Look Me in the Eyes (and tell me that it's me) [Zhongchili]

Chapter 17 - Exam Week

Who is he?

The phone says it's 2 a.m. and Ajax lies awake, unable to get back to sleep. Waves and waterspouts and five-headed gods invade his thoughts, and every time he closes his eyes he sees the bodies of the dozens of soldiers that Tartaglia put down, as well as the men on the street that he put down.

It was self defence. It wasn't his fault. He didn't ask for this.

He needs to get up in four hours. He needs to sleep.

Three hours.

This is fine. He's gotten by on worse before.

Two hours.

Sleep. Why can't he sleep?

One hour.

Damnit. Damnit all.

The birds are already calling when the 6 a.m. alarm goes. He gets up, his body suddenly heavy with a need for sleep that would have been great about six hours ago. As predicted, the back of his legs are tight, pulled taut like bowstrings ready to fire. He groans, massaging out the muscles and goes to check the bathroom for any remaining blood streaks or mess.

It's clean. There's no sign of what he did. It's all washed away. All gone. It might never have even happened.

(Did it happen? Everything is hazy. Was what happened even real? Of course it is. The evidence is in the pile of clothes, now dry, hung out over the edge of the bath.)

He scoops them into his arms and carries them back to his room. There, now no one will know what happened last night except for him. Just as things should be.

He moves in a daze as he prepares for the day, every thought firing in slow motion. In a few hours, he's supposed to be talking about trade and taxes and business plans and all those fun things. How he's going to manage that is a mystery almost as grand as where Rex Lapis' goddamned Gnosis is.

Planting himself behind a textbook, he sits at the kitchen table, chugging a coffee in a farcical attempt to force the knowledge into his brain. Two hours come and go, flashes of Tartaglia, the exuvia, and the Traveller overwriting anything to do with Inazuman import levies during the Sakoku Decree.

Then he's leaving, trudging through the streets. He returns to the spot where the previous night's carnage took place, but there's not a speck of blood, nor a thread of loose fabric to be seen. There's no police here, either, which suits him just fine.

It's peaceful. Too peaceful.

Usually there'd be something here, an area cordoned off, or a car with a couple of officers sitting inside taking a late breakfast after a night ushering people away from the scene. It's odd, but no one stops him as he passes, so he continues on. Better to look natural. Don't raise suspicion.

He arrives at the building where the rest of the students are waiting around to take their exam. Some chatter to their friends about how many hours they've put in in order to memorise each topic, while others sit against the wall, frantically turning the pages of their textbooks.

Ajax downs another coffee, desperately trying to keep his eyes open.

When 9 a.m. rolls around, they're ushered into the exam room and their tickets are handed out. Ajax looks at the questions on his slip: "Detail the Impact of Import Tax Policy during the Post-Triumph Era", "Explore the Potential Impact of the Central Bank Decreasing Interest Rates on Snezhnaya's Economy, Citing Previous Examples of Monetary Policy Decisions Over the Past 50 Years", and "Considering Current Economic Factors, Present a Fiscal Policy Proposition to be Implemented by Snezhnaya's Government".