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<h1>Chapter 25</h1>
<div class="o-story_text o_epilogue type-rg type-sm line-caption line-copy pad-x-0 pad-x-lg pad-b-lg">
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: Customarily, we speak in favorable terms
about “getting to know each other” as people.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Humans, I mean. I doubt trolls are as fixated
on this concept as one that is widely understood to have
preconceived merit.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: The more we learn about each other, the more
the barriers between us fall and the closer we become.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: And since birth, this idea is stationed in
the part of each human mind that is perfectly immune to the dangers
of challenge or scrutiny.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: To grow closer, to know each other, is what
it means to embrace our mutual humanity. What it means to be
vulnerable. What it means to realize an intimacy implied as a form
of divine birthright. And to question this in any way is to succumb
to dysfunction, to pathological insularity, to sociological
sin.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: It is to renounce humanity itself, is it
not?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Yo, hold on a sec. This shit is dynamite, I
promise.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Gotta take care of something...</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">Roses phone is ringing, and I know Im
in for an encore of my last dead-end conversation with Kanaya, so I
block her number. Id like to be able to attend to Rose in peace.
Its only cordial for me to give the greater percentage of my
attention to someone I actually invited over. The nagging wife can
hold her horses.</p>
<p class="dirk">Rose isnt speaking to me directly. Shes been
relocated to somewhere in the workshop a little more comfortable
than the fucking floor. Theres a serviceable couch along the far
wall, placed there for visitors but never once used for that
purpose until now. I cleared off the spare parts and circuit boards
that were piled up there, and laid her down in the reclined
position shes in now.</p>
<p class="dirk">Her head is in her hands again, hair falling over
her shoulders. Her face is entirely hidden from me. Her shadow has
faded to light behind her, assuming the shape of a Rose-like
apparition. I nod to her, and she continues. When she speaks, its
almost as if its the apparition thats doing the talking.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: But is it really a good idea?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: To know a person?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Know them inside and out, so thoroughly that
no secrets remain?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: If two people were to know each other in such
a complete way, what remains of their individuality?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: If youre going there, we might as well start
at the bottom and define what an “individual” even is.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Oh dear god.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">I place my hand on my chin and broadcast
the appearance of being deeply pensive about philosophy all of a
sudden. She gulps hard, broadcasting her grim realization that I
have indeed become serious as shit about this. Literally any kind
of intellectual pablum could pour out of my mouth any second, and
shes not prepared. For all she knows, Im about to start quoting
Kierkegaard.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: Please dont start quoting Kierkegaard.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Youve never even read Kierkegaard, have
you.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Like you have?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Hey, where I come from, Wikipedia is a
venerated literary resource. So if I told you I boned the hell up
on his pages, you gotta believe me. Thats not meant as like, a
punchline or anything.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Im a really, really well-read dude.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: But there were only two human beings alive
where you came from.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Who exactly were the academic cognoscenti of
your era to determine which sources were deemed respectable?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: That would be me, obviously.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Ok.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: I suppose youre going to tell me you havent
read enough Wikipedia articles on loads of scholarly shit to fancy
yourself an elite academic by 25th century standards as well?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: No, I guess I have.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Id be one of the top intellectuals by that
measure.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: A measure set by, I guess, literally one
solitary self-absorbed teen boy for the express purpose of making
himself feel clever.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Absolutely correct.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Pretty astounding, when you think about it.
