Chapter X
Saviour Complex
“Do you wanna sit here with me?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“I like the way the tiles feel against my back.”
I agree. “Gimme a second.”
Peeling a mandarin orange in about two thirds of a second, I leave its completely intact rind in the sink. The entire orange goes into my mouth easily, and I immediately start on another one and pass it down to Izumi.
She reaches up from her spot on the floor and accepts the offering, eating it much more delicately than I, splitting section by section with her bottom teeth. Then with her other hand she turns on the shower. Vague sounds of traffic and construction bleed through the open window, and I feel the urge to reach over and shut ourselves away from it, but stop myself when I notice a familiar melody fading into the soundscape.
It’s the Sex Pistols’ “Anarchy In The U.K.” blasting from somebody’s car. Traffic is at a crawl, so I get to listen to most of the three and a half minute song. Midway through, what feels like the greatest idea I’ve ever had shocks me into near hysterics.
“Oh my god, Izumi. Izumi. Do you know what? We need to ask After to take us back to 1979.”
“Why,” she says.
“To save Sid Vicious from O.Ding.”
“Sid.. Vicious?”
“From the Sex Pistols,” I nod, eyes trained on her.
She considers my request upon realizing that I am entirely serious. “That isn’t how it works, though.”
“Why not.”
She yawns and shakes her head sadly.
“I don’t know. But I don’t call the shots.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask, though, would it?”
“Not exactly I guess. but, there’s really no point; can you close the window? All the steam’s getting out.”
“You’re not listening,”
“I am. We can’t go somewhere all the way back to who knows where and chase down one single person, even if you happen to like him a lot.”
“The world would seriously be so much better off if he were alive, though.”
“How do you figure.”
“Think about it. He was such a genius. You just haven’t seen him do his thing, I bet you’d agree with me, otherwise.”
“Even if I did agree with you, we wouldn’t be able to. After doesn’t work that way. We can’t just type in some random time and go there. That’s like trying to land a plane somewhere that’s not an airport,”
“People do that all the time,”
“Not really. People try doing that as a last resort, they don’t plan it out in advance. And most of ‘em just wind up dying anyway.”
“And so what? Maybe we ought to die if it’s for a good purpose.”
“Like stopping someone from… taking drugs?”
“You’re being insensitive.” I scowl.
“What exactly do you propose we do? You know what - never mind; In all likelihood he would just O.D. anyways. The next day, or the day after that. That guy was on drugs constantly. He never took a break. So what makes you think we’d have any chance of accomplishing anything? He was an addict, Hiro. You wanna handcuff him to a dresser drawer or something?”
“We could reason with him,”
“What the hell’s gotten into you?”
“It’s stupid you know - we do all this crazy shit and put our lives at risk for After all the time: but then, when I really want to do something that’s arguably just as meaningful, you respond with nothing but fucking crickets?”
“Crickets. You’re actually serious?”
“Serious as peach pudding.”
“Jesus. Can you answer my question? What’s actually gotten into you?”
“Look, Sid was a train wreck; he might not have listened to his friends, or his family. He might not have listened to his band or manager or whatever else, but imagine we go there, we say, hey. “Look: we’re from somewhere, way way beyond your understanding. And we’d really love for you to keep on, y’know, using, to your heart’s content… but push comes to shove, you’re gonna die, dude.” And we bring some sort of proof that we’re from much later than 1979 and we show him it. Maybe - I don’t know like - a Samsung Galaxy? And then, you know, we play a Limp Bizkit record or Metallica or something equally as horrible, just show him it, play it for him, let him take it in, and he really sees how awful and rotten punk music’s gotten without him around to keep things in check: He thinks to himself, oh, God damn - I really need to do something about this utter crap, so he takes a real hard think -”
“-So what you’re saying is that we appeal to his… sensibilities instead of his drug problem. Yeah, that’ll set him straight.”
“I don’t know, Zumi, I think you’re being totally thick about this.”
She gazes at me, her expression pitiful.
“Just completely thick.”
“Look. If you want to ask After yourself, go ahead. I can see I’m not getting through to you.”
“After won’t listen to me.” I peer at her, managing somehow, to keep my composure. “She’ll listen to you, though.”
“She’ll think I knocked myself on the head or something. Going back to save just one person…”
“I bet you it’d be much more than that.”
“Just drop it, please.”
My expression tells her that I lack any such intention.
“Izumi: Millions of people looked up to him, people are still being born today who’ll eventually grow up to love the Sex Pistols. And they only had one album, for God sake; you’d be healing one of humanity’s most gaping wounds.”
“Look; just because you personally idolize the guy doesn’t bear any actual significance on his relevance to the big picture; It might be a tragic thing, but he died for a reason: why not just go save Ian Curtis while you’re at it?”
“You know what? Maybe I will, maybe After’ll appreciate us thinking up our own assignments for a change.”
“She’ll appreciate it the way parents appreciate their kids’ macaroni paintings. Trust me. All you’re gonna get is the same thing I’m giving you.”
“I just don’t see the harm in asking.”
