A Crippled Mind - VICE-8 - Dream Sequences

[Zack]

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Falling, again.
A new place of my mind left unexplored, plenty of thoughts to discover.
What will it be?
Maybe an alternate thought, maybe my family, or maybe just the harsh truth.
...
Where will I take myself now..?
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…
…
I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP
…
The long fall suddenly ends, slamming VICE–8 into the concrete of a decrepit old room. Bleeding heavily from his mask, which seems to be fused into his skin, he finds difficulties in getting up - Almost like he’s bound to the ground by an unknown force. The blood keeps pouring, covering the inside of his entire mask, slowly suffocating him from the inside. Staring on as he attempts to catch his breath, an unknown black figure enters the room with him. Disturbingly long in height with bright green eyes, it speaks out in a soothing tone of voice, slowly approaching the injured functionary:
“You’re lost. You’re injured. Do you need my assistance?”
VICE-8 is reluctant at first, staring at the figure and not showing any form of agreement or disagreement. The figure stares down at him, towering the injured man as they speak out:
“We’re going to die this way. Do not resist my help, Wesley.”
VICE-8 ignores the figure, attempting to rip himself off the ground, failing miserably. The blood keeps pouring, the pain gets stronger, the force that keeps him down gets heavier. Pushing through the pain and blood, he speaks out:
<:: I don’t… Nothing… Just… ::>
The figure grabs VICE-8 by both of his shoulders, quite literally ripping him off the ground as his flesh, skin and suit stay melted to the ground. Any blood that was previously suffocating VICE-8 has now leaked freely through his mask. The figure begins to carry VICE-8, caressing him in a poor attempt to quell the pain. They keep walking, endlessly. The silence cuts as the two start talking, walking off into the darkness.
“There, there. You are okay now. Any longer without my help and you would have died.”
<:: I never asked for your… help- ::>
“Correct. You never asked. But I helped you either way. Why are you being so difficult?”
<:: Because I didn't need your help, I would’ve found my own way out. ::>
“That is a foolish way to think. Do you believe that you're able to get yourself out of every situation?”
VICE-8 looks down, thinking deeply about his response before looking back up at the figure, nodding and responding.
<:: Yes. I believe just that. ::>
The figure leans down, staring right at VICE-8, responding in a sarcastic remark.
“VICE-2 proved that otherwise. You could have easily bled out back in Odessa. He saved you, and you never asked for it, am I correct?”
The mindless bickering continues on and on as the darkness they are in begins to form a atmosphere - Broken down, abandoned, this place is weirdly nostalgic. VICE-8 looks around the weirdly familiar room. The figure puts VICE-8 down on a surgical table, speaking back at him with a demanding tone.
“Right here, it happened. You could have lost your life. You could have kept this tough guy gig for a bit longer, and if he had ignored you, we would not be here.”
VICE-8 sits straight, shoving the figure back as they yell aggressively.
<:: I would have been just fine! Like you'd fuckin' know anything- There's a reason I ditched you! ::>
“You tell us that, but deep down you wanted to be saved. You could not handle anything on your own. You would have dropped and given up if it wasn’t for him.”
That seems to have triggered him, as VICE-8 goes to pull his non-existent USP. Must be muscle memory.
<:: I’ll fucking show you gi- ::>
The surgical table disappears, the atmosphere fades away into darkness, as VICE-8 again begins falling down a bottomless pit. The darkness slowly disappears, forming into a more light gray color, everything is getting brighter.
...
A familiar voice echoes.
“I will see you here next time. Get some help, Wesley.”
It gets brighter, brighter and brighter. Practically blinding VICE-8.
…
…
…
And it’s over. VICE-8 slowly gets up off the ground, having fallen asleep in the corner of a room. Dizzy and confused, he shakes it off, grabbing his equipment and walking away, mumbling his presence on TAC.
It's just a dream. Nothing to worry about.​

 

[Zack]

