Keep me in distant sight

Chapitre 6 : Sadly, the future is no longer what it was

His hands work on autopilot.

His fingertips are scraped raw.

His palms are oily, filthy, slippery.

His tools slip from his grasp, fall to the floor where he grabs them, uncaring of the dirt.

Around him, the air is soiled with the stench of decades, centuries-old smell of decay of all kinds. He sweats profusely in the gods-awful tropical afternoon, beads of water are rolling from his hairline to his chin and dripping on his project. His white long sleeve is drenched from neckline to his hips as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on him. His mouth and throat are positively parched, his spit can barely smooth the sand-like texture. Even his eyes are burning - he barely blinks. His breath is heavy, turning into pants as he screws two metal pieces thightly. His back is protesting against its hunched pose for the 4th consecutive hours. His knees have weakened in his low squat posture and his shins had started cramping a while ago.

Only one third of all these are registered. His brain has fully transitioned into zone-like focus mode and is promptly sweeping aside all the painful signals coming to it. He doesn't have time to rest.

He has to build this. No matter how long it takes or how much pain this project will inflict upon him, he can't stop and take a breath. When the sun sets, he will drag his weary body back to his shared house, falling into his partner's embrace. He still has three hours. The task is so enormous and the time so limited, he needs to hurry and finish quickly. His blueprints are engraved in his mind. He still has so much to do. Thankfully he has everything on hand, here, in his little hideout. Of course.

He chose this place for this exact reason after all.

This garbage dump. All pretty in its grime, with a little shack on top like an offering. The oozing substances of pharmaceutical, military and industrial waste have long been dried out yet the air is still thick with their smells, blooming, under the sun and the heat, into an atrocious stench. The first time he came here, to carve the tree, he had briefly wondered just how much of his lifespan was being sucked away by all the toxic elements surrounding him. Does he give minutes, hours, days or years of his life every time he climbs down there after an extensive hour of walk in the hills surrounding Sendai? Here, he's closer to the sea than the Agency since they have chosen a remote place in between the tallest hills to build their structure. Actually, no sane person would wander close to the former town - especially not the garbage dump. The site is closed for sanitary reasons yet it doesn't possess a single barrier because, who, in their right mind, would want to wander into the polluted remains of the past centuries?

However, this place is like a treasure chest for him - he has every material he could dream of, a place to store what he is building and no one to breathe down his neck and watch his every move. It took time to be able to walk nearly as freely as he could before, but he's glad it paid off.

It's everything he needs right now. If he wasn't wary of losing a part of his face, he would kiss the ground. He doesn't have the time but the sentiment is here. No, he needs to finish this. It's in the last yards before being fully operational, after weeks of work and nights of unrest, his mind spinning threads of ideas and plans faster than he can actually endure. His face is marred with fatigue, to the point that his partner looks at him with unease every night he drags himself to their place - and yet, oh joy and bliss, he doesn't ask any questions. He only takes him in his arms and allows him to rest with quiet words.

If he were there with him, they would be twice as fast than he is right now. The transmitter would have been complete and emitted his message already. But it would put him at risk - it's out of the question. Hell, it wasn't even questionable. He has already lost his family, he won't lose the man he loves.