried his best to keep a straight face in a deliberately unfavorable position. Relationships after the disclosure of the secret of their existence were, to put it mildly, strained. No one in their right mind would love the idea that their entire life experience and the world around them was a computer simulation, the purpose of which was to obtain data for training soldiers of a totalitarian regime.
Roland hesitated, sweating, nervously adjusting his glasses, scratching his beard, but finally exhaled and turned to his guests.
— “Well, my dear new comrades, how should I put this... Your situation is not enviable, but, strange as it may sound, I do understand you to some extent,” began awkwardly the gray-haired man with glasses. “Although in my case it was a little easier.” Roland nervously shifted his gaze to the cactus standing by the window, as if its needles held the answer to how to continue his thought without sounding like a condescending jerk. "I am myself a foreigner. An immigrant, an alien and so on. I hope your creators gave you some context for these words, otherwise I'll have to give another lecture," he sighed heavily and looked at his interlocutors again.
Argilla and Gale looked at him bewilderingly. Gale listened attentively and analyzed every word without interrupting. Argilla, conversely, couldn't resist and took up the question:
— “A foreigner? Not from around here? So what? You're from this world, that should be more than enough. Don't compare yourself to us,” Argilla remarked with an obvious annoyance in her tone.
— “From your lips to God’s ears.” Roland couldn't help but smile. There was something charming about how beings deprived of the context of the real world notice its fundamental problems. "In the real world, unfortunately, that is not enough. Many, many years ago, I lived in a completely different place, on the other side of the world, to be precise. In a big northern country. I was forced to leave; times were hard, not as hard as they are now, of course, but still."
Even after living in this country for so many years, feelings of nostalgia and longing for his homeland sometimes got the better of him. It was even more difficult to realize that your homeland no longer exists in the form you knew and loved it. Many people in Lokapala were immigrants, and he wasn't an exception. Roland didn't usually talk about his origins, considering it unnecessary in given circumstances, but in his office one always could find books in Russian. Even in his room there were a couple of cassettes and CDs with music, which he carefully kept as one of the few things he was able to preserve from his past life. In his youth, he didn't want to see any reminders of it, but he only recently began to regret that.
— "So, what am I getting at? You remind me of my youth. There is something familiar about you, something close to my heart. We are not so different after all,” Roland continued, adjusting his glasses. "I apologize for disturbing you again; you are already having a difficult time. Go get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day. We'll see what happens tomorrow and then come up with a plan of action. You are all dismissed." Finishing his impromptu speech, Roland couldn't take his gaze off the two of them. Their eyes revealed a painfully familiar anguish.
Gale and Argilla did not linger and left without saying anything; they had enough of their own concerns besides the negotiations with Roland. They had to discuss all the new information they had been able to gather during their short stay in this world with Serph and Cielo, who were waiting for them one floor below.
It was already past curfew, but the base was bustling with activity. No one had canceled round-the-clock duty and patrols during wartime.
Argilla couldn't sleep. Unable to shake the thoughts of all the horrors she and her comrades had gone through and how much more lay ahead, she wandered through the monotonous gray corridors until she came back to Roland's office. Music and singing in a language she didn't recognize could be heard faintly through the wall.
“It's not locked,” Argilla said aloud and timidly opened the door to the office, where she saw Roland sitting at his desk with his favorite flask in his right hand and music playing on his laptop. From a distance, it was difficult to see the expression on his face, which he covered with his hand, as if out of shame. He was so deep in his thoughts that he did not notice the presence of another person in the room.
Agilla crept into the office as quietly as a sniper and approached Roland directly. The first thing she noticed was his tears. He was crying. She knew very well what tears were, and the moment she cried for the first time was forever etched in her memory.
—“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, unconsciously placing her hand on Roland's shoulder. Despite her distaste of him, her empathetic nature prevented her from walking past a person in such a state.
—“More than fine,” Roland replied curtly, removing his hand from his face and turning to her. “A pitiful sight, isn't it? A grown man crying over a song about violets.”
—“Violets?”
—“Damn, I forget how many things you don't know.” Roland laughed dryly, but he didn't mind explaining everything. "Violets are flowers. A modest light purple flower with a delicate aroma. The symbolic flower of Aphrodite and her son Priapus,“ Roland continued as he searched for photos of this particular flower. ”In the language of flowers, they usually symbolize modesty, humility, fidelity, and deep affection," he added when the images finally loaded.
Argilla nodded and glanced at the photos of flowers, but she was more focused on the song's sound and the unfamiliar language she had never heard before. It sounded gentle, most likely about love, but the feeling of longing and sadness hadn't left her for a second.
