Chapter Text
Flickering. White, turns to black, turns to white. The minuscule line flashes, blipping in and out of existence, surrounded by nothing but inky dark grey, like a solitary ship, lonely amongst endless waves, lost and wayward. Suddenly, a letter springs forth from it, then another, and away goes more, all until a word forms. Then, as quickly as it came, it is stricken down once more, as if by some holy smite wiping it from the world. The captain of the lonesome vessel, the mother and reaper of the words, and the composer of this yet unheard melody allows a great and heaving sigh to flow from her as if it was pounding at her plating in a battle to escape as she loosens her tensed gears and cords and falls backwards, her chair only just keeping her upright as she leans back and looks to the ceiling.
"I am never getting these fuckin' lyrics done."
Mirage drags herself from her seat and places herself at the edge of her bed. Moonlight clashes with the brightness of her laptop's screen as it pours in, as if in an attempt to flood the room until nothing but pale radiance can be seen. Her hand stretches outwards, the sapphire tones melding with the silver of the strings in the darkness as she grasps the guitar's neck. Slowly, she lifts it onto her lap and begins to pluck the strings, notes slowly stumbling into riffs and chords as she starts to find her footing in her melody.
The music carries on, songs flowing into one another as she plays, mistakes and hesitation halting the symphony until corrected. Eventually, after a short while, she allows the final note to trail off, echoing through her room until it fades like a burnt-out light bulb's shine. She puts her instrument away, leans backwards, collapsing into a heaping mound of plushies, and, finally, starts to slip into sleep.
—
Metal clacks against tile, early morning light begins to shine through the windows, struggling to sneak through the cracks in the curtains as if it were trying to slide in unnoticed. A blue hand reaches around a silver handle and pulls, letting the crack of magnets separating and the seal between steel and rubber breaking echo out. She lets the door of the fridge drift away as she looks into the cool white interior. Seconds pass. She speaks.
"God damn it."
Empty.
—
Her dress flows around her legs, her jacket slips over her arms, and her bag slings over her shoulder as she twists the doorknob, tile meeting carpet in the angular arch of her doorway. She takes twists, turns, halls, and stairs until she makes her way out of the building, leaving the dorm behind as she's greeted with a gentle breeze and a blazing sun.
Mirage starts her trek outwards, briskly walking through the streets like a rat in a maze. That is to say, confused, only vaguely aware of its own location, and very likely lost. She pulls out her phone, about to open a map like she should've done the second she left the building, or better yet, the second she woke up, in case she got lost in her own room, when she's suddenly greeted by an empty battery. Dead.
She tries to remember any sort of landmark, but every turn feels unfamiliar, every street too long or too short, every building nearly sparking her memory, but never enough to grant her a sense of direction. She looks outwards to a nearby sign across the street, trying to identify the words in hopes it'll guide her through this mess, but, suddenly, before any letters ever have the chance to register, she's struck to the cold, hard ground.
"Oh goodness! I apologize. Please, allow me to help you to your feet."
Mirage looks up, lens slowly drifting from legs, to waist, to armored face, before finally focusing on the hand extended to her.
"Fine. It's the least you could do for introducing me to the ground."
She takes his hand, the plating of her fingers clinking quietly against his gauntlet. She looks back into his face, the light reflecting off of his golden cross like a mirror, practically built to burn into her camera like the sun’s rays.
"I truly am sorry. I will be certain to look onward with care and diligence going forward. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"
“I- No, no. It’s fine. It was my fault anyways, I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry for being rude like that, I’m just having a kinda shitty morning.”
He tilts his head a little in calm curiosity before speaking again, “Oh? Is it anything I could help with?”
She sighs and looks away from him before letting her gaze drift back.
“I mean– Well… It’d be nice for you to point me to the nearest grocery store, if that’s not too much trouble?”
“Of course. I’m actually going in that direction myself. You can simply follow me. Do tell me if I move too quickly or slowly for your taste.”
“Oh, um. Sure. Thanks.”
As if he’s done nothing but walk these streets for a hundred years, he gracefully guides Mirage up and down through the bends and paths of the town, turning to see if she's still following every few minutes. After a little while, he comes to a stop in front of a church. She looks at him, confused, but giving him time to explain. She turns to gaze at the building, examining the stained glass as it shimmers under the morning sun's light. The lights inside are off and the parking lot is empty.
“This is my stop, but the store is just down the street and to the left. I can bring you the rest of the way, if you’d like.”
“No, I got it. Thanks.”
“It is truly no issue.”
“Alright. Um. See you sometime. Probably...”
“If luck allows, you will. Goodbye.”
“Bye…”
He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small, worn key. Patches and creases of it that’ve weathered the apparent years of use still shine in luminous gold under the sunlight, but the rest remains a dull bronze-ish brown. He slips it into the lock and enters the church, closing the door behind him.
Mirage starts to walk away towards the store, but as she leaves, a sound trails from the church behind her.
An organ sings, graceful despite its subtle lack of proper tuning. She stops for a second, just to let the song finish before leaving. And once that song ends, another begins. If she’s listening to this one as well, she may as well rest her legs. Leaning against the wall by the door, she slides to the ground. Song after song starts and ends as she idly watches the vibrant reflections of the stained glass glimmer on the cold grey concrete, listening to every note, letting her mind rest and body relax, slowly growing more and more calmed, and serene, and tired, and–
—
Asleep on the ground, Mirage doesn’t so much as register the second the notes stop playing, nor the footsteps approaching the door. She only slightly notices the sound of the knob turning, though that sound is quickly overshadowed by the much more significant sensation of a door slamming into the top of her head.
“Wuh– What the fuck??”
Mirage sputters in surprise, which isn’t entirely dissimilar to the reaction given by the opener of the door as he jumps slightly.
