Betreff: Automatisierte Nachricht

Diese Nachricht wurde automatisch abgesendet von dem Personal Digital Assistant des User ██████ "Destiny" ██████. Diese Nachricht wird Im Falle eines plötzlichen Stillstands aller lebenswichtigen Systeme des Benutzers an ████████ "Crol" ██████ gesendet. Wir wünschen Ihnen einen schönen Tag!

Audio Aufnahme vom █/████

Hey Crol.

[UNANGENEHM LANGE STILLE, BEVOR EIN LEISES UND LEICHTES SCHLUCHZEN IM HINTERGRUND ZU VERNEHMEN IST]

Ich liege in meinem Bett und kann nicht schlafen. Eines Tages werde ich tot sein, wahrscheinlich eher früher als später. Meine mickrigen Menschen Jahre sind nichts im Vergleich zu deinen, vorausgesetzt ich sterbe eh nicht schon früher durch irgendeinen Job. Wenn dich diese Nachricht erreicht ist wahrscheinlich genau das der Fall. Ich bin gestorben bei irgendeinen dummen Scheiß von dem du mir abgeraten hast. Wenn Gwen es zurück schafft kümmere dich um sie.

[EINE WEITERE UNANGENEHM LANGE STILLE FOLGT]

Du warst das, was einem Vater am nächsten kommt. Mein Dad war nie für mich da und wenn er es war hat er mich misshandelt. Ich bin froh dich gekannt zu haben. Du warst immer für mich da, du hast mir immer geholfen. [DIALKET UNBEKANNT] .
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YES.

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⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜ 99%
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[ANALYSE ABGESCHLOSSEN. MIT EINER WAHRSCHEINLICHKEIT VON 87% WURDE GESAGT]

Mich liebe dich.

Audio recorded on █/████

[ELYTRIAN CURSING, SOMETHING CRASHES OR BREAKS, MORE CURSING, SOFT CHIRPING]

Note: No Translation available, [UNKNOWN DIALECT]

Hi Destiny...


Ich weiß, dass du das nie hören wirst, aber... Ich weiß auch nicht. Es ist irgendwie wichtig, glaub' ich.
Eigentlich sollte das hier eine Überraschung werden, aber das wird glaub ich nichts mehr. Was bringt es, deinen Dialekt zu können, wenn du nicht hier bist, um es zu hören?


Ich wusste, dass ich dich überleben könnte, aber ich wollte es nicht wahr haben. Egal wie oft du in dumme Situationen gekommen bist, du hattest nie mehr als einen Kratzer. Du warst immer besser als ich, was so etwas anging. Um ehrlich zu sein, dachte ich, dass ich schon lange tot sein sollte. Meine Überlebenskünste waren nie mehr als Glück, im Gegensatz zu deinen.


Also warum? Warum bist du diejenige, die gestorben ist? Es ist nicht fair, es ist so verdammnt ungerecht!

ICH HÄTTE GETÖTET WERDEN SOLLEN; ES HÄTTE MICH TREFFEN SOLLEN!

Es ist alles meine Schuld, ich hätte dich nie zu diesem Job bringen sollen. Ich hätte dich nie in so einen Beruf lassen sollen, du hättest einfach meine Buchhalterin sein können. Ich weiß, dass Menschen in deinem Alter schon erwachsen sind, aber... Du bist- du warst noch so jung. Du hättest nicht durch diese ganze Scheiße gehen sollen.


Hättest du nicht einfach einen normalen Beruf haben können? Selbst wenn du bei der verdammten ICA geblieben wärst, wäre besser als das gewesen, was ich dir angeboten habe. Sie sind vielleicht Bastarde, aber sie hätten dich nicht umbgebracht.

HÄTTEST DU NICHT EINFACH GEHEIM HALTEN KÖNNEN, DASS DU MENSCH BIST?! HÄTTEST DU NICHT EINFACH DA BLEIBEN KÖNNEN?

Manchmal wünsche ich mir, dich nie getroffen zu haben. Dann wäre uns beiden dieses Leid erspart geblieben. Scheiße, vielleicht hättest du ein normales Leben haben können.

[CHIRPING, THEN A BROKEN SOB]

Ich- Du- FUCK!

[ELYTRIAN DETECTED, TRANSLATION STARTS]

I can't do this. I can't.


I wanted to quit this job, wanted to leave all this shit behind.
But then you came along, and I couldn't bring myself to leave you all alone with all those dangerous people. In the end, I think, it was me that was the most dangerous. I gave you jobs I KNEW would put you in danger.
I wasn't careful enough! You called me your father, but what kind of father let's his own flock die? What kind of father am I supposed to be?

[RIPPING SOUNDS, A SCREAM, SOFT CHIRPS]

I don't even know what you died from, I can't even avenge you. All I can do is sit here and talk to machine. Pathetic, isn't it?
Everything is so damn numb, all the time. I think I'm crying, but I can't even tell anymore. Why is everything so damn blurry all the time?! I couldn't even had typed this if I wanted to. Fuck, my throat is more horse than I first started learning Elytran.

[SOFT LAUGHTER]

I remember when I tried to teach you what I always call you. I bet you didn't even know it was an old Elytrian dialect, that's why your translator never picked up on it. I wish I could have given you one that's fancy enough, but the bastards at ICA are hoarding them.
I once tried to steal one for you, but I almost got caught. The person that found me back then, half bleeding out in an abandoned station and miles away from any civilisation or any connection for my PDA, you know who that was? It was you, [TRANSLATION UNAVAILABLE]. Ironic, isn't it?

