1. TWO

The memories inside Sevastian's head ricochet in his skull when he hisses awake, limbs and joints aching and sore.

A sudden rush of calm—the System's voice—seeps from his throbbing head, pooling down into his neck, his spine and cascades to the very tips of his toes. He stumbles back from the abrupt relaxing of his muscles, hands snapping out to the sink, steadying himself as the memories clear up.

"Ugh," he opens a bleary eye, releasing a sharp exhale when the light glares off the mirror. "I can't tell if I'm speaking English or Japanese with the ringing in m'ears."

The System flutters over to Sevastian, "Host did not follow System's recommendations." He groans painfully, rubbing his eyes with the knuckle of his thumbs, "How long have I been out for?"

"Seven ticks."

"Don't you mean seven seconds, darling—ow!" His hands jerk to his ears, tears forming in the corner of his eyes, "How long will the bloody ringing last for?"

"One Earth day," the System answers curtly.

Sevastian purses his lips, washing his lathered hands under lukewarm water a beat later with vanilla and honey wafting into his nose. His shoulders hunch in tension when the harsh sound of the air-dryer pierces his ears, sharp and grating to the point he can feel it stabbing his brain.

He hooks his glasses between his fingers, caution ingrained in his steps as he starts leaving the bathroom, testing his walk, muscles, and stride.

"Has my Hue changed?" He articulates with a locked jaw, the System resting on his shoulder, "Still Powder Blue?"

"Host has recovered from a small jump."

Sevastian hums, eyes—not that he could make out anything with his right eye—sweeping to the pink floating octopus in the kitchen.

"Would you like me to browse news websites?" It asks, carrying a cup and saucer with one of it's tentacles; Sevastian resists the urge to raise an eyebrow, and controls his voice, shifting his gaze to the food set on the table, "The usual sites, skip economics."

"Beginning access," it announces.

A large holographic screen flicks on as he scoots onto a chair, four panels of one topic and the time in the center as its own box, reading: AM 7: 12. He holds his chin, elbow against the table when he looks down at his breakfast in the tray: steamed rice, miso soup and grilled smoked salmon—"The usual," he'd replied spontaneously, swinging his legs over the bed, heart hammering and head pounding—and plucks the chopsticks from the side.

"Today's weather will be cloudy followed by clear skies with zero percent chance of precipitation."

The flowing motion of familiarity unnerves him, never having used chopsticks before, as does his fingers comfortably holding them.

Breathe, Hiroyuki, breathe, he thinks to himself—thinking in third person helps control his emotions better, helps stay in character with all the ringing in his ears—he's been using chopsticks all his life, all's well. All is well.

"The stress level prediction for the Jinguuji area is level one."

He barely manages to make out the words, directing his attention to the tensing of his fingers, knuckles paler than they already are and swallows in understanding, realising perhaps why Hiroyuki had given his consent.

"Chanel's new holo-avatar "Exotica" is being released in five months, the exact date and time are yet to be revealed."

By the time the chopsticks hit nothing, Sevastian's eyebrows are furrowed and his leg bounces in thought.

Sawada Hiroyuki was an indirect victim of the system, his parents having spiralled into depression while struggling to make ends meet, being the farmers they were when the industry was almost completely automated, and still is. When the Sibyl System targets individuals who are considering performing actions that might cause stress to others, they're apprehended.

Hiroyuki's older brother died from overworking, but leaving enough money for him to live a middle-class life until his assignment test even if it wasn't budgeted properly.

Sevastian lets out a soft exhale from his nose, hunching over the table to rap his nails against the table.

The impact of it all… was enough to abuse his 'invisibility' to a certain extent around his close friends.

The System must have revealed his mission—not that it matters anymore—for the sharp adult to let go.

But, is it worth it? Makishima Shougo isn't an average criminal. Now that Sevastian has Hiroyuki's memories, he knows the criminal—perhaps, soon-to-be—is invisible like him, because getting around the scanners is no simple feat.

An official Psycho-Pass can only be issued at a licensed clinic, anywhere else and it's illegal.

If his mission involves him, then Makishima's crimes will be big.

The System doesn't dish out information so freely—it would be easier to persuade Sevastian to inherit the memories... and the hints he would appreciate.

[The System is host's companion] It repeats in his mind, and Sevastian's chest grows warm for he was it's companion too.

[Call me Sev] his pink lips arch into a small smile.

