level_act32side_08_end

Haha! Ahahaha!

Well done, well done! But, now what? What will this accomplish? Now, all of us are doomed to die here together!

Ela ignores the man who lies collapsed on the ground and howls like a beast in the throes of death as she swiftly walks over the edge of the balcony.

We're going to bend the rules a bit for the next part. I'll grab one of the hostages and rappel through the windows below, and I need a volunteer from us to do the same.

Well, shoot. Forgot to bring the stuff with us when we left Rhodes Island.

Seriously?!

Calm down, I was just cracking a joke. But, there's a better way.

What better way?

Put this on. It's a multi-functional jet-gliding backpack we had Closure make for us back at Rhodes Island.

Looks like one of those life vests you can get on airplanes.

That was the inspiration for its design, but as for what it does, thanks to Closure, it not only expands into a glider for distance, but also has a jetpack functionality for landing.

And you're sure this thing works?

How else would we have been able to get inside this building from the sixth floor?

In any case, put it on, give the handle on the bottom a good pull, leave the top one alone, and it'll get you safely to the ground. This one's yours, Ela.

Thanks for the help.

Mr. Diaz, this one's for you.

The old firefighter neatly straps the backpack on himself.

And as for Mr. Reynell here...

Blitz shoots Ela a questioning glance, but Ela simply shrugs her shoulders.

I promised someone that I'd save this guy's life, if I had the chance.

Then, this one's for you.

Reynell catches the backpack but simply stares at it without putting it on.

Sir, I think you should put it quickly. I like jokes as much as the next guy, but it's best not to joke around too much with your life on the line.

Perfect. I recall that Ela over there said not too long ago she couldn't protect a man who plays jokes with his life.

Back then, I said that she had the wrong idea, since I still had work to do.

But now... My work is all finished, so...

Does it really matter if I joke around with my life?

Just put the damned thing on and stop being an idiot.

Reynell shrugs as well before putting the backpack on.

Follow my lead. Everyone who hasn't used one before, pay close attention.

Reynell retreats two steps, watching Blitz plummet from the edge of the balcony, wobbling around in midair as he flutters his way down.

Next up is Diaz. The tall man with the accent somewhat similar to Fuze's pats him on the shoulder before helping him pull the handle.

The people on the balcony leave one by one, until only Reynell and Ela remain.

Reynell still seems to be hesitant, so Ela activates both of their jetpacks before pulling Reynell to leap off the balcony.

Wait, Reynell, what are you doing?!

As I said, what's wrong with joking around with my life?

Reynell takes off the backpack and goes into freefall.

Ela's shout resounds in his ears and she seems to grab onto his leg for a moment, but gravity quickly pulls him into its embrace.

Reynell does not know whether it is the swimming pool or cold concrete that will greet him at the end of his trip, but this time, he has no safety rope or backpack.

He tries to taste the difference between his weightlessness in this moment and bungee jumping, whether or not he is trembling, and whether this trembling is commensurate with the destruction he has wrought—

But before he can form any conclusions, he feels a round object squeeze its way into his hand, followed by a blunt pain in his back.

Forced to open his eyes against the strong wind, Reynell vaguely catches a flash of Originium Arts, simultaneously feeling a number of small, hard balls pressing against his body in a struggle against gravity.

...Golf balls?

He does not know if he was suddenly gripped by an urge to survive, or if the golf balls are exacting one last insult upon him, but whatever the case, Reynell accepts it.

The golf ball in his hand emits a similar light, drawing an increasing number of other golf balls in the vicinity towards his back like magnets, slowing his fall.

Reynell, after plunging into the swimming pool, bobs up and down a few times in the water before finally floating to the surface—

More precisely, a mat of densely packed golf balls is floating atop the water's surface, with Reynell lying on his back atop it.

He stands up steadily from the floating golf ball mat, even hopping back onto dry land in a single step.

Miłosz, Miłosz! Where are you? I know you're here!

Ela, where's Miłosz?

No idea, haven't heard from him—

Stand still. Where do you think you're going?

I need to find Miłosz. I need to get to the bottom of this.

You think you can just walk away?

What are you going to do, arrest me?

Nobody here has that authority, but you should at least give an explanation to the people swept up in this situation.

Swept up?

I never intended for any of you people to be 'swept up' in the first place. This was meant to be an artwork of destruction, harming nobody but the investors who deserve it.

Mateo, drunk off his ambitions, and Diaz, who can't mind his own business...

Oh, and of course, you. Your people were responsible for bringing us, step-by-step, to the situation we are in now.

What does that make you then? An honorable rebel? An artist?

Why, both, of course.

I'll give it to you, you certainly are a rebel. But there's not an honorable cell in your body. You're rotten to the core.

What was that stunt you pulled on the balcony? Throwing away your only shot at being rescued was your idea of rebelling?

What do you think death is? A way to show how world-weary you are? Is it cool to tiptoe around the brink of death?