“Oh! Hello! I, um- I hadn’t realized you were present! Are you alright?”
“I– Uh. Yeah. Yeah. Um. I– I must’ve dozed off. Sorry.”
“Forgive me if this comes off as impolite, but… Why are you… here?”
“Oh! I just- Um, I- I might’ve… gotten distracted listening to you play…”
He turns away slightly, the pale silver of his helmet shifting to a faint, rosy pink.
“Ah… Alright.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like–”
“No, no, it is alright. You didn’t do anything wrong, just…”
“Yeah, I know the feeling…”
“Oh? Do you play as well?”
“No. Well, not piano. I play guitar.”
“Ah. Wonderful. Meeting you has been pleasant.”
“Yeah, it has been. My name is Mirage. By the way.”
“Oh, I had completely forgotten to tell you! My apologies. I am Gabriel.”
“It’s okay. Um. Sorry again. I should probably go get groceries now…”
“Perhaps. If you wish to meet again, I come here quite often. I hope to see you around.”
“Yeah. That sounds nice.”
—
A metallic clink hits the air as she clutches her face, steel tapping on her lens’ glass. The golden glow of the grocery store fades as the automatic doors shut.
“Oh my fucking GOD, I was so awkward. I bet he hates me.”
She adjusts her grip on the plastic bag and walks onwards down the street, driven more by muscle memory than active thought.
“That was creepy, right? Staying there and listening to him play? Ugh, that was probably so creepy.”
She takes a turn and lets her hand brush against the beam of a street sign.
“God, what time is it? I think it’s past noon. Maybe. How long was I sleeping there?”
She tilts her head up to see where the sun lies in the greyed sky as she treks onwards.
“Oh my god, was I there for hours just because of him? That makes it even worse. Ughhhh.”
She brings her head back down to the earth and stops in her tracks.
“Plus there’s… the… Um. Where am I?”
She looks forward, the golden light of her lens piercing into the haze ahead. Graves rise like grasping hands from a sea of fog. The path before her stretches into the gaping maw of wrought iron fences.
She slowly takes one more step, moving towards the misty cemetery and muttering to herself further.
“People work at cemeteries, right? Like, pastors, and gravediggers, and cleaners, and shit. Yeah. Okay, this’ll be easy. Just find someone, ask for directions, and get home.”
She strides forwards with newfound confidence, passing the threshold of the warped and twisted metal gate. Immediately, a shiver runs through her plating, an almost claustrophobic gloom hanging heavy in the air. Still, she moves onwards, though now more hesitant.
The melancholy of this place felt nearly overwhelming, as if it were trying to smother her, cover her completely and drag her down into one of the graves. Still, despite— or quite possibly because— of the oppressive dread that threatened to swallow her whole, no one seemed to be nearby. Not only were there no groundskeepers or gravediggers, but not even a single mourner.
Mirage crouches down, peering at the carving engraved into the stone as her bag of groceries brushes against the wilting grass, but through the weathering and moss, she can’t make out the words. She’s sure a closer look and a quick brush clean would help, but she doesn’t know this person. Disrespect feels like the wrong word, and whoever’s buried under this rock sure as hell wouldn’t mind, but. It still doesn’t feel right.
Deciding, rather than leaving towards town to find someone, since this place seems about as derelict as a spot could get without any archaeologists getting called, she’ll keep trying to find someone here, she continues to explore. Perhaps if she lingers around for a few centuries, some scientist looking for ancient bones and digital age ruins will dig her up from a grave she stumbled into and she’ll finally know what direction home’s in. She’s got perishables with her though, so maybe a better plan is in order.
She continues to explore, strolling along the paths in hope of some sort of clue or helping hand. A simple, but rather large statue sits in the center of the cemetery, clutching a light fixture in it’s hand, glowing a radiant, ghastly white. Suddenly, not far from where she stands, she sees a small shed. She could’ve sworn she checked there, but maybe she missed it. Either way, she moves towards it and gently knocks at the metal door, a light clang echoing into the small structure. No response. Again, she knocks. Nothing. She presses her head to the door. No sound inside.
“Anyone? Is it empty?”
Slowly, she starts to turn the knob. It’s unlocked.
“If there’s anyone in there, I’m coming in, okay?”
The door opens with an eerie creak. The interior is revealed. Nothing.
Well, not nothing. A small desk sits in the center, directly across from the door. There are no lights, no chairs, nothing but the desk and what’s on it. A series of scrawled, messy, nearly crude drawings. A silent classroom. A somber funeral. Empty bedrooms and hollow halls. Weird.
Deciding not to be the first one to die in whatever horror movie she landed in, Mirage quickly begins walking out of the shed, out of the graveyard, and towards town. The statue comes and goes as she briskly strides, straying from the path, returning to it, and leaving once more on a direct route to the suddenly very far seeming gate. A step, and another, and yet one more, metal meeting grass as she moves. That is, until it doesn’t.
Suddenly, loose dirt finds itself piled beneath her heel, set like a trap from the earth itself, bringing her to a freefall, a downward spiral as her foot slips, and continues to slip, further than it should be able to. Ground should be here. Is. Is this grave empty? She tries to grab a hold of the gravestone to prevent her fall, but all she can grasp is moss, pulling away the dark greens to reveal the carving on the stone.
It reads, W E L C O M E .
–
Dazed, dizzied, and disoriented, Mirage begins to wake. It was just a dream? Thank fucking God. She starts to stand, rising up from the bush she– Wait. Bush? She turns around and runs her hands through the leaves. Plastic? She looks around, head spinning as she gazes at her surroundings. Screens surround her, displaying open fields and sunny skies, artificial nature sings discordantly, and her town is nowhere to be found.
She throws her groceries to the ground.
“What the FUCK, man!”