Ghost of the Fallen Angel
Mastema took my silence in stride, teasing me just like that.
—What's wrong? Like you've seen a ghost?
And he wasn't wrong. I was shocked, as if I had seen one.
Well, it is a ghost, actually.
How couldn't you think it was a ghost when a dead man came back to life? The cockpit was definitely smashed. The whole machine had exploded when the generator went critical.
Maybe Mastema's a clone or something. Is that the setup?
—Anyway, you've always been the quiet type. Feels like I'm talking to a wall.
He changed the subject without answering my questions.
—What a night, huh?
The machine's head tilted upward, as if gazing at the night sky. With its wrecked body, he spread its arms wide, savoring the air around him.
—Stars so thick it looks like they'll pour down any second. And get this—hard to believe, but sometimes they actually do. Meteors, shooting stars, whatever you call 'em. Like I wrote in that email, back when I was a kid, there was this fairy tale that if you made a wish on one, it'd come true.
Mastema snorted.
—Not that our little miss here would know. Born into this shithole world, wishes don't come true. Blame us worthless adults.
"Talkative tonight."
It was the first thing I'd said since facing the ghost Mastema.
—There we go! Cute voice. Thought it was hallucinations right before I died, but nope—your head's fine.
"Why are you alive?"
—Before you ask more, my turn. Remember my last words?
My last... Of course I did. It hadn't been that long ago.
"Something about piloting your machine."
—Yeah, that. Fallen Angel. But looks like you're not in it... Ignored my dying plea, huh?
Mastema sounded disappointed.
—Cute voice, but cold as frostbite. Heart's frozen solid. Would've been more fun if you'd taken it.
"That's my call... But you know, don't you."
Mastema had called it his own 'last words.'
—Know what? That I'm dead? Can't ignore a memory that raw. Denial has limits.
"Then why are you here in front of me now?"
—Who knows? I was just in the mood to talk about it.
The machine inhabited by Mastema's ghost creaked awkwardly into motion. Rusted joints ground and stuttered, giving it an eerie vibe.
—Ugh... Body's trashed, so not much convincing power here. Honestly, no clue what happened. But it feels good. Head's clear, refreshed.
Pfft, pfft. Like trying to revive a long-dormant generator, blue flames flickered intermittently from the boosters.
—Does the why even matter? Whatever the reason, I'm not dead, and I'm here with you. That's enough.
"You're still so talkative."
Playful, even. The Mastema I'd fought before was a hysterical wreck, abused by the Fallen Angel. Was this his real personality?
—Who cares what I was like before? I'm here now.
"Fair enough."
—Don't cling to the past, little miss. It's meaningless.
"Is it?"
—Past me doesn't matter. Right now? Feeling great. Finally free from that bloodsucking demon pulling my strings. Liberation after suffering?
Mastema chuckled playfully, moving the machine like an athlete warming up before a match.
—Anyway, you read my email, right, miss?
He didn't wait for an answer.
—People who still believe in wishing on shooting stars? Just us jaded adults who've outgrown fairy tales.
"Hm."
—So what do we wish for? We've only learned to get ruthless, cruel—to survive. All of us. You'll end up the same.
He added one more thing.
—Or maybe you already are. That detached voice... Everyone can tell. Kid acting like they've suffered every pain life can throw, blood not even dry yet.
"Who knows."
—So, your answer?
"Answer?"
Mastema snapped.
—You hear nothing I said? What form would our rotten adult wishes take?
"Does it matter?"
—Hm...
Mastema tilted his head—or rather, the machine's head—but the needless motion made it feel like he saw the wreck as his own body. After a moment's thought, he spoke.
—Now that I think about it, not really. Was gonna judge you on it... But why judge? Does it matter?
"Judging value's pointless anyway."
—Exactly. It changes on a dime.
He agreed with me, but then...
—Still, since I asked—your take?
"The form of an adult's wish, huh."
I toyed with my dry lips before answering.
"No real difference between adults and kids at heart. Adults have childlike sides, kids might have adult ones too."
—You're living proof. Total old soul.
"You'd be shocked how old I really am."
—Bet. Way older than you look. Don't wanna burden my heart with more curiosity. Hate learning more about the world's darkness.
Something about how a kid ends up piloting a Nexus—I ignored the mutterings.
—Don't dodge. Kids and adults being the same is just premise. Give the conclusion.
"Right, premise..."
If kids and adults are ultimately the same, what does 'humanity' wish for to reach the heavens? And what does it pull down from there?
"......"
I looked at Mastema's machine.
Was this question a metaphor for something?
Don't overthink it. Meaning just leads to hesitation.
I answered lightly.
"Give me the wings of a bird, they'd say."
—Huh?
"They'd try to rip the wings off heaven's angels."
Mastema went silent. Speechless.
—Scary thought. But... close to the truth.
"There was a right answer?"
—Beats me. Why do I even know this stuff?
Looked like deep pondering was about to start, but Mastema shook it off quick.
—Anyway, your take on humanity. Depth to it. Now for a personal one...
He whispered it to me.
—So, your answer? To reach beyond the sky—what would you wish for?
"I wouldn't wish for anything."
This time, he was truly at a loss.
"Wings you borrow just get you there on borrowed wings. Not my journey."
—No, no. Borrowed or not, they're on you. How's that not you going up?
"If I say so."
—Jeez...
Mastema snickered.
—Stubborn little miss. Not what I expected, but I like it.
Vroooom—the generator in his haunted machine finally warmed fully, steady flames pouring from the boosters. The same blue glow as the Fallen Angel, the Watchdogs, and those mystery weapons from the old reinforcement human lab.
—Anyway, chat's over. No idea why I spilled so much. Maybe I'm chattier than I thought, like you said.
"Guess so."
For some reason, I didn't know why, but talking to Mastema felt... enjoyable. Had I ever enjoyed conversing with someone? New sensation.
—Personally? Totally fits you. No wonder the database ranks you S-threat pilot. Full of surprises.
"Database?"
—Huh? Oh, right... There's this variable threat rank thing.
Mastema said it casually.
—No clue why I know it. You know how your own limbs move? Don't overthink.
"Hard not to."
—Damn it. Not the point right now.
His junker machine creaked and screamed, but it moved nimbly enough to function. Alternating bursts left and right, testing performance.
—Why do you think I'm back? Dead guy revives—figure it out.
"Dunno. Revenge?"
—Revenge? God, that's boring. Obvious—rematch!!
He revved like a racer whipping the engine at the start line, growling it out.
—Talk's done. Come on! This time, I win!
Guess he was the type who couldn't let a loss slide.