Marco's Heart

[peccatore]

You find yourself in a bright white, circular room. It's nearly empty; too bare, almost clinically so. But the bareness of it means that what is visible here stands out:

A podium in the center, where a familiar figure sits, head buried in his hands. Three paths running from the podium to three different spots near the edges of the room - not corners; circles don't have corners - where three doors leading seemingly nowhere stand with no regard for their complete lack of structural support.

It doesn't take you long to figure out where you are, does it? You only have to decide where to start.

Comments

[peccatore]

"It is," the Father says mournfully.
"And there is no way to stop it," the Mother adds.

Marco proceeds to walk inside. Proceeds to shamble inside. There is the sound of a beating heart, two beating hearts, growing louder and louder.

Will you follow, Viktor?

[pyrrhicviktory]

... No. If it has already happened, then...

[ he pushes on, anyway. ]

[peccatore]

Marco's mother, a woman shaped like one of the specters following Viktor, with Marco's eyes and cheekbones, rises from her bed to hug her son as well. The sound of those beating hearts grows unbearably loud.

The sight that follows is unpleasant.

It's her that he tears into first, with all the grace and care of a starving animal getting its first kill in days. He seems to have the presence of mind to do cover her mouth and muffle her screams until her strength fails her, and to smack his father away (sending him crashing into a table) when he tries to separate them, but nothing else.

Marco drinks until there's nothing left to drink, and when his mother collapses, pale and drained, he goes for his father as well.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Maybe it's just all the practice Lark has had him doing at holding himself apart from other people's memories. Maybe it's the charm Sunny made him. Or maybe it's just easier when it's someone else's memory. To separate yourself from the horror of it. Viktor doesn't let it overwhelm him, even though it's objectively horrifying, and every instinct in his body is telling him to run. His knees feel like they have turned to water, but somehow he forces them to take root and support his weight. ]

... So this is the root of it all. Your self loathing. You could not control yourself, and they died by your hand.

[ Again Viktor keeps his voice even, level. He only sounds like he's stating a factual timeline, not a judgment. ]

[peccatore]

When Marco finally stops...

He falls to his knees, yes. But he also looks at Viktor - really looks at him, like he did before, in the moment he asked him if he knew where he was.

"... You're still talking to me?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

Did you think I would stop?

[peccatore]

"I... wasn't sure that you would have seen a point. This is only a memory, after all."

[pyrrhicviktory]

Maybe so. But since we cannot change the past... talking about it is often the only thing that helps.

[peccatore]

The Father chimes in again.

"What is there to talk about? This is only the beginning."
"We tried to warn you," adds the Mother.

[pyrrhicviktory]

[ Viktor turns to both of them, then. ]

I think we've heard quite enough from both of you, thank you.

[peccatore]

"But it's only the beginning," the Mother repeats.
"Do you think this is enough for you to understand?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

Perhaps not. But you are not helping.

[peccatore]

"But we've done so much to help him...!"
"Are you leaving? What are you doing?"
"What will you do?"

It's getting harder to tell which of them is speaking, exactly, but maybe that doesn't matter.

[pyrrhicviktory]

I will go where Marco's subconscious guides, and bear witness.

We have all made mistakes that we regret. This is not the mind of a man who feels no remorse for what he has done. You are evidence of that. The guilt and shame, he carries with him everywhere. It is a heavy burden, and perhaps it should be so. I cannot make it lighter.

But perhaps it is time for you both to remember not to overstep your purpose. Guilt and shame can serve a useful function. They remind us when we have done wrong, when we need to make amends, how to improve and avoid repeating the same mistake again. To ignore them is folly. But to let them run roughshod over our lives is equally damaging.

[peccatore]

"... Oh."

Marco hasn't moved from his spot on the floor, but it seems he's realised something.

"Oh, you don't know. I never told you, did I?"

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Told me what?

[peccatore]

"Can I... Can I nudge you along? Do I have that ability...?"

The Parents don't seem too pleased with the idea, that's for certain.

"He wants to smooth over his sins!"
"So little that he remembers, and he'll hide even that?!"

[pyrrhicviktory]

It is your mind space, Marco. You can guide me as you see fit.

It is not my intention to do anything against your will.

[peccatore]

"My... will? My will..."

"Your ruinous will."
"Your will is our will is God's will! There is no difference!"

Marco's brow furrows; he shuts his eyes tightly.

"... H-Help me. Help me focus."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... All right. Focus on the sound of my voice. You were going to nudge me along, show me something I don't know yet. Something that must have been important.

[peccatore]

Marco nods, increasingly frantic. The Parents refuse to silenced, but he does his utmost to focus on Viktor over their cries of false messiahs and being led astray and excusing sins--

And everything starts to blur very, very quickly. For what feels like at least a minute, there is no solid ground, no visible sky - even Marco has become indistinct.

When the world slows down, it coalesces into a highway on a rainy night. Something flickers off to the side, barely visible to anyone on the main road.

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Well, this is certainly not the same time period.

[peccatore]

"Unbelievable," the Mother sneers. "So far ahead, and why? To salvage his image?"
"The scientist isn't stupid," the Father retorts. "He knows there have been centuries of bloodshed. This changes nothing."

And then, in unison:

"Follow the light."

[pyrrhicviktory]

... Very well.

[ off we go, toward the light ]

[peccatore]

Smoke billows from the light. It isn't long until it becomes obvious that it's a fire - a small one, at least for now - burning from a car that veered off the road and only stopped when it hit a rocky protrusion.

One of the passengers, a short-haired businessman with blood dripping from a large cut on his head, is on the ground, not far from what must have been one of the side doors. The other is crawling out of the wreckage.