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…
…
WHY AM I NOT DEAD YET?
…
Same room, different environment. A blue aura glows heavily, bouncing around the cold and claustrophobia inducing room. It’s windy, it’s cold, it’s lonely. The room is freezing, a snowstorm forming right above it. There sits VICE-8, injured and frozen to the ground, unresponsive to the situation. Shards of ice are ripping through his chest, exposing his ribs, leaving him impaled.
Quite a gruesome sight to imagine.
From the dark comes a disturbingly tall figure, rushing over to aid VICE-8, their green eyes go darker as they quickly put the pieces together. Visibly panicked they start conversing with the half dead functionary.
“Oh my God- Wesley, what happened?”
VICE-8 continues to sit in place, limp and impaled, seemingly dead at first glance. The room gets colder and colder, the snow keeps pouring down, time is ticking. Through the silence a voice is heard, paranoid and desperate, it echoes out:
...
<:: … 8- Show me where you’re hurt man!.. ::>
...
And at the flick of a button, VICE-8 jumps awake, ripping themselves away from the shards of ice. Proving to be a dumb decision as he gets pushed down even more, impaled further - the shards of ice sticking through his back. He fumbles in a panic, attempting to once again back away, his attempts are futile. The figure all the meanwhile tries to calm the tense situation, reaching out to grab VICE-8 by his arm - Pulling him in closely.
“Calm, calm- Explain, how could this happen? WHY did this happen? I thought you could handle it!”
The atmosphere stabilizes for a moment, the snowstorms stops, it's all quiet once again. VICE-8 just sits there, calmly responding in his raspy vo-coded voice as he stares at his fucked up chest.
<:: Eh… Guess I was time limited, heh. ::>
The figure shakes VICE-8 aggressively, and almost comically, clearly not finding this situation at all amusing, talking back to him in a demanding tone of voice.
“If you die, I die, we made a deal - If you won’t use me, at the very least let me live in peace!”
The silence was short lived, as VICE-8 gets hit by a whole dump truck of pain, the snowstorm returns in an instant - Twice as worse than before. Not managing to handle it, VICE-8 drops limp in the figures arms, almost instantly passing out from the pain. The snowstorm, which is better described to be a blizzard now, deafens the two with the strong winds. But... In the middle of it, the voice rings out, cutting right through everything:
...
<:: …somebody open the gate!... ::>
...
Despite having no clear descriptive nature, the figure is in a visibly panicked state, ripping the ice-shards out of VICE-8s chest as they begin talking once more.
“You are not dying. Not yet. Now is not your time.”
VICE-8 coughs heavily, slowly getting himself back up. But the cold and the wind doesn't help, keeping him pinned down. He responds sarcastically, almost in a mocking manner.
<:: Pfft… You’re just tryin’ to save your own ass… I want a break. ::>
“And you are not thinking straight! You are putting everything at risk!”
<:: Just shut the fuck up and let me die in peace. ::>
The figure shakes their head in disapproval, placing a hand on VICE-8s face. A series of images flash through his visors, revealing a vision. It’s VICE-8, laying on a hospital bed, two units surrounding him and performing medical treatment. His visors return to normal, the vision seemingly passing, bringing him back.
“They are trying to save you. Why don't you want to go back?”
<:: I don’t think I can, I’m… I just don’t want to go back, man, it hurts. ::>
“So you rather give up and die over a one time thing? Leaving your friends behind?”
Time passes as the blizzard ends, the snow starting to melt. It's slowly getting warmer. A light starts to cut through the dense fog, reflecting against VICE-8s visors. The figure covers its eyes, speaking out.
“Wesley… You need to go back. You can go back.”
<:: I’m afraid to go back. ::>
The two sit there on the ground, the room returning to its original temperature. Nothing is said, neither of them knowing how to return to the conversation. The silence breaks as the figure speaks out, pulling VICE-8 closer.
“We don’t need to die because you are afraid. There are people up there waiting for you. They want you back.”
<:: You don’t know that... ::>
“I know enough. Please, come back to them, don’t let this near death experience bring you down.”
Convinced or annoyed, VICE-8 gets up off the ground, walking towards the wall which he quite literally phases through. The wound not bothering him as he does so. He keeps walking as everything slowly gets brighter, returning him to reality.
…
…
…
VICE-8 wakes up in a hospital bed, all stitched up and bloody, surrounded by a few units.
Hey, at least you’re alive.​

