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It was another one of those calmer weeks in Morgan’s life, having just finished defending Sosuke in court, pleasing the Ikariya house, and also placating the Bluebloods enough to not try another enamel bullet in Sosuke's neck. She decided tonight to join Serra in her new variation on Popcorn-Friday Nights, where instead of watching through particular genres of film, she wanted to “randomly pick through what was considered the Top 100 episodes of Television at the time”. A quite bizarre proposal, especially since most were watched without regard for chronological order, but she hadn’t seen any of the shows before anyways, so she didn’t mind.
Previous nights, in Morgan’s opinion, were noted to be “A lot of animated shows I don’t know of that are mostly action and fight scenes,” and also a secondary note of “Why was that one with the talking dogs so high up? I don’t get it,” so today was a nice change of pace with a live action show.
Serra gives a primer on the episodes leading up to this, describing it as “the culmination of various drug deals gone wrong for a former high school teacher” and “the two brothers, one DEA and one criminal, are finally cornered in the desert”. Morgan chuckles at this description, thinking again to her previous court case, connecting it to the general plot of the story. A chemistry teacher has to turn to making a new amazing variation of an illegal drug to afford healthcare? That’d hardly be a plot that could run a serialized drama these days. It’d be a documentary of someone living in the lower wards.
It seems like this episode is one that comes at the end of a great conflict.
“You're the smartest guy I ever met.
and you're too stupid to see...
he made up his mind ten minutes ago.”
The man, accepting of his death, turns to his captors with no fear in his heart. “Do what you’re gonna do-” before a loud gunshot fills the speakers, as he is unceremoniously interrupted and killed. He is barely a speck on the screen, and the echoes of the gunshot fill the area as it’s ringing drones on, and the brother can only watch in devastation, sunlight filling the camera blinding us to his face before he finally falls over into the sand.
Quite the death he suffered, Morgan thought. I’ve certainly gotten it over with sometimes, not belaboring the task, but it’d be quite unsatisfying to see someone so accepting of it. The gunshot’s echo is quite nice, though. Nothing I can accomplish while wanting to go home that night.
Morgan’s mind began to drift between moments of recent history. London taking down the shooter in the courtroom. Morgan’s final bullet, directed at one Diane Dawn. The bathroom at the courthouse….?
Why am I remembering this….?
Her brain flashed back to images of Jung talking in front of the sink, talking about how her principles were the reason she had to stop David from unleashed the AIs, but she was too late. She talked about almost threatening David, wanting to undo what she described to be the biggest mistake that could’ve been done, but stopping short of it.
“… I just let him go.”
Morgan remembered the details of the case. The Synatonin wasn’t slipped into David’s drink; it was poured into the water pitcher, the one at the meeting “ending the partnership in goodwill” where they cheered and took a photo, shaking hands.
“he made up his mind ten minutes ago…..” The quote echoes in her head. Right. Jung didn’t kill him in the kitchen with the poison. The act was done hours ahead of time, before anyone could even comprehend the idea of danger.
The quote echoes as she remembers listening to the audio David left. The confession of AI numbering 300. The final plead.
"I really hope it's you listening to this, Red."
"….You're the smartest person I know-when it comes to people."
It almost rhymes with the man’s last words. Knowing when your time is up. Knowing that the AIs are already out there.
David’s mind was made up a long time ago.
Morgan thinks about the deal gone wrong again, back in the stuffy board room.
That damn photo. David wasn’t even looking at the camera. Looking like an idiot caught by paparazzi at a food truck. Such a stupid photo. The last photo of David.
But not the last time I saw her.
Morgan’s mind returns back to the morgue, finally seeing The Body.
“...I thought that he would look different.” Serra’s words echo in Morgan’s mind.
She doesn’t, Morgan thought. She doesn’t look different, and now she never will. A secret snapshot of a life extinguished too soon, of decisions made far too long ago for her hand to reach.
Why?
Why’d you do it?
Why’d you have to go and become the face of the ████ing company? You knew what the consequences were.
Why couldn’t you just stay in the background and keep your head down? Work in the back, like you love.
Why couldn’t you….. Morgan tried to stop her train of thought, knowing what she was about to say.
Why couldn’t you be like me.
The pale skin of the body. No glasses. Not like she would need them anymore. The green tied back hair, released from the hold of her hair tie. Necklaces and jewelry gone. Truly bare, truly vulnerable.
Morgan remembers that night. The night that David chose to “spend the night” with a week’s clothing. A pint of piss soaking her clothes. An awful stench. Truly the most miserable she’s ever seen.
She remembers not asking any questions. Setting base on the couch for the night. She didn’t sleep that night. Neither of them did, really.
A garbage bag of the stained outfit. A zipper bag soaking the glasses in water. Morgan remembers going to make sure David was doing OK, hearing that the shower already stopped for a while and the trickling faucet was getting quieter.