“Jesus, ask then. See what happens.”
“No. You have to ask. She’ll just ignore me.”
Defeated, she legitimately snarls at the floor, “Okay, fine,” Izumi closes her eyes and begins her conversation with After.
“Look, she’s touched. Actually, I mean it. Absolutely moved, but the logic just isn’t there. You’d be risking way more than it’s even worth explaining. Or do you want to keep barking up this tree?”
“Yea, let’s hear it. I want to know what After said.”
“Well, first of all, Sid was always going to meet that kind of demise. His drug use was actual insanity. It’s a wonder he even survived as long as he did. It’s a wonder he was even able to open his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time if you want to know the truth, let alone perform onstage. So that’s number one. You have no idea who that man actually was, he’d been sowing his fate for a long time. A long, long time. There’s just no way…”
“How fucking rich - he was only a goddamned kid. 21, he was! That’s basically an infant. He would still be alive today, for fuck sake.”
“I really wish I could accommodate you more. Your heart’s clearly in the right place, but you know almost nothing about the greater workings of these things. Life’s not some video game. It’s not something you can program different endings into.”
“After does it all the time. She goes back and forth on a whim, massacring people and gets us to do the same. How is that not like a video game?”
Izumi sniffs: “It’s more like an origami rose. You can fold and unfold it, yeah. You can manipulate it, but only to a certain degree before it stops being what it is. Doing what you’re saying would just rip and damage it. If you want the universe to be a different shape, you need a completely new piece of paper. A completely new universe: And that’s not something even After’s capable of creating. In a way, I was always supposed to build her, and she was always going to execute her plans in whatever way suits the program. Don’t you think I haven’t thought about saving specific people? What about my family? I dream constantly of going back and rescuing them. All I’d have to do is just warn them. “Hey- a tsunami’s gonna come and waste you all - get the hell away from here! All you have to do is go like half a mile inland - How easy does that sound? I mean that’s the whole fucking reason I even wanted to build After in the first place. Thirty fucking kids died in one single classroom! And you don’t think After’s considered saving them? You don’t think I’ve asked her?”
I had no words to offer.
“When push comes to shove, you need to respect the way things shake out, even if you aren’t a fan, even if it eats you alive. You just wanna be the one who saves Sid Vicious? you wanna save punk rock? Great, that’s just great. Next you’re gonna save the goddamn tank man from god damn Tiennamen square or maybe Jesus Christ or how about stopping the goddamn Russians from shooting that poor dog into space?”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
“You oughta be.”
“I insulted you- I get that. I got way ahead of myself. But I thought you were the one insulting me. I’m actually so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just don’t go asking me a million goddamn speculative questions that I’ve already considered through and through.”
“You’re right,”
“Just come here already. And close the fucking window.”
I do as she says, clambering down onto the shower floor. Together we listen to the water falling on us.
“How long more do you think until they call?” She asks.
“A day, at least.”
“So you have time to explain things from the beginning.”
“I honestly don’t know what that word even means anymore.”
“Just start at the flower shop, then.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I got put on assignment to tag someone, back when I used to live on Clarke Drive, near the Japanese grocery store. It wasn’t a super unusual assignment I thought - my partner was… aw fuck, what was that kid’s name. Oh well, doesn’t matter. He was new, like me. We were supposed to get them in broad daylight, which is actually pretty exciting, like you know that the Board’s really trusting you when they let you do things like that. So I got up, got my coffee or whatever and made my way up the street, meeting my partner or whatever. But then the Board phones me right at the worst possible time. There’s cars everywhere, and I can’t hear shit, so I have to duck into a flower shop I’d never noticed before just to hear them.”
“What’s it called again?”
“For You Flowers,” I say.
She mouths the name of the store back to me - “what a sweet name.”
“It’s some Chinese place. I know they won’t understand a thing I’m saying there. And so they tell me, hey, your target we gave you, that’s actually a decoy - we need you to whack your partner. Okay? I’m like, “are you joking me? Like right now?””
“Yes,” they say.
“O. fucking K. I’m shaking now, I hang up with my heart racing and I leave the store. But I buy some flowers just to not be suspicious.”
Izumi leaned her head against my shoulder.
“And so I did it. Shot my own partner in the chest; I can tell you, the look on their face, it’s not something I’ll forget in a million years. But there you go - my first ever kill. That’s how I knew I was in way too deep. They were super impressed, and offered me a promotion on the spot. What I didn’t tell ‘em is that a homeless dude saw me do it. He was following me, all the way from Georgia, flipping mad because I’d been toying with him just before. So there’s one rookie mistake - drawing unnecessary attention while on assignment. But get this; when they ask me “Did anyone see?” my dumb ass lies right through my teeth. I lied and I said that absolutely nobody saw me do it, and I act all hunky-dory about it, and so they make a huge example out of it, telling everyone I’d done some really fine work that would save a lot of lives in the long run. They actually said, “really fine work,” like I was some kinda hero.
“Wow,” Izumi said. “What do you mean, homeless man? You were “toying” with him?”