—“This song can't be just about flowers, what were those words just now?”
—“I didn't expect you to be interested in something so sentimental.” Roland wiped his tears with the back of his hand and immediately began writing on a piece of notepaper. Less than a minute later, he handed Argilla the finished translation.
Argilla carefully took the note and began reading what Roland had written:
I will cherish this tender gift of love,
Never letting those violets fade away.
Just come quickly and name
The joyful day of our meeting forever.
When you leave, you always leave me
Not a kiss, but only a bouquet of violets.
I want to keep all the flowers, all these flowers,
To call them the flowers of our meetings.
Although she had never dealt with love songs and poems, the lyrics still resonated in her soul. After all, human feelings are universal, and even language barriers cannot stand in their way. The music grew quieter and quieter as the song reached its end.
—“Interesting. What led to this choice of music?” Argilla didn’t know how to respond, and fortunately, her slight blush was barely visible in the dim light.
—“Am I being interrogated?” Roland asked in response, feigning irritation. “It reminds me of better times, family, home... and other things that are now in the past. Like plants, for example — they're almost all extinct. Under the sun that turns everything alive to stone, they have no chance of survival, just like us. Our world has changed a lot since then. All we can do is remember.”
—“Remember? That's all that's left,” Argilla said, silently lowering her gaze. The weight of memories of what was irretrievably lost never left her thoughts for a second since she entered the real world. A strong sense of justice and empathy played a cruel joke on her. But Argilla was consumed by a feeling that was new to her: envy.
— “You have a song. Language. Nothing remains of our world except ourselves,” she involuntarily clenched her hands into fists out of anger and helplessness. “But even so, our memories and feelings are real.”
— “Did I question them? I just revealed the truth to you, and it's up to you to decide what to do with this information.”
— “How dare you—”
— “You can hit me if it makes you feel better. I deserve worse for my sins,” Roland laughed dryly, not even trying to resist or defend himself. Even the prospect of being killed at his workplace did not bother him at all. "Do you really think that memories are only valuable if there is some kind of evidence? Memorable things? Things get damaged, things get broken... But your memories, they're always with you, as long as you're alive, of course. Is that very useful? Not always, far from it. We humans are weak and fragile creatures, we can't change much, but we are very good at remembering and passing on that knowledge."
Argilla definitely wanted to knock out a couple of his teeth, if not thoroughly scare him with her atma, made to kill and eat people. But she decided to let him finish his thought.
— "I hate that song. It always brings me to tears, and I'm too old for that. It's all that's left of my homeland, which I can never return to. We have no idea if the rest of humanity survived, let alone a country on the other side of the world. We have enough problems here and now. I remember places. I remember people... But neither those places nor those people exist anymore,“ Roland croaked with oppressive melancholy. ”What do you remember?"
— "It's different. Don't compare yourself to us. I still remember our base... the barracks where we lived. The endless rain. The gray sky covered with clouds. The war that had no beginning and no end. I remember fallen comrades, the smell of death... and tears." Her face contorted into a grimace of grief that Roland understood better than anyone else.
— "Have you lost someone you loved? Let me guess, you blame yourself for it? You replay it over and over in your head. You think you could have changed everything. That if you had done something differently... they wouldn't have died in your arms.“ Roland's hand gently covered Argilla's hand on his shoulder, his calloused fingers squeezing her unnaturally perfect ones slightly. ”I'm not saying it's true, just guessing. I know that feeling all too well."
Argilla was silent. The words stuck in her throat. He read her like an open book, which was both frightening and reassuring: being so predictable seemed unforgivable for a sniper, but the realization that someone understood you, especially in something so important, couldn't leave anyone indifferent. Memories of her beloved Jinana and her death flashed before Argilla's eyes, but instead of all-consuming anguish, there was only a warm, yet bittersweet feeling.
For a split second, Roland glanced at a small framed photo on his desk, which showed him younger, not yet so gray, standing next to a handsome tall man wearing a lab coat. The man had brown skin and looked very similar to someone, whom Argilla and her comrades met in the Junkyard. And as soon as Argilla noticed the photo, another person entered the office, and it was none other than Gale.
— "Argilla. You left without telling anyone. That's very unusual, so I had to follow you. Your odd behavior is causing some concern. We need to stick together until we have complete information about what is happening in this world."
— "I couldn't sleep, sorry, Gale. I didn't want to distract you and the others with my problems. It's hard for all of us right now, and you and the leader are busy with important matters. I don't want to be selfish and draw attention to myself when it's not the right time for that."
— "That makes sense. I wonder how insomnia brought you here. And even more so, to him." Gale nodded toward Roland, looking at him with obvious contempt.