 

[Zack]

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…
…
I’M JUST HERE TO FORGET
…
Night sky, slight rain, peace and quiet. Is this reality or is this a dream, it’s hard to tell. For starters, everything looks normal, no illusions or anything similar - just a peaceful neighborhood. Amongst the multiple buildings, one stands out. The lights are still on. Whoever is still inside, they aren’t sleeping yet. VICE-8 approaches the front door of that building in particular, in a trance, unaffected by the environment around him. He pulls out a Glock 18, checking the mag, knocking on the door.
…
It all spires out of control.
…
…
Three gunshots later, the atmosphere changes as the vision ends. It’s the old decrepit room from before, meaning this is a dream, is that good or bad news? Up to your interpretation. VICE-8 is sitting against the wall, looking up at the endless ceiling, completely out of it. By his side stands the tall figure, towering over him. They speak out to VICE-8 calmly, being fairly touchy with the subject.
“But that is not what happened. It was not an on the spot decision, if I recall correctly.”
VICE-8 slightly turns his head in acknowledgement, although keeping his gaze down to the ground, not wanting to face whatever is besides him. He ponders for a moment, responding.
<:: It wasn’t. I just remember it like this. ::>
The figure grasps VICE-8 by his skull, almost violently, although he doesn't seem to find that odd at all. Same second the room starts to change again... It's colorful, there's plenty of music, there are plenty of people. The two keep chatting throughout the event.
“Why so? My memory is your memory, that means you are purposely changing these visions.”
<:: I want them over with. ::>
“You asked me to show you them, and I complied. You are making this very difficult.”
<:: I’m not. ::>
“You can believe what you want, meanwhile, I will bring us to another place... You really liked it, last I recall.”
The room finally finishes materializing, forming into a lovely looking night club. Despite it looking active and booming with loud dubstep, it's empty of any people. There is still this odd chatter heard around the clubs dance floor, heavily muffled.
“Ohhhhh- You used to dance here all the time!”
<:: Yeah... Why're y'bringin' me here? ::>
VICE-8 stands up straight, his Civil Protection uniform changing into a fancy suit. He looks happy, young and full of energy. He stands alone on the dance floor. The aimless chatter gets louder, but there's nobody there, ever.
“Well... You spent a lot of your time here. Making friends, enemies, and meeting...”
<:: Don't gotta' remind me that much. ::>
“Hm... Nonetheless- I adore this place. You were always so happy here!”
<:: Heh... Yeah. I miss it, hope it's still standin'. ::>
VICE-8 wanders around for a bit more, stopping by the employees only room. He stares at the door, his smile fading, closing his eyes.
The vision cuts, the room is getting more and more distorted.
…
It all falls apart.
…
…
VICE-8 appears back in the same room as before, shaking his head. The figure rips their hand away from V-8s skull, seemingly in pain as they let off a quick whimper.
“What the... Fuck was that for? You don't just cut a vision off like that- It hurts!”
<:: Didn't feel comfortable bein' there. ::>
The figure is audibly resisting the urge to say something cruel in response, though manages to contain their anger, speaking out in a demanding tone of voice.
“Do not do that again. Next time inform me, at the very least.”
VICE-8 lets off an annoyed sigh with no clear intention of responding.
“Wesley - You have been so odd these past few days. I try to help, but you keep making this worse on yourself! I know this isn't easy for you, but why are you acting like this?”
<:: Because... What's the point? Not like this is making any progress. I'm speakin' to a fragment of my mind, performin' this mind-numbing theater play. ::>
The figure seems startled, and maybe even hurt, snapping back with a response.
"Yes, I am a fragment of your mind - both of us know that. But I'm not VICE-8. I'm you. And I'm here to help you in particular.”
<:: This is a dream, and I'm tryna' convince myself otherwise. ::>
Two of them sit there, not saying a word. Conversations tend to get awkward when you're talking to yourself. Eventually, both of them exchange a stare, doing so in perfect sync.
“Do these talks ever help you?”
VICE-8 looks up at the figure, it's so tall that he can't even get a glimpse of its face, kind of funny to imagine.
<:: ... Yeah, they do. ::>
“In that case...”
The figure picks V-8 up, lifting him to the sky.
“It means you are making progress. If you don't want to imagine me, I am not forcing you. Just do what you think helps you.”
VICE-8 keeps going higher and higher, and the room gets brighter and brighter... Despite the sudden argument, he lets off a slight chuckle, a smile would be visible if he had the mask off, responding with an echo.
<:: Of course... ::>
And it's over. VICE-8 wakes up in the Civil Protection garrison, holding his head. After a moment of contemplating what the fuck he just dreamt, he snags the Mp5K up from under the bed, getting suited up and ready for another day.​

