Ghost's Viewpoint Chapter 4: I Think Therefore I Suffer

What little respect Johnny had for had surely deteriorated by then.

From the corner of my eye, I watched his eyes widen to oblivion.

I may have acted rashly as though I was prepared for it to resort to violence, but, truthfully, I was not.

I am no martial artist or trained assassin. Factually, I was scared shitless.

I disliked pain.

But, what’s different with Johnny and I is that I am not afraid to die or to hurt anyone.

That doesn’t make a martial artist, though.

I was always good at make-pretending. As a child, my teacher had once told that I would make a great actor, by the way.

Trotting slowly towards the man with mid-length hair, in ti, the muzzle had pressed onto the bridge of my nose.

"Shoot, you fool. Then, shoot the intern."

I intentionally did not use Johnny’s na so that they may not think we were close.

Once in a while, Johnny and I would have lunch together during his internship at this hospital. So, perhaps, that was why he was so pissed off at for killing that monster child. He had respect for and I destroyed that.

A dribble of sweat dropped from the man’s face. Fortunately, I was the type to perspire in the back when I was nervous.

We stared at each other for a minute and the monts to co. His eyes were dark blue, I noted, and had a small pupil, showing off the color of his eye, making it difficult to sotis differentiate from black or blue. His skin was rough, with the proof of where acne once infected his face. He tossed his hair as most long-haired girls would do, except he’s a man. That was obvious from his deep voice. Putting the fact that he had feminine features aside, he had a sharp jawline and nose. He’s the type that I’d see as a reference for art or on television. He had piercings: a helix with a silver ring and multiple lobes with the sa jewelry.

With his body beginning to shiver, he bit his lip until it dripped blood down his chin.

The man looked at the lady and, in quiet agreent, dropped the gun.

Walking away, she said:

"Well, aren’t you a brave one?"

Then tossing her hair that was the sa length as the man.

-

Johnny and I sat across from the man and won who introduced themselves as Harry Donovan and Junhan Jang respectively in a limousine.

Though the interior of the car seed luxurious, with aged white recliners that had cup holders on each side, and, on my left, had iced bottles of alcohol, and, to my right, rusty cans of beer that Harry had begun to slurp out of, you could tell that the limousine was nearly doddering.

The exterior only must have been pristine because of the rain that happened earlier.

There was no conversation, only dead silence as we ventured towards their headquarters.

I was beginning to question their intentions until, once in a while, Harry, head resting on his own forearm, would rise from his slumber and mutter "...quiet...!" and Junhan would simply stare out of the window.

Harry didn’t seem to be harmful, to say the least.

"...ouk!" Harry choked on his saliva and was imdiately hit on the stomach by the swift Junhan.

He awoke. "What year is it?"

"What year is it, indeed," responded Junhan, eyeing Harry before turning to . "What year is it, Schneider?"

I supposed she didn’t have a choice on who to ask; Johnny was fast asleep on my shoulder.

Never mind that. I don’t ever recall introducing myself to them. While they did introduce themselves and Johnny reciprocated, I did not. Johnny could not have told them, for he, despite my actions, had stuck closely to like a sweet potato’s sap.

This Junhan Jang, I didn’t particularly like her. For one, not only did she speak ambiguously, she also looked ambiguous. I could not tell if she was friends with Harry or if they were enemies. I also could not tell if she was against or on our side.

I beca quite a storyteller in college and often did I take my characters from real life. As most storytellers do. So it was rare for to not understand a person’s character or personality.

I got that from my elder brother, I thought, reminiscing.

I figured sothing out, though: she must be the one leading.

She gave off that vibe, is all.

After a pause, I responded:

"Seventeen eighty-nine."

"Not as far as I thought. On our earth—our country was nad Germania—it was the year two thousand and twenty-six."

"Is that so?"

"And!" interrupted Harry who suddenly awoke with a bellowing voice. Then, in a quieter voice: "The world had ended there already."

I nodded deeply.

"And this one," said Harry, hand gesturing, "is on the brink of ending. Actually, it had already ended now that the scenarios began."

"Rounds," corrected Junhan. "We had sothing called constellations there. They were the devils, I swear to god."

"G...God..?"

Johnny muttered as he awoke.

"I’m sorry," said I, ruffling Johnny’s head to make him go back to sleep. "In our world, the gods have fallen. We only believe in—"

"Angels," uttered Harry. "The nephilim."

I affird with a nod.

Harry humd.

"You know, we had angels as constellations too. Constellations watched our every move through screens. They watched us as we killed our comrades, our loved ones, and as we fucked!"

He raised a can of rusty beer patriotically.

"That’s not it," Harry moved on. "We weren’t the only ones. I t a man nad Mongrel. His world was the sa—ended. Instead of scenarios or rounds, though, his world had nightmares or dream realms or whatever. I’m not too sure.

"I don’t rember his face anymore."

Harry took a swig of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so. "May the Word be kind to him."

"One thing is certain, though," he said. "Imperfect—"

The word repeated in my mind. Imperfect.

"—we may be we will defeat whoever cos our way. We only need to grow stronger. Cogito ergo doleo!"

I think, therefore I suffer.

As for , I thought too less so I suffer more. If I had a working mind, I would not have imdiately trusted these two.

But their existence was too familiar for to simply brush off. Perhaps we had t in a different life. Their words, no matter how harsh, gave comfort to as if I was a parent watching over their child.

What were the chances that I would be kidnapped and my intestines sold to the dark market?

What he said made think, I consud his words and his story, but I would never understand his or Junhan’s pain.

I who had lived privileged could never understand their pain.

They had possibly gone through a lot. Losing their comrades, making new ones, and losing them again.

Sensing that the conversation was over, I looked outside the window.

The stories they tell...the mories they hold, they are all painful.

Really. To rember is to be punished.

It makes question if I should’ve let Harry shoot that mont.

From here on, I was bound to lose and to kill.

And eventually, I am bound to die.