Parallel

CHAPTER 7

He's nowhere to be seen. The stage is empty apart from us, and we can only hear his voice.

"The Seven Deadly sins, who have been gathered internationally, will perform the unspeakable for you all today. Humans participating in the arts has been unheard of for centuries, but now you will watch it unfold before your eyes. We will be comparing their work with the work of some of the world's finest robots to see who can do it better: people or AIs."

Changmin, to my left, is muttering something to himself, the pupils of his eyes shaking.

"Now that you have seen them, we will begin with opening acts before their official performance."

People behind the curtains usher us to join them, and as we do, they guide us to a waiting room backstage. It isn't much, just another portion of the stage that the curtain was blocking, but it sure as hell is busy.

Makeup tables with bulbed lights around them line the white block walls just like in the movies, people are rushing around, moving equipment and getting things ready, and there's an aura of 'there are things to do' all around the room. I have no idea who these people are or who anyone in the audience is.

Everyone grabs a plastic chair, Bolt shuffling forward and loudly scraping it against the black floor. It's been a while since we've seen actual chairs.

A lady hands me a tablet. On the screen is what appears to be a paused video, my father's face in the frame. I'm overwhelmed with emotions, as I'm sure everyone else is, but seeing my late father makes me turn into even more of a mess.

"Is that a video? Why aren't you pressing play?" Bian quietly asks from beside me. Her soothing voice is all the encouragement I need.

"Baba jan," my father greets me. He continues to speak only in Farsi.

"I know it must be strange for you to see me like this. I'm sure they told you I died, but we will get to that later. This prison that you've been placed in is not a good place. The government has hidden intentions and this is my plan to get you out. I know it may be hard for you to believe me, that I'm your real father, so I will tell you something only the two of us know. On the yellow cardboard clock, what time is it?"

I know what he's referring to as soon as I hear it. My father, who cut out a clock out of a yellow cardboard box so he could teach me how to tell time, always encouraged me when I felt frustrated with mathematics. It's something no one else could have remembered well but him. I have to believe him.

"Now you have to believe me, right?" he continues, reading my mind.

"Sarnevesht jan, I'm speaking in Farsi because I know that the real you is the one who will understand. I trust you. The way to escape is by being yourself. Prepare the most heartfelt performance for the audience. Think of this as a security lock. By seeing you perform, I will be able to know that it is you and not an imposter. Your baba has people looking for him too, so I've got to go. I trust you, good luck."

It ends there. Everyone is staring at me expectantly. Changmin's eyebrows are knitted together so tightly, I imagine them breaking free from his face and flying across the room. It makes me laugh despite the sob building up in my chest.

"That's... my dad," I whimper.

"He was dead... but I guess not."

"What do you mean you guess not?" Changmin asks in a borderline angry tone.

"I mean what I mean. Anyway, he says that we need to show our talents so we can escape. Our arts."

"Who is your dad to be saying all of this?" Changmin asks, angry for real.