 

[Zack]

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…
…
ME OR THEM
…
The room is empty.
Nothing but a concrete prison.
In the middle of everything stands VICE-8, a damaged and dusty uniform, he towers over a broken mirror - a shattered, unmasked, and tired reflection looking back at him. He speaks out to the mirror, of course, it mimics his movement.
<:: How do I protect ‘em? ::>
<:: How do I do this job without breakin’ myself? ::>
<:: How do I stay an asset, not a burden? ::>
VICE-8 backs away from the mirror, holding his head. He ponders around the room, his movement indicating a mass amount of stress, he stops by one of the walls.
<:: So many questions… ::>
...
<:: So little ANSWERS! ::>
In a quick decision, he sends his fist flying at the wall, hitting it as hard as he could. The wall doesn’t budge. VICE-8 recoils back from the pain, holding his hand, and slumping down on the ground. He takes his time, whimpering on the ground for a minute.
After a bit of time, he drags himself to the mirror, picking it up - the fragments crumbling apart as he touches it. As a final "fuck you" to the whole situation, he throws the mirror frame against the wall.
<:: Fuck you and your fake bad luck! ::>
<:: ... not like it's even real. ::>
He rolls on his back, still laying down and staring up at the ceiling, covering up his masked-up face with his hands.
<:: None of this is real. ::>
He raises his head, looking around the room, almost as if he’s waiting for someone to enter. Instead, a different surprise greets him, as two doors phase through the wall he just hit - Swinging open. Beyond the door on the left is a brighter path, while on the right, the path is shrouded in darkness. VICE-8 gets himself up, rubbing his visors as he says:
<:: Man I’m seriously fuckin’ trippin’ at this point. ::>
He slowly marches onwards, holding his empty holster out of reflex, keeping his injured hand behind his back, he stops right between the two doors - Staring down the hallways which lead to nowhere, at least at first glance. A tall figure forms up behind VICE-8. Despite the sudden appearance, eight seems unaffected, instead asking:
<:: What the fuck is this? ::>
The figure clears their throat, holding both hands behind their back.
“This is a choice, Wesley. I thought that was obvious.”
<:: What choice? I already made all my choices. I need help, not yer’ stupid mind game. ::>
The figure sighs, lightly slapping VICE-8 over the back of his head, the "light" slap nearly sends him tumbling to the ground a second time.
“Manner. This is helpful. Your toxic behavior indicates my theory that your constant worrying and caring changed you.”
<:: And what does that mean? ::>
“It means you care about others more than yourself. It means you are slowly killing us this way. You're always wondering about how to protect them, but never wonder if they even need your protection.”
In turn, they point to the doorway on the left, leading to a brighter path shrouded in white light.
“You see… The less you care for yourself, the less I get to exist. If I don’t exist - It harms you. A dilemma, we are in.”
<:: And what’s the right door? ::>
The figure points to the right doorway, leading to a pitch-black room. A cold aura coming from it. Not the most inviting.
“Your alternate and worse choice. You could sacrifice everything to help others. But don’t expect to get better. In fact, don't expect anything in return, you know how the world works by now.”
VICE-8 stares between the two paths, looking back up at the figure.
“Now that I’m thinking about it... Maybe this isn’t a hard choice! It's more hands-on, yes, but that is the important step of recovery!”
VICE-8 shakes his head, hastily responding.
<:: Nonono, I already made my choice long ago. This goes against our rules! ::>
“Wesley, you are not seeing the full picture. Eventually, blindly following your friends will lead to your death. Yes, this is against the rules we made, but it is a necessary change for our well-being.”
VICE-8 stares down the left path, letting go of his pistol holster.
“I understand why you are having trouble - But you are not able to save everyone. You’ll eventually break, mentally, and get us and someone else killed. Remember back at the metro?”
The figure remarks sarcastically, tapping eight on his head, which in turn has VICE-8 lock eyes with them.
“You were stressed and you got lucky. JURY-2 would have died. You will not be able to save him like this again, nor anyone for that manner.”
Eight attempts to speak out, but fails to form a coherent sentence, a wave of guilt surrounding him.
“You always say how you want to get better, and now is your chance. Prioritize yourself. It isn't selfish to preserve your life.”
VICE-8 keeps staring down the left path, his arms starting to shake, the manipulative voice of the figure cutting through his thoughts.
“You want to get better, don't you?”
The figure chuckles, listing off another reason.
“Think about what Charles would want you to d-”
<:: You are on a thin fuckin’ line with that. ::>
Eight turns to face the figure, still shaking as they speak out against them.
<:: I have made a p-promise to them. I will always have their back. I am not fallin’ for your fucking manipulations a-again. ::>
The figure keeps staring at VICE-8, their green eye color changing into a darker tone.
<:: I don't want to die, but I'm not a coward either. I am... not leaving others behind. Not again. ::>
He brushes past the figure, heading towards the path on the right. A cold voice accompanies him as he takes his leave.
“This is a stupid move."
<:: But it’s the right one. ::>
He says while walking off into the darkness, a difficult choice executed by how others have affected him. He wanders, his vision slowly getting blurry, and everything starts to turn bright again.
Maybe it’s time to wake up.
…​