Skin raw and red, both from the intense scrubbing and what must’ve been boiling water. David just sat, collapsed on the ground. Still dripping wet. Still stained.
It was unlike Morgan to rush to her side, to get another towel from the closet to wrap around her. To gently scrub dry and ask her “to let me know if it hurts”.
She should’ve burned those clothes. Burned them with the ashes of what was once the idiot who threw the bottle.
They were quietly dragged to the back next to the trashcan.
She imagines sitting down with that David that night again.
You paid for my treatments. Paid for it all through college until I started insisting I could afford my own injections.
Gave me some band-aids, told me the optimal method to doing it, the container to store the needles.
Morgan tries to imagine caressing her face.
I know you were starting them, too. I’m not an idiot. I saw myself in the mirror and knew what the changes were like.
I saw it with my own two eyes that night. I wish I didn’t, sorry if that’s rude. Seeing you like this.
…...we talked about it a lot in college. Wanting to get started with a fresh slate. I remember seeing you so enthusiastic about it, too. But you were busy with the projects, and I didn’t want to push anything on you like that.
I wish I did.
Morgan remembers reading the news article on the tablet, talking about Noble picking up one David Ashur to come work in the robotics division. How they began to see each other less and less after that. Or at least how Morgan only started to remember seeing her more often on billboards rather than in the flesh.
It’s not like it wasn’t a big accomplishment for you. You got to work on your dreams.
But you stopped smiling.
Stopped smiling like you used to. I know what a photo-op smile looks like.
They already hated how much control you had, how much you knew. I never asked about it, but I just knew they didn’t give you a chance to do it.
A genius, Morgan thought. A genius who’s an idiot. She’s the fearless coward. Slinking to where everyone can see her, but no one does.
How can someone be so powerful and so powerless at the same time.
Now you’ve stuck me with-
“Adonai? Is everything alright?”
Serra’s words bring her back to the present. She must’ve spaced out for a while. The episode concluding with a red car driving over a hill while the sun sets.
“Hmm? Sorry, Serra, I must’ve lost focus. I didn’t mean to get distracted.” Morgan tries to sit up and grab the remote nonchalantly. “Should we watch another episode?”
All Morgan sees in Serra’s face is a look of worry. All she sees is
her.
The girl never born. Seen only by her, and herself.
It happens a lot less frequently than before, but Morgan has to steady herself every time it does. Seeing her dead friend again. Seeing a favor unpaid. Seeing-
“Your face seems to be flushed, and you seem to be sweating-”
Morgan tries to prepare her explanation as fast as she can before-
“Adonai, you’re crying.”
Huh?
She reached down to touch her cheek, feeling the drops roll down. Her vision was clouded with them.
“...huh. I guess I am.” Morgan tries to wipe them away, and make sure she wasn’t a sniffling mess.
“Do you have a fever? Are you ill? I know of some home remedies if you would like me to make them for you-”
“it’s fine, Serra. I’m fine. I just got…. Too into the episode, is all. Thank you for your worry.”
Serra looked in silence for a moment, before choosing her next reply. “…. I thought the cinematography in this show was…. amazing. I never realized how a director can imply scale like that by just using simple shots! No wonder ‘show, don’t tell’ is common advice….”
Morgan was used to Serra talking about the minutia and details of scenes like this, chuckling as she re-acclimates to the normal home life. “I thought the shot of the other guy where the background gets pushed backwards was interesting,” she chimed in.
Serra seemed to light up hearing the reply from Morgan. “Historians attribute the effect to one Irmin Roberts in a film called Vertigo, where the director asked him to emulate his feeling of being in a drunk-like state as he fainted at a party. Although the origin, some experts point to other movies using the effect to why became so popular and well known….” Morgan watched as Serra began to talk about various films using the technique, moving her hands about, recognizing her habit of using her hands as stand-ins for actors and cameras rather than trying to project the information on a screen.
Morgan felt how tired her eyes were, and checked the time. A lot sooner than she normally goes to bed, but today feels different.
“Serra, I’m gonna head to bed early tonight.”
“Already? Are you sure everything’s alright?”
Morgan stood up and ruffled Serra’s hair. “Yep! I just need to rest my eyes for tonight. You can keep watching without me, but just don’t play the audio too loud.”
Serra fidgeted in her seat for a bit, looking disappointed at first, but accepted the terms with hesitation in her voice. “OK….. If you need anything from me, just let me know.”
“you’ll be the first to hear from me,” Morgan replied with a smile, watching her already start to pick another episode.
“Goodnight, Adonai,” Serra said to her as she walked around the couch.
Morgan paused her journey to her bed. She saw the green haired girl in front of her, sitting in her home again. She leaned over to kiss the top of her head before giving her reply.
“Goodnight, Ashur.”