That...</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: What?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: That apparently in any given era the standard
for depth of intellectual mastery is inversely proportional to the
depth of the ocean.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Really makes you think.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Does it?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: No.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Its one hell of an observation,
regardless.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Considering weve firmly established the fact
that weve both read the entire Wikipedia page on self-determinism,
like, <em>possibly</em> more than once, even.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Lets have a totally amateur debate on
philosophy. Hit me with the classics.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Um.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Ill go first.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: “God is dead.”</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Thats a good one.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Careful where you say that. You could really
ruffle some feathers out there.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Im not a fucking idiot. I keep my potent
rhetorical weapons of pure logic safely holstered at all times.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: You go.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: “I think therefore I am.”</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Solid.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Check it out though.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: “The Hegelian dialectic on history.”</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Holy shit.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Not sure I can keep up with this.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: How about,</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: “Subjectivity is truth.”</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Wrong, but valid.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Try this on for fucking size.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: “Late 19th century existential phenomenology
pre-supposes that free will is a thing.”</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I dont think I bookmarked that page.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Cant back you up there.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: But what if theres no free will.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: You didnt put that in quotes.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Is this a hackneyed reference, or are you
just actually riffing now?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Im riffing.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I see.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Asking the hard questions.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Its about time someone had the balls to.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Yeah, Ive always been underappreciated for
my brutal intellectual honesty. Even when I was living alone in the
middle of the ocean, if you can believe it.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I think free will is a thing, sure.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Are you sure about that?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: ...</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Havent we spent the entire day having a
feelings jam on how none of us got here by accident?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Our lives were meticulously planned from
clone-ception up through this very post-canon moment we find
ourselves riffing in about the very free will we probably dont
even have.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Dont you think its all a little too
convenient?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: This seriously is just a conversation between
two stoned people now.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: The bad kind, where neither one even gets to
be high.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Seriously, Rose. Do you think that you have
free will?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I...</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Stand up.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">She tries to stand up, but I havent
narratively allowed it yet. Her hands dont even move. She tenses,
then relaxes into the couch again, giving up on the attempt. She
attributes it to exhaustion, an all-encompassing sense of weakness
due to her condition. Of course, she <em>has</em> been weakened by
her condition, and thus she suspects nothing.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Never mind.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: You shouldnt be moving around much in your
condition, remember?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Ill sit.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">I sit beside her, and cross my legs
casually. Its all done in one fluid motion in a way that serves as
a seamless transition between the points Im making, like a
magician asking the volunteer to hold his handkerchief as he
continues his verbal misdirection uninterrupted. Its done deftly
enough that she doesnt notice how close I end up sitting to her.
To be honest, I dont even notice myself until Ive done it. I
continue speaking, and she remains rapt. But now even I cant help
but wonder where Im going with this.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Logically speaking, individuality is a
collection of processes and properties, interrelations of matter
and experience all bundled together.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Your experience and processes dont want to
be bundled together anymore.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">A moment goes by, and shes quiet,
perhaps puzzling over what I said. Then I remember I havent
narratively permitted a response. Im forgetting myself, like a
fool. Distracted by the surprise my own actions have caused me. I
resolve to stay focused, remain in control. I let her speak.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: I dont understand.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: You do, though.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Weve been talking about it, but using
different concepts.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Your Ultimate Self, that which is revealed
when the minds partitions are stripped away, and all potentiality
of who you are and what you could have been flow together.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Those are the experiences and processes that
are refusing to stay bundled, thats what your body cant endure.
The unbundling itself is your mind coming apart.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Because youre not as strong as me. Not
yet.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: But you can be.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Im working on that.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: But for now, Im focused on stabilizing you
with my own expanding consciousness.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Its enveloping you now, in a way you cant
see. Keeping your thoughts solid, your identity anchored to your
physical form as it strains to hold itself together.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: You cant see it, what Im talking about. But
I can help you.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: I can help you see what I see, if only for a
little while.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: All you have to do is open your eyes.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Maybe what you see will help you through
this.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Is that what youd like?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: ...Rose?</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">Her eyes are shut, her look of
concentration speaking to the migraine she must be fighting now.
Small beads of sweat appear on her forehead. She wont respond. And
not because I havent allowed it.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Rose, stop being a fucking martyr and open
your eyes.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">Rose opens her eyes. Not her physical
eyes. She opens the others easily, internally, beholding a field of
perception elsewhere entirely. They see what I want her to see.
That which quietly desires to be seen. She loses track of my voice,
which begins to mingle with these words.</p>
<p class="dirk">I offer her my hand. My physical hand. Without
opening her physical eyes, she lifts her hand from her lap and
places it in mine. I put my other hand on top of hers, and wait as
she drifts beyond the torments of her unbundling mind. My words
feel like her own intimate thoughts and my distant voice in the
room at the same time.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Open your eyes wider.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: What do you see?</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">Were not in my workshop anymore.