This world, and Hiroyuki, were already changing him. A reminder of who he is... is pleasant. They need each other, and there are still many worlds yet to come—many years, many missions, and many, many lives.

Sevastian blinks to an empty table with empty hands, and spots the octopus carrying the dishes away to wash. He pushes his chair back to return to his bedroom, lips pursed.

He doesn't know yet, if working as an Inspector will lead him to Makishima faster or if working with… his 'close friends' and making connections is.

If he messes it up as an Inspector, he'd lose his job or worse, so if he were, it must be perfect—an accident with no flaws.

Sevastian cocks his head, sliding the door open and picks his notepad. "Evidence," he murmurs, snagging his pen to alter the letters with circles, dots, hats and other miscellaneous symbols. He tears the pages out of the spine, shredding them with his hands, and piles them on another page to crumple it around the pieces when he tosses it in the nearby bin.

It misses. Sevastian sighs, running his fingers through his hair in dejection.

Five months, he reminds himself with a small voice in his head. One-hundred-and-fifty-two Earth days to a major point in his plan, one-hundred-and-fifty-two Earth days to grow comfortable in his new body, to succeed… Ordinarily, five months would be more than enough to cope with his situation, familiarise himself with his body, except he had these eyes—they were a liability Sevastian couldn't avoid, only minimise, and as much as he hates it, he can't do anything but work around it—and then that.

Fortunately, he's not blind, paralysed, or anything worse, really, he pep talks himself. He can work with it. He will. He has a mission, one to achieve with utter perfection.

That's who he is… was… Sevastian corrects himself, dragging his hands across his face—it doesn't matter. It does not matter—his flaws were fine, acceptable, what she wanted, what Fire loved among everything else.

"Slush," he hisses, snapping his head to look around the room. Blue covers, blue carpet, blue curtains, blue chair, blue bookcase… blue, Hiroyuki's—his—favourite colour.

The System's clicking catches his attention, iridescent wings catching light as the beating of its wings help Sevastian calm himself, with a sharp exhale.

"M'sorry, again," he whispers.

"Five months," the System tilts its head towards him.

Sevastian purses his lips, fidgeting his fingers, "Getting ahead of myself… Again."

The System clicks again, and he jerks a nod, "I think… I think I'll go and see the seashores, in the Kansai region. It-his… my memories… I'm struggling to believe them."

"The colour of the waters," the System states, firmly.

"Indeed, so," Sevastian's lips crook upwards, black eyes crinkling. "I've—we've—always known them as grey and utterly filthy. The one by the cliff side was absolutely arresting, I'm sure you agree. She too would love it."

"As do you."

He replies with a small nod, a lock of black hair falling onto his right cheek when his lips twitch into a mirage of a smile.

It's his safe place, away from reality where he could catch his breath and breathe in a world without his Fire.

He blows the lock of hair away from his lips, eyes softening with a quiet hum. "Do you think there're any hair dressers open this early?"

The System's wings flutter, antennas twitching, "You require an excuse for a walk?"

Sevastian shakes his head, "I might as well." He stalks over to the crumpled ball of paper to bin it, making his way to his bedside table to pick up the silver watch pulsing with a faint blue hue.

When the holographic circles expand from the watch's screen, Sevastian's lips twist into a disappointed frown. "You'd think with how they made holographic clothes real they'd get past showerheads. Even the room is decorated holographically."

His thumb taps 'Casual', turning to the full-length floor mirror in the corner of his room to inspect himself.

"Guess this is okay," he murmurs, sweeping past the navy trousers, tawny shoes, the grey sweater over the blue long-sleeved shirt. He unbuttons the first button, fixing his collar and shifts his gaze back to the mirror, fixing his hair.

"Maybe I should get surgery for my eye," Sevastian mutters, breathing the lens of his glasses with his warm breath, wiping them clean, "Since I'm considering working to become an Inspector."

When he wears them again, his face is almost next to the mirror as he studies his right eye.

He frowns, touching his eyebrow and titling his face. "Definitely surgery," he turns his head over his shoulder to the System, "I can hear her laughing at me already, 'Sevvie! Your eyebrow's jumping like a skipping rope and you don't even know!'"

[You love her a lot, don't you, Sev?]

Sevastian's pink lips arch into a smile, black eyes gentle and voice soft, "My fearsome wife, my dearest Fire, the love of my life, and the lives to come. I promised to be the best husband for her—you know how I love to be the best…" He lets himself a small laugh, eyes crinkling and smile stretching wider, "But most importantly, she taught me love is a power all on its own."