Making me, Miłosz, and all the other people who still care whether you live or die worry. Is that your idea of rebellion?

You're grasping at straws just to give yourself a way to vent your frustrations—

Sure, of course you'd disagree. You think it's all a bit of good, dumb fun that doesn't matter in the end, and wasting other people's investment money was your real form of rebellion.

Ah yes, won't someone think of the investors' money? You must have a fantastic solution that doesn't involve anyone getting hurt—

Don't you know, nobody will see your explosions as any lamentation of art? All they'll see is a raving lunatic.

You've got your father's inheritance money. You've got dozens of ways to express yourself, to satirize, to rebel. But you've chosen the laziest option, the one least likely to ever reach any hearts.

That's simply their inability to understand–

What's the point of your so-called art and rebellion if nobody can understand it?

You hate your father, sure, but have you actually thought through how to really rebel against him? Or are empty gestures of rebellion enough for you?

Hah, who even cares at this point? Probably only you.

...You're awful.

As if that's news to you?

Oh no, I always knew you were...

An awful jackass, through and through.

You're allowed to care about nothing, that's your prerogative. But Miłosz cares! He went so far as to tell me what happened to your mother, just to get me to help you!

Miłosz?!

He told me that your mother was a true artist, and that you used to take after her when you were younger！

Used to...?

What else? Do you think you resemble her in the slightest now?

A man who loves art would destroy the works of countless masters just to show how much of a rebel he is?

Art can be for truth, for good, for beauty, for fighting evil, or just for art's sake. Doesn't matter. It means something different to everyone.

But, if making your so-called art means burning everyone else's work, and maybe even their lives... Isn't that just pure evil?

A round of explosions, a landscape of wreckage, a lump of chaos. Is that the 'art' you say you're dedicating to everyone?!

Ask yourself: what would your mother have thought of all this? Would she be proud of what you've done?

Seriously, Reynell...

Grow up already.

Ela throws a punch, and it lands squarely in Reynell's face.

Reynell's whole body wobbles, and he falls straight back into the swimming pool.

Ela steps away from the side of the pool, but Reynell still feels the gaze of another pair of eyes.

A blurry figure seems to be standing on the other side of the pool, looking at him from afar. He cannot discern if the look on that man's face is one of concern or sadness.

The morning sun is dazzling, and he can't see clearly. But, he feels with certainty that the gaze resembles his mother's.

He turns his eyes toward the sky, no longer looking at that figure.

The man lingers for a moment, before leaving quietly, wearing a sorrowful expression.

Perhaps, he never would be the son who makes his mother proud. Perhaps, that man would not be willing to remain at his side.

In the end, he is still alone.

When he thinks on this, all the paranoia and grievance that had tormented him all this time suddenly seem insignificant.

He left in the end. In this moment, that is the only thought on Reynell's mind.

Everything inside taken care of?

Yes.

The Dossoles police sure took their sweet time. But they rushed over very quickly the moment they heard the danger had passed.

Especially when they say 'just leave the rest to us.' Really makes them seem like the most reliable force in the world.

Hah.

What about the blocked stairwell? Did they clean that up too?

They have some people who specialize in Originium Arts for that purpose. Feels a bit like cheating.

Heh. You'll get used to it soon enough.

I'm curious though, how did you come to show up at that exact time, precisely on the floor above the blockage point?

The timing was pure coincidence. As for why we managed to thread the needle location-wise... Tequila sent a message to the Mayor at the same time he reached out to us.

When we arrived at the Mayor's office, she was already observing the scene live from multiple angles, both inside and out.

Wait, she had eyes on the inside among the hostages?

More or less. She told us a frontal assault wouldn't work, then generously gave us the green-light to jump in from Dossoles's tallest building.

In fact, we wanted to drop in right on the balcony to give that captain a good scare, but didn't have the altitude to make it. Gotta work with what you have.

The assembled crew turns to look at the balcony on the top floor of the art gallery. The fires have already been extinguished, and all that remains visible is the Captain's limp arm, dangling precariously in the air.

Looks like the guy's luck ran out.

Before Doc can finish speaking, the arm suddenly springs to life, fingers curling as they claw at the air, seemingly being dragged away by something.

I take it back. He didn't fall off the edge, didn't die in the conflagration, and even managed to get saved by the police in the end. The guy's got the devil's luck.

Ela, the Dossoles PD want you to take Reynell over. I think they want to give you a special thank-you letter and put you on TV or something.

I have to be seen on TV... with Reynell? Forget it.

Yeah, that's what Ernesto said too.

He also said, don't get too cozy with the government here unless you plan on settling down in Dossoles. If you catch Ms. Candela's eye, things are only gonna get extra tricky for you.

Well, have them take Reynell away themselves.

That works. They don't seem like they have much else on their hands right now anyway.

Alright, let's head out and take a look around. This city might be all about the glitz and glamor, but it's not without its flashes of real brilliance.

