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Another day gone. Today was a calm day, the first in many busy ones. I am grateful to have the time to collect my thoughts here.
Sometimes I wonder whether I will see my plan’s completion within my lifetime. All these delays; the failed teleport was a devastating loss of time and resources. I work and I work and it is never enough. Alas, if we do nothing, the world goes backwards.
It is no matter; I do not do this for enjoyment. I know what must be done. And if I do not live to see the realisation of the plan, I have made preparations for that contingency. The work will continue without me.
I write this, but even as I do, I feel anxious, impatient. For all my connections and my efforts, I am essentially trying to change the world alone. There are parts of my plan that not even my brother knows, and I am sure he has ideas of his own that he has not shared with me.
There is no love lost between us; he would dispose of me if it were necessary to achieve his goals. I would do the same, though I like to think I would hesitate first – perhaps not, as the one who hesitates will most likely be the one who does not walk away from that encounter. We both know this. It does not stop us from thinking that we will get our way. Well, we shall see who is victorious, in this game of smoke and mirrors…
There was a thrill in working with him, before. It was so easy to talk to him, to myself; a word, and he understands. But now, the weight of it seems to press on our relationship; I wonder what things we have both left unsaid, and how they may come back to bite us in the end. It is more of an impasse than a joint venture, at this point. We need each other because we both know too much. We need each other because neither of us know enough. So we go on, as if we do not despise each other. An ouroboros chewing calmly on its tail.
There is enough difference between us to be noticeable, to us at least, but enough similarity that it is mortifying to admit I do not find him pleasant. There is a cruel edge to him, hidden in all that charm. I do not blame him for withgoing the pleasantries once he realised there was no need for secrecy between us, but I really am monstrous without them.
Working with the Protocol has put a myriad of things into perspective. It is so easy to lose touch when you work only with yourself. There are equals, here – both in intellect, and in scale of their plans. And there are those who remind me of how far I’ve come; my ambition may pale in comparison to my brother’s, but some of the agents here have no sense of direction at all.
That was unnecessary. We are doing this for the good of every human being on both Earths.
Well, not every person. But for the greater good, that much I am certain of.
I will gladly die if it proves necessary; it does not seem like such a great sacrifice, when I have already given so much of myself to this endeavour.
And this… posturing. It weighs on me. I have never liked hiding who I am, and lately everything I say is a calculated lie.
Fade wrote that I would be judged when my plans come to light. I agree. There will come a point at which I will no longer have to bother with such secrecy, and even this diary can be left out in the open. Once we remake the world, these considerations of mine will be of little importance.
And as for the judgement? It is not something I can prevent. Many will fail to understand my motives even after all is said and done. I suppose I knew this when I embarked on this journey, but I must thank Fade for bringing it into perspective. I see it already, the constant distrust of those around me. The employees at Kingdom, the agents of Valorant, even my brother. To be quite fair, those at Everett-Linde were right to distrust me, but I have never allowed myself to dwell on it.
Well, so be it. I will not let the world bring me to my knees; that is a privilege I reserve for the love of my life.
On that tangent – I doubt that I will ever find love.
I have loved and been loved before, but for two people to fall in love simultaneously and with each other seems implausibly difficult. And such a lover would have to accept me for who I am, or I would have to hide everything from them. The former is impossible, the latter disingenuous. Everything would be stacked against us, and I do not think I would abandon everything I have built so easily for such slim odds; I have never been much of a gambler. I do not think I would respect someone who would accept such a half-hearted love, either.
My happiness is of no importance. There are greater things at stake, here.
But I do want to be loved.
Maybe in another world, someone else accomplished this before we were born. We did not find this path when we were younger, and we did not walk it as if we had no choice. Nothing changed us into a plotter and a murderer, and we meandered through life without ever meeting each other and being repulsed by our very selves. And we were free to meet whoever we wish.
I will indulge myself here for a moment, I think. What do I want?
I want to hold a lover’s hand in fields of golden flowers, and I want to hold their hand in a battle we both chose. I want to adjust a flower crown against their shining hair, and I want to carry that hair with me when the world tears us apart. I would love them in the fleeting moments of laughter and in the years after they died. We would tell each other what we loved about the other, and we would stay up confessing our deepest fears. There would be no judgement, no constant policing of joy or fear. And we would fall in love in every world, whether on a battlefield or in a field of daisies we weave into beautiful chains for each other.
Every world except this one, I suppose. And his. Every world except this cruel world, where I dare not ask forgiveness from whoever I believe may grant it.
Yes, I do not think I will ever find love. The only person who could possibly understand all that I have done understands, perhaps, a little too well. But maybe I can find myself another monster, one that does not wear my face. We can at least lick each other’s wounds.
In any case, I do not know who I am without the plan. Someone softer, I hope. I think I could have been softer, in a kinder world. But now I adorn myself with gold and fine clothes, all the while chipping away at everything inside until I am hollow and filled with nothing but purpose.
And I make myself into this imposter who smiles with my face and calls himself Chamber when I am so empty inside. Strip away my disguise, the clothes and the charm, and there is nothing left except the pattern running down my body, the only thing Chamber and Vincent Fabron have in common. Or maybe the disguises are all a part of me now. It has been too long and yet it must go on, the façade must be maintained.
Enough of this - it is late now. Another day dawns.