 

[Zack]

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…
…
WHO'S THERE?
…
Back in the concrete room lays VICE-8, a pile of broken glass sitting right under him. He’s curled into a ball, covered in cuts head to toe, all of them passing through his suit and mask, cutting deep into his flesh. Two large glass shards lay stuck in the visors of the mask, piercing through and striking his eyes, rendering him blind. Slight sobbing is heard from VICE-8, bouncing off the walls of the room in an ambient, yet disturbing, echo.
From the dark comes a male silhouette with glowing dark orange eyes, it slowly approaches the wounded officer - staring from afar, attempting not to startle him. The quiet advance is cut short once they step on the glass, creating a sound similar to crackling, it rings loudly through the room, bringing Eight's attention back. Despite his injuries, VICE-8 reacts instantly, backing away in a panic, the glass driving deeper into his already open wounds. A scream of pain follows, Eight attempts to pull his nonexistent pistol from the nonexistent holster, yelling into the darkness.
<:: WHO GOES THERE?! ::>
The silhouette of the man continues to approach, reaching their arm out in an attempt to close the gap, still being a decent range away. Eight continues to look for a firearm, now trying to grab his Mp7, which doesn't exist.
<:: B-BACK THE FUCK UP! ::>
Having given up, he proceeds to crawl away, and the same result as before leaves him even more injured. He’s now right against the wall - with nowhere to run. The silhouette lets off a loud sigh of audible disappointment, speaking in return, accompanied by a familiar English accent, which sounds lightly Northern.
“Calm down, Eight. You’re doing yourself harm this way. Stand still.”
VICE-8 continues to tremble, no response. The silhouette aggressively nabs him by the arm, now standing right over him, looking down at the bloody gorefest. They stare at Eight’s injuries for a second, nodding and saying:
“You held this in for a long time, haven’t you?”
Eight pulls his entire body back against the wall, using his last ounce of strength to stand up, avoiding any possible contact with whoever the fuck is so close to him. He responds in a shivering voice, darting his head around the room.
<:: W-who are you? What’s happenin’? Where am I?! ::>
“You’re just dreaming. Calm down. Take a minute.”
Taking the advice, completely defenseless and lost, VICE-8 simmers down, managing to sit calmly. He looks up at the silhouette by following the familiar voice, his masked breathing growing heavier and heavier.
<:: Y-your… your voice- ::>
“Yes, familiar, isn't it?"
<:: You're… Two, i-is that-? ::>
“Correct. I suppose your mind was right about one thing. You saving me back in the tunnels was just luck.”
<:: I don’t… und- understand- ::>
Eight rushes to stand up, trying to reach out and grab the silhouette. The attempt proves to be a failure, as the familiar visitor instantly backs off, responding with a snarky remark.
