Soldiers [Detective Conan] [Crow series 1/2]

wear full black

[date and time and place.]
august, probably after 1990 because of that spelling reform to change it from août to aout
...? Belgium?

I'm racing Papa's banged-up yellow '79 Ford Mustang through the winding winter country roads between Ghent and Brussels. It's all black and grey outside but it's warm inside and the radio is turned down low, and I always loved this car but driving it now feels strange, what with my adult height and black bomber jacket.

(it's making it very hard to figure out the when and where, but I do need to drive)

The radio is on, but I can't identify the music. (It sounds like downward spirals, like cold needles in skin, like plucked feathers, like children's rhymes, like pretty hate machines like myself like myself like myself-)

"Enough of that," the freckled hand of my passenger reaches out and changes the channel.

I recognise him, of course: it's my father, Silas Magritte, as I best remember him. Looking somewhat like a slightly more put-together ginger Kurt Cobain (Maman always said he looked like a rockstar), dark thick eyebrows arched with mischievous amusement, crooked freckled nose faintly red with sunburn and alcoholism, green-blue eyes bright with joy behind gold-rimmed glasses, and wearing his battered blue 'Kris Kelvin from Solaris' leather jacket (Papa liked Tarkovsky movies).

"Oh! Can I make it louder, mon étoile?" he tap-taps at the radio (star, in my mind and in our car), "I love this Pink Floyd song..."

"It's your car, Papa. You do whatever you want."

He grins excitedly and turns the volume up and starts shredding on an air-guitar while I maintain course. By the time a city begins to crest the horizon, we're both singing along;

                               "-all that is now!" he chants,

      and I respond, "And all that is gone!"

He falters and slows, manages a weak smile – so pale and thin now – and his mouth doesn't move but I hear his hospital-hoarse voice promising Maman 'I'll return to your side' late-January 1992 and then he dissolves

" je serai de retour près de toi."