It's not bad. When you stop by Rhodes Island to resupply, we'll show you around.

Speaking of Rhodes Island... Doc, when you visit, I'll need you to put on a few extra pieces of clothes, plus a hood.

Then I'll take you to HR to ask for a bigger budget for our team, and you just nod along with whatever I say. Act natural, especially when I call you by your name.

Huh?

The people who had arrived on Terra previously, as well as Catapult, were stunned for a few moments before all breaking out in laughter.

See, there's this Rhodes Islander who–

C'mon now, Cohen, where's the fun in spilling the beans this early?

(*smiles wryly*) Fair enough.

In any case, it's great seeing all of you again.

Sure.

It really makes me realize... just how long it's been.

The sky is clear, and a gentle breeze blows in from the artificial sea. Though the draft is hot and humid, it is somehow also quite refreshing.

A warm, friendly din comes from Galería Krysztauowa behind her.

Where am I...?

You're finally awake.

What are you doing in my house?! Oh, wait, this isn't my house, it's...

Shit! G-Give me a hand! We need to evacuate everyone! There are bombs in the building!

You've been out cold this entire time. Both the Capitán and Reynell have been arrested, the bombs have been defused, and it's time to celebrate.

Huh?!

Other dazed locals also began sitting up, one by one, looking around in confusion.

The exhibition hall has become a lively carnival for artists.

Most conspicuous of all is the center of the hall, now converted into a dance floor where people are romping and reveling.

And all around the dance floor without borders, graffiti on self-extending canvas, sprawling cables laid out for rock 'n roll, popcorn movie reels...

Even the food carts are available to all. Artists, hostages, and even the police officers who are here to handle the case stop by.

Broooo, you've gotta try this extra-deep dish demon pepper pizza, fresh out of the oven! They aren't even charging for it!

Don't just stand there all stone-faced – this food's so good it's gonna make you cry! ...Hey, I'm doing you a favor here and you're still giving me that stink eye. What, you from Siracusa or something?

What does being Siracusan or not have to do with anything? I just realized, you're the little shit who spraypainted my police car!

Huh... Now that you mention it...

Meh, what's the big deal anyway? Here, try a bite of this pizza first!

Hmph. If you didn't do a good job getting everyone evacuated, I would drag you down to the station.

The police officer takes a big bite of the pizza, and remarkably, a streak of tears actually flows down his cheeks.

It's just the pure spice that makes you cry, isn't it?!

Where are you flying, tired fowlbeast♪

Towards tomorrow's wind♪

I thought you were just another greedy jerk, but it turns out, you can rock out after a couple glasses of wine, huh?

What are you on about...? I was the lead singer in my alma mater's rock band! If only the folks back home didn't put so much pressure on me... You think I like nodding along and kissing ass?

The old fart's not around, right? Lemme tell you straight-up, that guy loves surprise inspections more than anything else, peeking at what you're doing on your terminal. If you're not working, he takes it straight out of your salary!

Last time, I shut off my terminal just as he was coming by. He got mad and started demanding that I turn it back on. But lo and behold, it was nothing but pages and pages of work! He was so mad, he tried to kick my chair! Hah!

The hell did you just say?!

Huh? You tell me. That's the whole truth right there.

Here you go, boss!

The drunk man pops open a bottle of beer with his ear, an act that wins him raucous applause, and pours it all over the livid old man.

We really struck the jackpot this time! We not only got to see Reynell's announcement, but also visited the Galería, and now we even got to participate in a pop-up street artist festival!

(*whispers*) This is probably a bit of an exaggeration, but we might not have had the same luck without Mateo–

Are you serious, amigo?

N-N-No, of course not! I was just making an off-handed remark!

We're all adults here, so watch what you say.

G-Got it! Let's head over to the dance floor!

Papá, why are you sitting over here instead of joining in the celebrations?

Because I'm getting old, and already had my share of excitement this morning. Wouldn't want to get in the way of the youths.

I'll go do my own thing then?

Go ahead. Have a good time with the others.

Tecno shrugs and heads towards the dancefloor, her small frame quickly disappearing into the crowd.

The old firefighter squints his inebriated eyes, involuntarily tapping along to the rhythm of the music as he watches the never-ending parade of people on the dance floor.

That is, until a man approaches him from the other end of the exhibition hall, exuding an aura completely incongruous with the gaiety and joyousness of the event.

Hey, Diaz. Congratulations, you got to hold your party at my place after all.

Got a problem with that?

I'm not so stingy. Plus, I'm not going to let a little provocation get to me.

Sounds nice. Wanna take the dance floor for a song or two?

...I'll pass.

Oh, your 'dance partner' isn't here. He doesn't seem to want to dance with you anymore.

Nonsense.

What about you, then? Why are you out here drinking by yourself? Where's your dance partner?

You're asking the wrong guy.

If I wanted to dance, I'd have my pick of anyone in this hall right now. Anyone, except for you.