“There is nothing to understand. Do not get your hopes up, this is just a dream, after all.”
VICE-8 sits at a loss for words, finally being shown the reality he so desperately tried to hide. He speaks out, hardly, fumbling with every word he says.
<:: B-b- you’re… you’re- what happened? Y-y-you’re just gone, w-what happened? W-... ::>
“Why are you asking me? I am not the JURY-2 you know. I am what you remember of him. I am here to send off a final goodbye.”
<:: Maybe that means… You’re somewhere out there? Maybe… M-maybe I’m just-.. not thinkin’- ::>
The silhouette, now assumed to be a fragment of JURY-2, backs away further, dissatisfied by the response. Eight continues to try and search for him at ground level, the shards of glass in his eyes not helping the case. Two crouched down in front of him, still standing at a range where he could not be grabbed.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We know of my simple fate, we know there’s no coming back from it. Eventually, you’ll forget of me, not see me in your dreams either, a last-ditch way to get rid of this horrible thought.”
<:: Nononono- I won’t forget, I’m not gonna’ forget… You’re out there, s-somewhere- ::>
Two gets up, grabbing and violently ripping out one of the glass shards from VICE-8's eye, throwing it to the side as he yells out aggressively, frustrated by the denial:
“Open your eyes! There is no other chance. You failed. You couldn’t protect me. Now you’re going to forget - plain and simple!”
Eight stumbles as he attempts to get up, an excruciating thought from all the pain he may be feeling, blood pouring profusely from his now open eye wound. He staggers forward to Two, who evades him like the fucking plague, not allowing any physical contact with a simple step backward again, and again, and again.
<:: There’s got to be… there’s got to be- some… other way- You’re alive. This is just a nightmare! Y-you can’t be- ::>
“You know that I’m dead. You were there when you heard of my death. I’m not invincible, and neither are you. I expected this to be a lot simpler.”
Only so long he could delay the inevitable, VICE-8 falls to the ground crying, defeated and overwhelmed with emotions. Two looks down at him, letting off one final sigh before going off his own way.
“You’re going to wake up, and you’re going to understand. I know the real JURY-2 would be here to say something… Different, but- This is the best I can offer.”
The room starts to turn bright as the light melts through the silhouette, but it barely reacts, just looking at how they slowly disappear. A final farewell is offered before they disappear.
“You can’t save everyone.”
Eight goes for a leap forward, trying to catch up, but it’s all too late. Everything slows down, everything gets brighter, and, just like in any dream - Running is a no-go.
Time to wake up and face the truth.
Thank you to @Provingmedusa for helpin me write up a final farewell to J-2, it has been great :)​

 

[Zack]

