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And even though the bone-deep exhaustion is so very visible in the form of the shadows on their face, Red still recognizes Purple. A hoard of junk spills onto the floor, crawling at Red's feet where they stand, back straight and badge shiny before the entrance at Purple's doorway. It smells like depression and sawdust; Purple themself reeks with sour sweat. They're in the process of grumbling while trying (and failing) to kick off a greasy plastic bag that gets caught on their feet. Red doesn't comment on it.
Red is here to take Purple away, to save them. To sweep them off their feet and tell them about the new job they just secured for Purple, to show them that they've been doing great, and that Purple could be doing great too—if they had just listened to them all those months ago. Well, months—it's more like a year and a half. Because Red is a Captain now, and Red is fine. Clearly unlike Purple, who's living in this dump of an apartment, and doing… this.
"Stupid… plastic—things—" Purple stomps on the plastic with their heel and tries to rip it off their other foot by pulling it up. "Sorry, one moment."
Of course, Red is expecting a reaction. Shock. Surprise. Swooning. Maybe anger. They're not too sure on that. Maybe enough time has passed for Purple to calm down about it. Especially now, with proof—with results that show that Red was right to do what they did. Because if they weren't right, then why would the two of them respectively be where they are now? Why would Red be the one thriving, and Purple the one barely scraping by?
Because Red made the right choice. That's why. And now they were going to help Purple, who made the wrong choice and was left behind with the consequences.
Red is expecting a reaction; but not one like this.
Purple successfully removes the plastic bag, balls it up, and tosses it into the heaping pile behind them. They exhale, coming down from the frustration of their battle.
"Can I help you?"
Red smiles in the way MIRA taught them: pleasantly. Clean and corporate. "Purple."
Purple scowls, as if realizing that they went through the whole plastic bag struggle just to listen to some boring spiel. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested."
The door slams shut. Red startles. They let out a short huff before knocking again. It goes ignored. Red grits, steadies in their place, and begins to knock more insistently.
When Purple doesn't answer, they start to get a little more creative with it. Knocking in a pattern. Maybe even starting to knock with two hands. Get a little polyrhythm going on. Red's honestly kind of getting into a groove here…
Finally, the door opens again.
"What?!" Purple snaps, agitated; they're twitchy, impatient just at the sight of Red. Probably because they were starting a band on their front door, but that's not the point here.
Red lights up. "I have a job offer for you."
Purple's face falls. "MIRA?"
"Ah, yes."
Purple eyes the badge and the hat. "Right. But why? I'm blacklisted. What's the catch?"
"The catch is…" Red grins, and does a little drumroll (Purple sighs) before flourishing their hands. "—You'll be working with me!"
"…"
The excitement doesn't catch onto Purple.
"…Okay? Um." Purple frowns, a fist clenched at their side as they mutter. "Shouldn't look a gift horsemate in the mouth, I guess… uh, yeah, so. Yeah, I really need a job, but it's—MIRA. Um. I guess I just didn't expect this. How long is this offer open for?"
"Uh," says Red, taken off guard by Purple's formality. "We board in two weeks."
"Okay. I'll let you know, then. Should I inform you personally, or…?"
"Anyone at the front office will suffice," states Red. "They'll let me know in due time. The MIRA building is—"
"Yeah, I know where the MIRA building is, I used to work there."
Whoops, they accidentally fell into the recruitment script... Not really something they expected to do with Purple, but the instinct just took over with how the conversation was going.
"Um. I-I know. I know that," replies Red. "I—uh, sorry if this is a weird question, but—something's… off? Purple, you know it's me, right? I'm a Captain now, but it's still me."
"Um," says Purple, annoyed at the perceived self-importance on Red's end. "Who are you?"
"I'm… Red. Purple, i-it's—it's me, it's Red!"
"Red," Purple tests. "Um. Okay."
Red shudders—a barely suppressed full-body shudder, as if they were dunked into cold water.
Because all of the pieces start to fall together when Purple says their name with such unfamiliarity.
Purple does not recognize Red.
"Is this a joke?" asks Red. "Are you acting like you don't know me because you're angry? Which—okay, fine, it's been more than a year. But this is just cruel!"
Purple furrows their brow in confusion, more bewildered than mad—and unfortunately quite wary of the job that's on the line here. Time has beat reality into Purple, and this is what it looks like: complying with MIRA.
"Sorry, I'm cruel?!" Purple snips anyway, unable to resist shooting back. "When your people did this to me? I'm bad because I don't know every MIRA businessperson ever. Okay. You brainwashed corpos somehow manage to be more egotistical than the last. I—ugh. I—forget I said that," they murmur, bitter and beat. It look devastating for them to admit: "I… need this job."
"Purps. It's me," says Red, skipping over everything Purple just said. "It's me. You don't recognize me?!" Red pulls off their hat, hands shaking with desperation. "It's me! It's Redsy!"