     and breaks his word

[the music from before is suddenly in sharp focus;]
a̸nd̶ n̵ot̸hi̴ng̵ c̴o̵m̵es bl̵eedi̴ng o̴u̶t̷ ̸o̸f̵ ̷m̴e j̴u̶s̷t̶ l̵i̵k̷e̷ a wa̸ter̷f̴a̴l̷l̵ I̴'m̴ d̷r̵o̸wni̷n̸g ̶i̵n̶-̶ ̸-
 I drag you ̢͙̺͔̝̮̤̙͖͓͉̝̖͓̮͎̘̥̝͌̄͒̈́̊̀̄̌̊̌̋̊̽́̀̿͝͝͝ͅḑ̷̛̛̥̣͓̝̞̣͇͇̻̘̫̺͎͈͉̭͕̠̫͖̟̅́̀͂͆̈́̀̈͛̑̋͘͝͝ǫ̴̧̫̟͖̪̖̝͚̖̗̺̼̖͋̿̽̎͗͑͊͗̿̊̆̿̅̓̃̈̿̀̄̾̈́̒̈́͛̍͝w̷̡̛̩͐͑͑̅̏̋̐͗̀̋̏̔͐̓̎͐̑͑̿̓̓̓͋͒n̷̢̢̮͎͖̝͓̻͍͜͠, I use you up -
H̸̱͗ě̷̻ ̸̗̐s̷͙͋e̵͇̐w̴͖̌e̷͎͘ḍ̵́ ̴̛͜ḫ̷͘ȋ̸̬s̵͉̃ ̶̘̊e̴͑y̶͛es ̸͍̍s̴̙̓ĥ̸̲u̴̩͑ṭ̶́ ̶͓́b̴̫͗e̷̮͝c̷̢̓a̶̤͆u̴̲͂ș̸̛e̶͚͝ ̶̺͛h̶͉͋ȅ̵̤ ̴̻̀ḯ̶͚s̴͔̔ ̵̨͋a̷̡̕f̷͓͌r̴̲͌a̶͍͝i̸̪̋d̸͙͘ ̴͓́t̸̯̾ȏ̴͖ ̶̓͜s̵̘̓ẹ̷̓e̷͉̽
head like a̴̅̓̔͠ ̷̨̞̫̈͌̈́̊͆́̀̊̑̒̉̄ͅḥ̴͎̦̝̠̩̿͊̽̊̅̒̂̅̍̈́͊͜͝͝͝͝ȯ̸̧̡̼͔͍͇̝̘̈̎͋͋̐ḻ̷̡̂̑̌͗͑̍͂̕e̷̗͇̱͈̊͊̽̋̍̚! black as your soul! I'd rather die! than give y̴o̵u̶ ̶c̵o̵n̵t̸r̶o̶l̴!̶̵
T̵E̴R̴R̷I̴B̶L̵E̵ ̵L̷I̵E̶!̴̠̃ ̷̩̿TERRIBLE LIE! T̸̲̿Ẽ̶͈R̷͉̃R̵̲͘Ḭ̸̓B̴̠͛Ḻ̸̛Ë̷̱́ ̷̝̔Ĺ̸̝Ỉ̶̩Ë̶̪!̶̬͛ ̴̪̈
my whole existence is flawed.
DON'T YOU T̶E̴L̸L̸ ̶M̸E̸ H̷̼̥͊̃̓̈́Ò̵̫̲W̶̢͖̜̑ I F̷̤̌͒̌̒Ẽ̸̠̣͂̈̈́͜È̷̯̫̑ͅL̵̫̳͍̔̋͘͜ D̶̨̧̧̲͓̞͈̤̜͚̥̼̦̠̘̖̝̟͍̮̙͉̺͍͚̮̪̞̪̯̬̺̳̻̝̞̥͓̖̞̪̣̆́͊̚ͅǪ̷̡̡̛̟̣̪̠̤̖̺̥͉͕̣̝͍̩̼̞̣̠̼͍̝̹̰̮̒͐̒̌̄̅̈́̈̏̒̓͛̍̈̅̌͗́͊̌͘̚̚͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅN'T̵͗͆͌͐͗̔̋̑̈̒͘͝ ̵̛̅̆̔̇̉̃́̉̊̾͐̾̏̈́̏̀̋̒̈́͐͆̐̾̿̀̔̚̚YOU TELL ME HOW I F̵̢̢̨̢̣̭̮̜̦̩̺̫͖̣͚̬͕̯̮̰͍̮͉̥̪̠̤̦̮͎̞͓̼̲̯̤͕̫͇̻͍̺͕͉̉̆͗̊͗̽̅̅̊͒̚͝͠͝͠ͅE̶̢̧̗͖̭͉̮̬̗̰̞̣͓̦̻͔̞̖͕̖͙̓̒̏͆͊͂̓͂̂̀̏̍͗͊̐̏́͋̕͘͜͝͝ͅĘ̴̡̛̛̼̝̗̘̩̩̣̳̹̞̯̠̠̗̜͖̭̥͈͕͔̖̺̰̟̮̞̖̮͚́͐͑̈́̍̅̄̈͗̀͛̾́̃̿̓̋̀̏͂̌͒̔̍̋̾̔͘͘͜͜͝͠͝͝͠L̸̠̥̘̈̾̎̆̍̿̒̍́̂̀̆̔́́̐͗̋̊̏̈̋̿̅̎͆̅̑̿̽̕̚͘͝͝͝.̵̝̘͌̾̈̚͠ ̵̧̡͉͈̳͖͚̯͙̪̪̝̬͔̞̟̩͙̲̤͔̝̯̜͓̱͇͉̭͎̠̬̙̫̗̦̟͔͈̻̱̺͚͉͔̮̫̇̀͋̄̌̽́̽͐̑̽͑̈͑̽̈́̓̈́́̏̔̂̃͌̏̀͑͜͜͝͝͝ͅ.
will you die for this? w̷̬̏̔͊i̸̯̘̖̭͛͋̂l̸̺̳̽̆͜l̵̟͔̖͙̍ ̵̱̬̝͛͑̆͠ͅỵ̵̭̂̈͘͝o̵̲͕͗ṳ̶͖͍͆ die ̸̞̿f̵͙͋o̵̯̽r̶͓̍ ̵̩̌t̴̨̂h̷̛ͅi̶͜͝s̵̯͝?̴̘̾ ̵̠̊will you die for this?
I'm just an EF̶͔̞̻̺̅̈́͂̔FḬ̷̡̡̛͇̙̞̟̰͕̥̱̞̘̯͕͓̏̓͊͆̈̎̃́̎̔̐͌͐̋͑͐͑͊̍͗̑̈͐̓̀̉̆́̂͘͝͝ͅGY to be D̶̝̐I̶͙͝S̴̘͘G̵̦̐Ř̸A̶̜̓Ċ̴̬E̶͔͑Ḓ̴͑! to be d̶̄͜e̷͚̚f̵̤̐a̵̻͒c̶̙̓ë̴̥́d̸͈̓!
YOU DON'T KNOW JUST H̸͕͖̺̪̗͈̼̪̘͙̺̍͋̉̃͊̇͗̕͜͝O̵̯̙͇̙̦͕͙͊́̊̽̈́̇̔͐̾̍̆̃͌̇̃̎̓̓̕͜W̶̛͔̤̪̋̾̏̽́̄̉͐͌̌͠ ̸̡̧̡͚͔͚͎̦̙͔̠͖́̏̑͜ͅ I̷̬͕̙̼̥̜̞͉͋͛̈́̃͐̍͒̽̏̇̀̐̄̿̈́̄͗̚ ̵̨̹͇̞̲̝͍̤̅̽͋́̕ F̷͈͓̘̓̓̽̃́͑̄͑̈́̿̌̍͂̈́̔̔̽́̚̚͘͜͠E̶̝̊̒̐̉͐̉̄̈́̀̈̍̊̓̑̽͘̚͠Ȩ̵̨̛̤͑͊̆́̍͊̅̈͒̄͛̌̾̎̽̕̚͘͘͝L̴̥̱̻̞̗̤͕̽̓̄͊͌͛͜͜ .̵̡͍̥̜̠̝̹̣̘̪̾͑̅̔̃̇́̆͛̅̔̕͜͝