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…
…
MOMENT OF REALIZATION
…
Fall of Geneva. For some, the liberation of it.
Among the ruins of a building sits a lonely Civil Protection Officer, covered in blood, dust, and gunshot wounds. Around them walk equally as injured Resistance members, oblivious to the existence of the officer. All is well, all is quiet - Not even a speck of violence going around. The aftermath of the war left everyone exhausted. From the street comes a blue-cloaked individual, they stare at the cop from afar, and in a sense of pity decide to slowly approach, reaching an arm out. The Blue Cloak sits down by the officer’s side, cutting the early tension by speaking to them, a male Mexican accent follows in their raspy speech.
“What’s wrong, hermano?”
The officer stretches for a moment, their voice trembling as they talk.
<:: E-everythin’. ::>
Blue Cloak looks around the remnants of the city, bodies piling out in the street. He turns back to Eight, slightly nudging him to speak more, still observing the surroundings.
<:: They m-managed to seize control over Twenty-Four. They actually fuckin’ did it. ::>
VICE-8 begins to rock himself back and forth, panicking. The individual by his side gives him a light tap on the back, taking a moment before responding.
“Seize control is a fairly harsh way to put it, no? Some may call it liberation. A return of freedom.”
Eight stares back, almost disgusted by that logic, shaking his head.
<:: B-b-but they hurt people! They killed a bunch of us! It’s evident they care about nothin’ but destruction! ::>
The individual leans his head on the shoulder of VICE-8, pointing up at the night sky - a lit-up citadel is visible, the portal still open.
“You see everything in black and white. Es injusto.”
Eight also looks up at the sky, looking for an excuse, proving futile.
“This war has brought good and bad. Who says you are not the bad guy in this story?”
<:: Common fuckin’ sense? ::>
Blue Cloak goes quiet, backing away from VICE-8, wiping the blood off his clothing. He gets himself off the ground, a blue light following the trail of the cloak as he walks.
“You killed a lot of them as well. How many of those "insurgents" were unarmed, hmm?”
Eight starts looking down, ashamed.
“You made a rule to yourself. Do not kill those who surrender.”
Leans down for a moment, staring Eight right in the eyes.
“But you killed everyone that wasn’t on your side. Armed or not - you have ended lives. This went against everything papá taught us.”
Eight rubs his visors, pushing the individual away from his face.
<:: He wasn’t my father, he was yours. I kill for the good of myself and my friends! ::>
Blue Cloak brushes past Eight, pointing to whatever is left of the damaged palace, a pile of bodies present at the entrance.
“Those friends? Quit your hero complex, cabrón.”
Eight looks towards the palace, then back down at the ground. A wave of realization hits, although denial prevents him from understanding the importance of the situation, shaking his head.
<:: I can’t save everyone, I can’t save everyone– I did all I fuckin’ could, dammit! ::>
Blue Cloak walks past the street, stepping deep into puddles of blood leaking from a multitude of bodies - Combine and Resistance alike. He speaks again, the speech now echoing through the entire city.
“It’s disappointing that you’re like this. You have broken the rules of what’s right or wrong long ago, yet you blame others for the exact same thing…”
<:: I did it for a reason- ::>
“Quiet.”
Turns back around, giving Eight a death stare. The glare lingers for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“What I’m trying to say, is that you are no better than the people you are fighting. You have killed other humans in brutal manners, even when they were unarmed. You have ended the lives of people who were not even involved in this conflict.”
The individual reaches his arms out to the sky, and the city surrounding them slowly starts to fall apart. The buildings shatter like glass, people get blown away to dust. It all goes dark as both of them reappear back in the concrete room, a red light radiating through the isolated atmosphere.
“You call your enemy weak, but you fail to see the full picture of what they are capable of. Seventeen, Twenty-Four… How much longer until you realize you are not making a change in the field?”
He sits back down on the opposite side of Eight.
“I am not trying to guilt trip you, bro. But I want you to realize that this war is not a game. You are against people who actually know what they are doing.”
<:: … I do realize that. ::>
“You only realize that now.”
Blue Cloak reaches his arm out to the sky again, slowly lowering it. In response, the red light in the room dims down, allowing for less blinding and better visibility.
“Now you are off to the Alps, for whatever reason I won’t get into. It is important to me that you stabilize yourself after Twenty-Four, otherwise, you’ll become a burden to work with.”
VICE-8 just stays quiet, probably not even listening.
“Whatever mentality you had before - drop it. The people you are fighting know what they are doing, and you are no better than them. ¿Comprendido?”
Eight takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment, before letting go, quietly responding.
<:: Yes- Okay, I understand. ::>
The Blue Cloak upnods in response, advancing closer to give Eight a pat on the shoulder.
“I know how stubborn you are. I just hope you are saying that with full honesty.”
Once again he raises his arm to the sky, pulling down. The light in the room changes to white, and begins glowing brighter and brighter.
“Take a bit to process this once you wake up, brother. I’ll spare you from any more lectures.”
The room starts to get overly bright, no corner left in darkness. Blue Cloak stares for a moment at the light, before fading away into nothingness, returning to another part of Eight’s mind. A big contrast to before, Eight doesn’t seem affected by the light anymore, just accepting what he has heard. Be it his mind haunting him, or inner guilt, it affected him, and it’ll stay with him for whenever he wakes up.​