"I—wait," Purple squints, and for a moment—Red has hope, Red sees a flicker of recognition in Purple's visor— "—From the recruitment posters?!"
"NO!!" Red shrieks. "Red! Your best friend, Red—we were interns! Together! We—Why are you looking at me like that?! Like you don't know me?!"
"Because I don't fucking know you, Jesus!" yelps Purple, backing away, starting to close the door between them.
The words shoot straight to Red's core. Purple had said something like that, back then—after Red signed the NDA. I don't know you anymore.
Red shoves their hand in the doorway, preventing it from closing.
"It's me," Red repeats. It sounds hollow, even to them. "What is this, a—a, a, a punishment?! Don't you recognize me?"
Purple slams the door. "NO!! I DON'T!! Leave me alone!!"
"But—this doesn't make any sense—!!" Red's fist bang against the door.
"FUCK OFF," Purple's muffled voice screams.
"FUCK YOU!! Forget the job offer!"
"YOU'RE CRAZY!!"
"YOU CAN'T SAY THAT! YOU DON'T EVEN REMEMBER ME!"
"JUST GET OUT OF HERE!"
"FINE!!" Red storms off, unpleasant and aggressive as they fix their cap back on their head. They call out once more, for good measure. "Fine!"
"Ooh! Captain Red, any updates on—"
"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO PURPLE?!"
"Eep!" Orange squeaks—but they straighten out quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Red hisses, approaching Orange's desk to slam their hands against its surface. "You know anything about everything around here, and you know exactly who and what I'm talking about."
Orange tsks. "Now, Captain. That's confidential information."
"Oh, come on. As if MIRA gives a shit when it comes to selling its customers private info."
"Captain," Orange warns, managing to glower up at Red, somehow. "You are threatening to directly violate MIRA policy—"
"I don't care!" Red exclaims, a desperate laugh cracking through the statement. "I don't care about the consequences! Just—just tell me why Purple looks at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like they don't know me," snaps Red. "Like they don't recognize me. I mean none of this metaphorically," Red states hastily, cutting off Orange's unstarted sentence. "They look at me like they've only seen me on the help wanted posters."
Orange's perky hum is frustratingly neutral. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."
"So you do know."
"If I did, I couldn't tell."
"I'll get you fired on the spot."
Orange sneers. "You couldn't."
"I will! I can, and I will."
"You think you have more power here? You're the one bargaining for information that I have."
"I don't care," says Red. "If you don't tell me this right now—oh, Orange, I promise you. I will do whatever it takes to bring you down."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"I'll bring you to their medical records," sniffles Orange. "That's all."
"Hello, doctor!" Orange chirps as they enter the office.
A particularly grim Blue turns around, nodding to Orange in acknowledgement. "Orange. What can I help you with?"
"Oh, my. There's many a thing I'd love your assistance with!!" exclaims Orange. But then they remember Red is also in the room, and all enthusiasm is drained from their voice. "—But sadly it's the Captain who wants something here."
"Hi, um, yeah," Red greets in a brusque manner that horrifies Orange, "Why the hell doesn't Purple remember me?"
Blue inhales. "Ah."
Orange nods, as if to say, yup.
Blue unfolds their hands. "Well. This is not ideal."
"No shit!" cries Red. "Why does everybody else seem to know except for me??"
Blue walks to a filing cabinet near their desk, pulling one of the drawers open and rummaging through it. Eventually, they produce a little card.
They hold it out; Red takes the card.
The MIRA logo is faint in the background of the text.
Purple #6b2fbb has had Red #c51111 erased from their memory. Please never mention their relationship to them ever again. All procedures are consented to and MIRA is not responsible for any damages caused by post-operation tampering. Thank you.
Red reads it once.
Twice.
The paper trembles in their hand. They close their fingers around the card, crumpling the words inside their fist.
"This is ridiculous," says Red. "MIRA doesn't do anything like this. This isn't—this is a hoax. The concept is, is unheard of—!"
Blue shakes their head. "I'm afraid not. The operation itself is a patented, non-surgical procedure intended to erase the troubling memories the patient desires to be rid of. MIRA hand selects the patients who are offered this operation, all of them chosen for any traumatic events experienced underneath the corporation. Often, it is preferable for both parties to forget certain aspects of these events. The procedure is not spoken of due to the potential controversary and the whole… nature, of the ordeal." Blue pauses, and looks at Red more directly. "This person underwent the procedure months ago, not too long after leaving us."
Blue sighs, and sits back down. "What happens now is out of hands. Our files are confidential and I cannot show you evidence of our work, but I assure you that it is real and it is done with consent and agreement from the patient."
"So," says Red. "You're saying that Purple chose to have their memory of me erased."
"Suffice it is to say that Purple was not happy and decided to move on."
"…"
"There!" Orange interjects. "You've got your answers now, Captain. Are you happy now? Can you finally get back to work?"