Physically, yes, were still here. But on a higher textual plane,
weve pulled back from that, from Earth C itself. Rose takes a
shuddering breath and runs an invisible pair of hands afforded by
her new sight over the narrative whole cloth, and begins smoothing
out the wrinkles.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: I see... John.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Doing exactly what you told him to do, like a
good boy.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: ...</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Whats there to be upset about? You knew this
was how it was supposed to go down.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: He could have made another choice.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Then where would we be?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Who knows.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: No, that wasnt a rhetorical question.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: If John could have made another choice, then
you can see what it is.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: If it can happen, then its been written. And
if its been written, you can read it right now.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I... dont know if I want to see.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: If theres no free will, then theres no
regret either.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Look harder.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">She looks harder.</p>
<p class="dirk">Im not going to describe what she sees. First of
all, that would be spoiling it. Unless you already know, in which
case, I guess whats taking place here qualifies as something
closer to dramatic irony. But if you really want to see it for
yourself, stop what youre doing, flip the whole thing over, and
begin again. Ill be right here when you get back, waiting. Trust
me, no ones going anywhere.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: So, what do you think?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Its difficult to say.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I suppose there are negatives and positives.
I cant say if that option would be any better or worse than what
were experiencing now.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Whichever way our fate unravels theres too
much of... something.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Too much blood, too much sugar.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: I almost cant see through it.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Its as if our extra-canon reality, our
surroundings, our actions and their consequences...</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Theyve all lost the ability to blend the
ingredients responsibly.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Do you know what I mean?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Yes.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: As if the moment we entered the victory
state, everything began to slowly congeal.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: And when John made his decision, it
accelerated the process. The congealing intensified, causing a sort
of grotesque conceptual clumping.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Concentrating the constituent properties of
consumption into unbearable doses.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Like when you get to the bottom of a sweet
drink, and all thats left is syrup.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">Its growing dark around her again. The
apparition shes been projecting behind her fades, and she starts
to bleed light and shadow in all directions. Her physical eyes are
open now, and shining bright. Its a striking sight. Shes
beautiful, actually—diaphanous and disheveled and filled with the
limitless light of metaspiritual curiosity.</p>
<p class="dirk">But for all the effervescent mysticism of her
otherworldly becoming, I feel like this is the very first time Im
truly seeing her for what shes always been to me. Shes my
daughter in every sense of the word. My equal, my mirror.</p>
<p class="dirk">It used to be odd to consider it. A technical fact
Id accepted as a genetic reality, but nothing that could ever
quite penetrate down to the soul. But in this moment it doesnt
feel strange at all. It feels right, suddenly. And I know she must
feel the same way. Theres no way she doesnt. All she needs is a
nudge in the right direction.</p>
<p class="dirk">Were family. We belong together. And after years
of micromanaging the inconsistent and confused desires of total
imbeciles, wouldnt it be a relief to have someone by my side who
understood me?</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Youre almost there.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: All your eyes are open, Rose.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Now all you need to do is take a step off the
precipice.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Itll be a long fall. But Ill catch you.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: But what if the person you catch...</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Isnt me anymore?</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Who gives a fuck. Shell be better.</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">And there, right there, is the moment she
lets go. She uncouples herself from the creaking, buckling
partitions of her physical mind, and her consciousness dissolves
into a space more vast, a domain given structure and order by my
words and conviction. Shes permitted the barriers between us to
fall, to allow us to know each other more perfectly. As she was
saying before, to resist this, to question it in any way, would be
to succumb to dysfunction, to pathological insularity, to
sociological <em>sin</em>. Would it not be to renounce humanity
itself?</p>
<p class="dirk">And yet, ironically, renouncing our humanity is
exactly what we have arguably just done. Good riddance, I say.</p>
<p class="dirk">Her body should be dead now. But Im holding it
together until I can implement the more permanent solution I have
in mind. All in due time. For now, what is there to do but savor
this moment? To appreciate her final waking minutes as a being of
flesh and blood? She turns, and the light from her eyes is
blinding. It dims a bit as she lowers her eyelids. She regards me
with an almost unbearably bright adoration. The kind thats
difficult to look at directly, but you cant manage to look away
either. Its like the first time you see the Green Sun. Of course
it is, because thats the way Im describing it. The truth belongs
to me. And as of now, so does she.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: I see it now.</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: Youre right.</p>
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Have I ever not been?</p>
<p class="rose">ROSE: You...</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">A wrinkle in her brow. It smoothes out
quickly. She murmurs to herself, trailing off quietly.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="rose">ROSE: What... time is it...?</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">I step forward and steady her, hand firm
but gentle against her cheek. Thats all she needs: a stable
anchor.</p>
<div class="chat type-rg type-hs-small">
<p class="dirk">DIRK: Rose, does time even exist?</p>
</div>
<p class="no-indent dirk">You already know the answer.</p>
</div>
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