No one knows ayanokoji's past.

New! Chapter 17

I see a machine. A powerful one, mind. It could solve the hardest of math and science problems, memorize whatever information however complicated or long it is in a heartbeat. It is shielded with mighty muscles, which has trained ever since birth. Birth, flesh. It was indeed human. It probably cried after its first breath. Was smaller than a pillow, now big. Was blank save for the pristine emotions and nature his humanity bestowed. Maybe now he only has his pride but I affirm it is too stupid weak to manifest in his nature. The nature those white walls veiled him. They had bathed him with logic, psychology, and rationality leaving any speck of emotion in the bath tub. I saw him smile, but couldn't interpret it more than a practiced movement of his face muscles. People smile first in their minds and then free it out to their face. Speaking of people, they are to be used to connect the ends of his plans, not seen in different light than the pan he cooks with or the food itself. So, you might wonder, as I wondered, what is his purpose? Wait, purpose? Should there be anything close to a purpose for a machine it must be serving its master. Proving again and again to be the ultimate piece.

You may think you are the puppet master; behold the million threads on you.

Do you perhaps like a taste of freedom?

12:00 PM, room 534

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When was the time I found this paper? I'm still holding it now and seems like I'd been for the best part of an hour. My sense of time had melted and left me experiencing the eternity. Is there really any one in this school who knows this much about me? Dangerous, really dangerous. Whoever they are, I reckon they aren't in league with my father. I like to categorize father's enemies in to two groups. There are people having their own versions of the white room, though inferior, and in the other hand people against the very idea of the white room, dirty activists mostly. This person could be working for one. Either might have finally accumulated the courage to face father, and decided to take the route through his son. Anyhow, it is not a matter I should pay my concerns. Letting the head of the white room take interest in the issue would suffice as a good move since the continuation of the white room is at stake and it's father's share to care. Despite the measures of this school, it's easy to contact him. But what is this feeling nibbling at my core telling not? Anger? I am certainly not happy someone captured my life and its complications in so few words. The irrational desire to confront this person arose from thin air. Maybe it's not a bad idea at all. They probably won't leave me alone until they get whatever that wanted.

Freedom, they say. I concur I don't have it. For as long as I remember my life style, beliefs, interests, say, even identity was sculpted by masterful hands. That's what they probably meant by million threads. Weirdly enough, headache got through my all-powerful immune system. I didn't want to entertain thoughts regarding the implications of that paper. As if some part of me is protesting not endeavor such a territory. But I pushed and suddenly like lightning, the epiphany.

I might as well be a piece in a game I wasn't able see.

It occurred for a second and disappeared like a shooting star, away from my memory. Next thing I realized was I surrendered to my headache and laid in bed.

(I know this chapter is short. That way it's easy to digest what had happened. I will update again once I return from work).