The car windows are fogging up, obscuring the exterior of the outside world. It's cold out there, a frigid sting creeping in from the car seats. Red doesn't even jump when the horn blares suddenly; in a fit of violent sobbing, they had accidentally hit their head on the steering wheel.
Red punches the dashboard, sinking into the pain that spikes at their knuckles. "Fuck."
It's as if the car itself startles, acting like the force alone is enough to jump start the engine. "Fuck!!"
It's dark out; the city lights are blurry.
"How is that fair?" sobs Red, dragging their fists against the dashboard, curled up and down at their seat, "It's not fair."
Why does Purple get to move on when Red is still here? Why is it that for every moment Red spent hoping that Purple would one day understand why they left them, Purple has already forgotten them? Why does it matter? Why did Red wait so long to reach out? Why would Purple choose this?
Purple is impulsive, and reckless, and, and, so many things—but, this? Wasn't this too far?
"I apologize for your distress, but they have a right to the procedure," Blue had said. "It's their own memories that they're erasing."
No, Red thinks, bitter in the mind and a horrible hurt in the heart. They were our memories.
It was supposed to be okay.
Red was going to get Purple a job, and show them everything they've missed in their life. And they would be back together, and they'd make amends, and everything would be okay. Red was gonna pull Purple from hell, was gonna be the hero, was gonna fix everything—
It was going to be okay!
And Purple chose to forget. Purple chose to throw every possibility away. Those precious images of learning how to laugh by their side again—ruined. Ruined by Purple! Sabotaged by the person they wanted to save. Red was never going to get Purple back, their Purple, because Purple made sure that they'd never get the chance to.
"Why would they do that to me?!" Red screams, wanting to tear out their voice and throw it down the street, just for the off chance that Purple will stumble across their hurt and regret ever stepping into that office. "How could they just throw us away?! What—what gives them the right to do that?!"
Pretending that nothing ever happened. What kind of traitor would do such a thing?
If these memory operations exist, then surely—surely it's possible for every ounce of horror to be plucked and extracted and removed from Red's body, to be shoved into Purple, so that the guilt can turn their heart heavy. If, for one moment, Purple could look back like how Red has always looked back. If Purple could just see one moment of the life Red has lived without them. If Purple could understand how desperate Red was to have them again.
Red has always been able to control the ache in their heart. It had always come in waves, heavy but dull waves. Calm. Collectable. Tamed. Cradled.
Now, when Red reaches for their twitching heart? The spikes rip through their hands, and the organ itself squirms to be unheld.
If Purple has ripped out Red's heart from their chest, then this must be the veins snapping like strings.
White hot anger spills in every tremor of their fists. This heartache is bursting with the ugliest fear and the most hideous pain—because there's nothing to be scared of. The worst has already happened. Red is already gone from Purple's life. Red has been gone from Purple's life, and they hadn't even realized it. Maybe there once was a small window of chance to turn things around. Maybe, but—it doesn't matter now. Purple chose this. Purple wanted Red gone. Purple couldn't live with remembering Red anymore to the point of getting some damn medical assistance to forget them! It's gone, everything is gone, it's all gone—
"It's their fault," Red whimpers, whispering and shaking and pulling up their knees, "it's their fault, it's their fault, it's their fault, it's their fault, it's their fault—"
Red eventually finds themself crawling out of the car, standing in the middle of the parking lot like a baby deer using how to use its legs. It's dark out, and it's chilly, and so, so lonely.
Red jams their foot into their front tire, a growl ripping through the hoarseness of their voice. "Dammit, Purple!! Dammit!!"
"Blue, I'm so so so so so sorry, they just barged in—"
Orange rushes into the office, having followed Red who just burst in. Blue's visor widens in surprise.
"Two things. One: I want it done on me, now."
"I told you, that's not possible—" hisses Orange.
"—And two: you'll get Purple a job, no matter what."
"Why can't you just do your damn job normally for once?!" barks Orange. "You can't just walk in here, demanding this, demanding that—know your damn place. Why should we have to listen to a thing you tell us?!"
"Because," says Red. "I have all the information Purple needs to blow the whistle. In fact, it's already on its way to their place! So if you don't get them on that damn ship with me by boarding…"
Orange lets out a horrified gasp. "…You— you didn't. That—it—I—that wouldn't even work! It wouldn't even work—who would believe that? Who would believe someone like them? We won't do it! We won't listen to the likes of—"
"We'll do it."
"What?!" Orange sputters. "B-Blue, we can't possibly entertain this—this, this mockery of the MIRA code—"
"While Red was not initially offered this operation, due to the non-disclosure agreement already promising their silence," states Blue, "Red was still involved in the reactor meltdown. Thus, according to MIRA's terms, they have a right to the procedure."
"BAM! IN YOUR FACE!!" Red cackles, pointing a finger at Orange.
"NOOOOOOO!!" Orange wails.
Blue lets out a wary sigh as they click their pen. "When are you available for the operation?"
Red's spent enough time thinking about this; the answer comes immediately. "As soon as possible. Please and thank you."