“Aw, forget it. I was just nervous, I act up when I’m nervous about stuff. He was asking to bum a smoke, but I didn’t have any. I was just mad, you know, I didn’t have anything to offer him other than the one I’d just lit up myself. I hate that feeling, where you just wanna give someone one smoke but all you’ve got is the one in your goddamn hand.”
“But they never found out about him, and inducted me pretty soon after. Now I’m part of the Board. My pay goes through the roof, I get some really wacko dreams. After speaks to me in them, and so did you. Remember?”
Izumi nodded with her head still against my shoulder. My hands are getting awful clammy, I want to get out of the shower, but feel like telling her the rest of my story first.
“I really thought I had it made. They always tell you this kind of stuff growing up, teachers and whatnot: building up the Board as like the holy grail of careers. “Don’t get your hopes up,’ they’d all say, ‘but if you study hard and score high enough in your exams, yadda yadda, you might just land an interview at the Board.”
“I was over the moon when I got the call to go in and meet them. My bank account was just going nuts. Absolutely nuts. Whatever I wanted, I could buy. I kind of went overboard, though. But whatever. When you’re used to being broke, that’s some kind of feeling. Only ever being broke my whole life, the high was irresistible, I didn’t get over it until I met you.”
Izumi smiles.
That’s the thing about this story that’s tricky. That’s the thing about the word “beginning.” In life you’ve got all kinds of beginnings. Izumi and I technically first met on an assignment, where we were just coworkers: the Board set off an alarm that made millions of people in the world go deaf. We both were instructed to go survey the damage. I knew Izumi way, way before that, though. I knew about her whole life, actually, from when she was a kid in school, where she was in 2011 when the Earthquake struck. We were both only kindergarteners. I knew how her writing sounded, how her parents died, these things that all felt imaginary, but turned out to be the truth. That’s why I believe in After. He told me all about Izumi before I even actually met her.
She’d even been there the time I was in a coma, when I had no one else to watch over me.
But nonetheless, here we were, for the very first time, just…. together. Finally just together. Not on the clock, nor stuck inside some crazy dream, nor drowning in the sea.
I try to savour these idle moments, to stretch them out so they’d last as long humanly possible. But people have this force, this invisible power, like magnetism or gravity. I think about this innate energy a lot, but can’t put a name to it. Maybe you can. Whatever the force is, it draws people together and pulls them apart, with the people themselves having essentially zero control over it. If you are truly fond of each other, you both just have to hope the force brings you back together within the confines of your current lifetime.
I think about this girl named Una that I met when I was very young. It was at the birthday party of some long lost family-friend. As clear as day, I can still remember my childhood friend yelling her name “Una! Una! We’re playing tag and you’re it!” She had a beautiful smile that I was immediately smitten with, of course I ran so much slower than I was actually able so that maybe she’d decide to tag me. But so did all the others. This memory’s only persisted for so long because of how completely powerless I felt. You see, part of me knew this was my only time ever meeting Una. After all I was just a toddler. The best I can recall in terms of setting was that we were at a water park on a beautiful summer day. Probably Stanley park. Beyond the glistening water and her bowl cut and great big smile, I remember almost nothing. What I do remember however is this awareness of how powerless I was. That no matter how fond you might be of someone, the only thing that can actually keep them in your life is pure chance. Maybe that’s what this force is called- chance, luck, fate. Destiny.
I knew even at that formative age that there wasn’t any point in asking her to be friends, asking to see her again, or anything like that. I do remember considering finding out who her parents were and asking them if she was going to go to my school next year. But then I thought, no - what’s the point; either she will or she won’t, and nothing I say or do will alter the course of things in my favour. And so Una exists in that memory alone, and nowhere else. Maybe her name isn’t even Una, maybe my memory’s gone distorted after all these years. Even if I happened upon her in the street there’s zero chance I’d even recognize her.
What I do recognize, and what I always have, is that awareness of fate itself, how it carries me where it will, like that dog Laika being strapped into the rocket ship with no plan of ever returning to Earth. In a way we are all a bit like Laika. We have no power against the fate that awaits us, no matter how clever or fastidious or conniving we become, eventually our last day arrives, when the cinch is tied, and we meet our maker. There’s genuinely no escape; you might as well try flying away on a broomstick. Fate could be a car hitting you, a rollercoaster running off its tracks. There’s no telling where destiny’s taking you, and that’s a scary, scary thing. It might be the one thing that unites us.
Una means “one” in Spanish. Most people know the word “Uno” from the popular card game, but in Spanish anything can be gendered, even numbers. Quite curious, I find languages. Pure meaning encoded into expression. It says so much about us as a species, the words and conventions we include in our lexicon of words.
I’ve never told anyone about Una. Who knows why. Like I’ve already said, our meaning, when we make arguments or tell stories, is subject to completely different interpretations than we might intend. So I don’t really feel the need to explain to you why I’ve never told anyone about Una until now. There’s probably dozens of reasons.
Everyone has their Una, though. Maybe I’m somebody’s Una.
FOR YOU FLOWERS ©️2026.