— "What, jealous of a comrade-in-arms for a pathetic old man like me? Relax, I haven't recruited anyone yet. Not yet, anyway." Roland couldn't help but smile smugly. Whether the bad joke was a way to calm his nerves, which were on edge due to the proximity of not one, but two cannibal demons that could tear him to pieces, remains an open question.
Gale didn't appreciate the joke and, in an instant, turned his leg into a demonic one and released the blade from his foot, stopping it a millimeter from Roland's glasses. Argilla instinctively turned her free hand into a whip and wrapped it around Gale's outstretched leg, pulling it away from Roland's face.
— “Enough. You stopped me yourself when I wanted to beat him up. More than unnecessary violence, I cannot tolerate hypocrisy.”
— "So, have you decided whether you're going to kill me or what?"
— "Nobody asked you," Argilla and Gale said in one voice.
— "Well, at least you both agree on that. That's something.” Roland crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Gale. "A guy like you hardly just noticed your comrade's absence now, you were obviously standing somewhere in the hallway eavesdropping, weren't you? Do you want to add anything to our discussion about memory? Or are you just going to stand there looking haughty and staring at me?"
—"I'll abstain." Gale's eyes revealed a desire to share something, but his stern facade prevented him from revealing anything about himself, especially to someone he regarded with caution. He was practically the opposite of Argilla, whose personality was dominated by empathy and compassion for others, which outweighed any prejudice.
Gale reluctantly withdrew his leg, restoring it to its human form, and Argilla followed suit. She slowly removed her hand from Roland's shoulder and approached Gale.
—"Are you sure you don't want to say anything? You're always more boring than me when it comes to these things," Argilla looked at Gale's hand, which was adorned with two rings, one of which belonged to the now deceased Lupa. "Especially when it comes to him."
— "I don't think it's necessary."
— "Did I hit a nerve? When did I complain about my problems? Interesting. I didn't think I could kill two birds with one stone." Roland adjusted his glasses on his nose and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “I don't know what exactly you’re holding onto, Gale. But I guess there are plenty of things you don't want to remember. Tell me... is there anything you have left to remember? Anything besides what you saw? Maybe some kind of memento, if I remember correctly what it's called. Argilla doesn't have one, but that doesn't mean you don't have that."
—"Yes, it is. What next? You can't bring a person back to life. All I have left is a promise to the most honorable person I have ever met," Gale replied not so monotonously, nervously touching the rings on his hand.
—"But that's way more than nothing, isn't it?" Roland scratched his goatee with a slight smirk. "There's something to build on and move forward with, and I understand you have something else..." Two rings on his hand, instead of one like all of Gale's other comrades, caught the eye of a man like Roland, who, by virtue of his profession, was supposed to notice even small but expressive details. "It remained intact, despite everything, isn't that beautiful? Oh, irony, cruel irony... sometimes that's all that's left of a human being"
—"So that song is also-" Argilla began to come to an unexpected realization, but Gale interrupted her mid-sentence.
—"No. Argilla, you're wrong. His song is a memory of a place and time, and this ring is a remnant of a noble warrior who fought to the end."
—"Let's say you're right, Gale. But a song can't exist separately from a human being. What's the point of it if there's no one to listen to it? No one to sing it? To play it? People give value to things, not the other way around."
Argilla stood between them, trying to collect her thoughts, and finally said:
—"Unlike me, you still have something left. A song. A ring. Something real. All I have are memories. And, to be honest... I would give anything to have something left of her."
—"It just helps you remember, like a brace on a leg, it helps you move around. You can do without it, but it's obviously a little easier with it." Roland unconsciously touched his left leg, as if talking about personal experience.
—"To sum up, each of us has something left behind. A song. A ring. The past. But isn't all of this, in essence, just different manifestations of memory? Is that what you're implying?" Gale asked one last clarifying question and finally understood what Argilla meant when he interrupted her mid-sentence.
Argilla and Gale stood on the observation deck, which was accessible directly from the Lokapala base and offered a good view of the unoccupied part of the Underground City. The absence of the sky as such, combined with the artificial light, created a very distinctive atmosphere, making anyone feel melancholic. Not far from them, people in uniform with weapons were walking around, one patrol replacing another. But the two AIs, who had recently acquired physical bodies, were clearly not concerned with that.
— "Well, what do you think? Can we consider him a possible ally?"
— "I don't know. But there's something about him that makes it hard to completely write him off. I don't want to admit it, of course, but maybe in some sense he really does understand us a little bit."
— "Do you really believe all his talk about his homeland, where he can't return? Don't you think it was an attempt to gain our trust and use our power for his own purposes?"
— "He was crying."