Chapter Three

Despite its serious dangers, alcohol does, unfortunately, make some things easier. It makes it easier for & to stay cool, take this in stride, and act like they don’t care that someone they respect and admire just compared them to the Collapse, of all things. It makes it easier to play the part they always play: the calm and collected entertainer unfazed by criticism or ridicule, or accusations of inhumanity, or anything else anyone could possibly throw at them.

Alcohol makes words come easier, and this is helpful. But for &, it has another consequence. Thoughts flow more freely through their inebriated mind, and this means it is much easier to use their power, whether they intend to or not. It seems like every time they drink or take any other drug, they always end up finding some information in their mind that they really weren’t seeking.

That’s why they usually avoid the stuff. That, and the obvious health hazards. But it is New Year’s Eve.

It doesn’t take much to get them to that state. They’re already there, and any drinks to come will surely push them even further towards unwanted truth.

They’re on an upstairs balcony of a guest bedroom, seeking some quiet. The air is freezing, and Liz is pulling her coat tightly around her as she leans over the railing.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “I’ve never seen her act like such an asshole. Even when we broke up! It’s completely unlike her!”

& rubs her shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

“I just… I just don’t get it. What changed? Does he hate my guts now or something? What did I do?”

“Maybe it wasn’t you,” & says.

She turns around and glares at them. “You mean, maybe it was you? Because it’s all about you, right?” Then she turns back around to face the city lights. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”

“Well… they made it seem that way.”

Liz sighs angrily. “Yeah.” She’s making a terrible face. “You were all she talked about.”

“Maybe something happened in her life.”

“Sure, maybe, whatever.”

“Really. I’m sure it wasn’t you.”

Liz scoffs. “What, did you check?”

“Do you want me to?”

At this, Liz stiffens. She never wants them to. But maybe this time she does, and it’s too late, because & already knows before she says anything.

It mostly isn’t her. It’s a lot of things. Ramona’s feelings about & are a big one. Messy existential feelings. She’s also just had a fight with her girlfriend, and he’s worried about Roy getting drunk tonight while he’s not there to stop him from breaking his sobriety again. (He’s only drinking root beer and ginger ale, she’ll be thankful to find.)

But it is Liz too, a little bit. It’s Liz and &, specifically.

“Don’t check,” Liz says.

“Too late. I found out by accident.”

“Then don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Alright.”

They’re silent for a long moment.

If Liz had just talked to Ramona alone, without & tagging along, things would have gone much better. Not perfectly, just better. & doesn’t mean to know this, either, but they do. It would’ve been nice to have known it half an hour ago. Maybe there’s still time.

“I think you should talk to her alone,” & says. “Before she leaves.”

“After that? I don’t think so.”

“No, I think you should. Trust me. I’ll stay far away.”

She puts her head in her hands. “Let’s go inside. It’s fucking cold out here.”

“Will you talk to her?”

“Let’s just go inside.”

She will.

—

It’s ten o’clock now, and Tetra has gathered everyone together downstairs. She’s tapping a fork on a glass, asking for their attention.

“How is everyone? Everyone having a good time?” she says. There are cheers and claps and smiles. “Good! Looking forward to the new year?” Many more cheers. “Good! Love to hear it!”

“Now, I have a couple activities planned,” she continues. “You don’t have to take part if you don’t want to, but I thought it would be fun.”

There are about fifty people here, most with some alcohol in their systems, but the party is still relatively calm. Only Tetra could have a party like this. It’s a rousing success. Everyone else is having a great time, and these activities will be both fun and meaningful, bringing all of them closer together, even the strangers, this New Year’s Eve.

& feels like shit. They’re hoping that will change soon.

“Okay, everyone who wants to participate, get your coats on and come join me in the back garden.”

Liz is not thrilled about going out in the cold again. “I think I’ll stay inside,” she says. “Let me know if anything exciting happens.”