I was so convinced I was going to die there, but I didn't. A little human walked along. You never told me how you found me, actually. Maybe you are tracking me, haha.

Reminds me of when I had tracked you on your first mission, oh boy, you were mad when you found out. Sure wish I still did it now. Fuck, this was back when I still logged my thoughts into a cloud. Stopped uploading them when it got hacked, though. Most of them get deleted after a few days, now. Pretty sure I only kept this one permanently, as a sentimental. Maybe I'll -

ANNOUNCEMENT:
[SHIPMENT] for [ERROR] CROL from [Common Timeless Interspecies Alliance]

W-what?

[DOOR OPENS]

Why would they? What is-

[PAUSE, THEN CRASH, BROKEN CHIRPS AND SOBS]

AUTOMATIC LINK THROUGH AUDIO MENTION (see PDA for more Information)

THOUGHT DETECTION AND DESCRIPTION SOFTWARE

of [Crol, "Best Boss and Ultimate Guy, Ever"]

about [Destiny]

I first met Olivia in a sunlit room of a small space station near the Siri moon.



I was expecting a new recruit, but not someone like her. She had come a bit too late than expected, which was a bad sign for a newbie. Usually, I would have turned her down already, but she was such a small thing, so much smaller than all the ones I was recommended had been. I haven't seen a human since I was young, but she was even smaller than those.



My superior had told me there was a chance we could lose her within the mission. We didn't, and I realized just how capable she really was. Her species may seem fragile at first, but she actually managed to beat me in a fight, once.



So when she almost died the first time, at least a few aeons later, I had cradled the small one against my chest like an elytrian might do with their flock, sobbing and chirping against her too pale skin. I had never encountered a species that could be comatouse, I didn't understand it. I just wanted her to be awake and healthy again.



“My fletchling,” I cried, “my little fighter. Please, be brave, be strong. Wake up, I'll do anything you want! I'll let you steal my PDA to search for blackmail about me, I won't steal your snacks again, hell, you can have all of mine, even the poisonous ones. Just wake up!”



But Destiny was so still on that medic bed. I could barely make out her little, shallow breaths.



Even days later, I had stood at her bedside, coo and cry at a human that did not stir. I had lived a million lives with a million identities, and all its miseries combined could not compare to the pain of being a mourner at my fletchling's bed side. And as the cycles churned on, heedless of the growing abyss inside my chest, I found that I could not even cry. It was a sadness too big for tears, a grief too infinite to measure.



I was convinced that no species could wake up again after something like this, no matter how stubborn. Not even someone as stubborn as her.



And when the doc had offered the dying human to me, to give me a chance at saying goodbye, I did something that I would never forgive myself for. I hesitated.



I looked at the silent bundle in the too-big bed, dead before she could even live, dead before she ever knew what it meant to be happy and be loved, and felt my fracture in my heart grow. This was the fate of all humans, eventually. It did not matter if she lived to the next cycle, the next aeon or only the next breath, she would still one day die a natural death before me. I never had my own blood, my own flock, just for the fear of losing them. I thought if I never had a child of my own, I would never love anyone as one. I did, though, I loved Destiny as much as I could ever loved someone that was my own, no matter if she was as different from me as she could be.



Bitter and numb and hateful of the world, I wondered if it were better that she died now, before I could grow to love her more. People mourned the beauty of a wilting rose, but an unblooming bud would give a quieter heartache.



But Destiny wasn’t a flower. She was a human. She was my little one, and I loved her now as much as I could love her later, though later might never come. But her arms were made of stone. They would not rise, as much as I willed them to. If I held Destiny now, I knew I would never let go. I would follow his fletchling to her grave. So instead, I just closed my eyes and grasped the bed sheets she was buried in.



And then there she was, sneaking past every medical knowledge I ever knew, passing under a grieving earthling's notice. She sat up into bed, smiling at her not-quite father, apparently oblivious—or immune, as often starry-eyed humans were—to the anguish that coated the very air of the room. That even if she woke up, she would never be able to survive this, not with her mere human body.



“Is this a medic room?” Destiny asked, leaning over the sad excuse of a person I was at that moment. “I would have expected it to be different in this Sector.”



A lump formed in my throat. I turned away before she could catch sight of my expression, and when I turned back around, she was strechting and shifting on the bed. The sunlight from a nearby star slanted over her, and I wanted to remember her like that forever: his fletchling, immortalized in gold. Strands of her loose black hair hid her expression as she moved around, murmuring something I almost didn’t catch.



And she just stood up, no hesitation whatsover. And I, well, I broke out in tears.



She moved back, astonished, her face drawn in confusion. “What is it?” she asked, voice still hoarse. “Did I do something wrong?”



“No,” I sobbed, falling to my knees before her—his lovely, bewildered, Destiny. “You did everything right, [TRANSLATION NOT AVAILABLE]. You’re perfect.”





Now, aeons later, I held her again—a teen no longer, but still so, so small—to my chest as I carried her body through door in my quiet, empty apartment. I spoke the words I had spoken to her all those years before in that medical centre, over and over, like an enchantment or a prayer to bring her back to life once more.



“I will love you forever, I will love you forever, I will love you forever.”



But this time, Destiny did not wake up.

Medium

Digital Recording, Audio