Most of the party follows Tetra outside. The back garden looks beautiful, shrouded in darkness and winter and mystery. All the way at the back is a fire pit with some unlit firewood. They all gather around it. The only light comes from the pale half-moon and a few surrealist outdoor lamps.

Tetra’s garden feels designed like a set from one of her films. It’s incredibly eerie.

She’s passing around some things now, clipboards with paper and pencils. & knows where this is going. When everyone has one, she stands in front of them and holds up her own. “Now, if you feel inclined, you can use this paper to write, draw, or otherwise represent something you’d like to leave in 2159. Just anything you want to let go of and move on from in the new year.”

“And then we’re going to burn them in the pit?” someone says. “I see the fire pit you’ve got there.”

“Astute observation,” says Dawn sardonically.

“Yes,” says Tetra. “We’re going to burn them.”

& finds this corny. Does she know how corny this is?

Of course she does. Tetra loves sentimental and symbolic gestures. & isn’t opposed to them either, but they would have thought she’d come up with something more creative.

Oh—Tetra wishes the same thing. This was a last minute addition to the party, and her creativity failed her this once. It’s okay. She doesn’t need to prove anything. She already has four Technic Awards.

& twirls the pencil a bit before absentmindedly drawing a line. The line becomes a shaky sketch. An eye, like they used to doodle in the margins at school while mentally going through the real memories of people who lived hundreds of years ago as if they were movies.

Below it, & writes “Omniscience”.

Tetra walks by. She doesn’t look at &’s paper, just at &. Her smile is strange as she sits next to them. “So,” she says, “What are you letting go of? If I can ask?”

& shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t think of anything good.”

“It doesn’t have to be good. This is a silly activity, anyway. I wish I could’ve gone with my original idea for what we were gonna do tonight. It would’ve been way cooler.” She loses the smile, but it returns, a bit sadder this time. “Maybe that’s something I should let go of. Like, uh, regrets, and perfectionism.”

“What was your idea?” & asks.

She waves her hand. “This big complicated game thing. Super impractical. Would’ve been a mess.”

“It’s okay,” they say. “This is a beautiful party. You’ve done an amazing job.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks uncomfortable. “I really shouldn’t lie to you, should I?”

“What?”

She scratches her head. “I didn’t really come up with something better. No games. I was out of ideas.”

& feels hurt that Tetra thought they knew she was lying because of their power. It’s even worse that she’s right. “Well, I think it’s a good idea,” they insist.

“Is it?” She frowns and looks around at the other guests. Many of them seem stumped. Some are folding paper airplanes. Others are writing long lists or making incoherent scribbles. “I mean… if even you can’t think of anything…”

Silently, & turns around their clipboard to show Tetra.

She looks at it, brow furrowed. “Omniscience? Oh.”

“Yeah,” & says.

“Is that… possible?”

“To let go of? No, not really.” & laughs sadly. “Still.”

“Still,” Tetra echoes. Something about her is distant, uncomfortable, and & takes great effort not to know why.

A moment passes. “I think I get it,” she says. “It must be hard. To know all that stuff.”

& has to laugh. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Another moment passes. Tetra stands and stretches. “Well,” she says, placing her hand on &’s shoulder, “I think Dawn needs some help with the fire. Talk to you later?”

“Alright.” She walks away.

& feels cold. Their coat isn’t warm enough. They wish Liz were here. No one else wants to talk to them. What could she be doing right now?

She’s talking to Ramona. She’s saying—no, & doesn’t want to listen, but the distant conversation is already flowing into their dizzied mind uninvited. She’s saying—

Something that has nothing to do with them.

Oh. Okay. A few minutes ago, though, she was talking about &, defending them as Ramona asked questions with weird implications. Now, though, the conversation has moved on, and they’re talking about personal things, emotions and memories that & has no business hearing.

Below “Omniscience,” & writes “Feelings”, not bothering to specify which ones.