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becauseplot · 1 month ago

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Inktordem!! Posted at a reasonable-ish hour!! I have a feeling I’m gonna have to take a break for a bit so I can make more fic ideas, I need to give my idea doc a bit of a stir. We’ll see how the next few days go though.

Spoilers up through OPD finale!

DAY 8 — BIBLIOTECA

Two days. He’s put this off as much as he reasonably can. The report needs to be written, and the longer he waits, the more details will slip from his mind. Details that could be crucial later down the line. Details that could save lives later down the line. He knows this. That’s why they write reports in the first place. And he’s the one who has to do the writing because Dante’s gone blind and everyone else…

Everyone else.

That’s the thing, isn’t it.

Remembering hurts. It hurts a lot. And it doesn’t stop hurting—it never does—to remember the Liz’s lips spilling over with blood and anguish, Bea’s bright, brilliant scream and Dante’s desperate pleas, Joui’s trembling fingers around the mask, Erin’s hollow smile consumed by the flames, Luciano’s face disappearing into him, Fernando’s last kiss, Kaiser’s—

Arthur puts his pen down and drops his face into his hands, sucking in a tremulous breath. He didn’t think he had any more tears left to cry, and yet…

It’s a few minutes later, when Arthur has wiped his eyes and set the blank report sheet in front of himself again, that he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s Samuel, standing in the doorway between the hall and the main room of the base, where Arthur sits alone at one of the long tables.

“Hey,” Samuel greets. His voice echoes a bit. It’s late enough that most people have gone home to rest, save for Mr. Veríssimo, who never seems to leave his office in times like these, and Marcela, doing a final vitals checks on the wounded before she heads home too. “Uh… All good?”

“Yeah,” Arthur exhales. “Yeah, just—writing this report.” The paper is blank. Arthur taps his pen. “You? How’re you…?��

“Eh,” Samuel says. His mouth does a funny thing, like it can’t decide if it wants to grin or grimace or…something else. He clears his throat a bit. “Holding up, man. Holding up.”

Arthur nods. He can understand that.

There’s a beat of silence just a bit too long. A bit too big. Arthur opens his mouth to ask…something, but Samuel thankfully fills it first.

“Anyway,” says Samuel. “I just wanted to stop over here because—well. I was going through some of the files on Kaiser’s computer.” (Arthur’s chest tightens at the mere mention of the name. He adjusts the grip on his pen.) “Getting his projects archived and all that. And I found this one file that’s… It’s giving me some trouble.”

“Trouble how?”

“It’s got this password and—“ Samuel steps away from the doorframe and motions him forward. “I think it’s easier if I just show you.”

Arthur follows Samuel into the computer room. Only Kaiser’s monitor is on, as are the overhead string lights; Kaiser’s chair has been rolled aside, replaced by Samuel’s own. Samuel moves it aside so Arthur can see the screen better: a display listing many, many, many Python files that Arthur couldn’t even begin to understand the significance of, as well as…

“There it is,” Samuel says, pointing to the pop-up box in the corner of the screen. “I clicked on some file he had I’ve never seen before. It’s just labeled ‘Important.’”

“There’s a password hint here,” Arthur says, pointing to some text below the prompt box. “That’s what that is, right?”

All it says is: “Post on 15/04/20”

“Yeah,” replies Samuel. “That’s what I thought too. I just haven’t been able to figure out what it means. I thought ‘post’ like some sort of post online, so I checked his Instagram and his Twitter, but nothing I can find under his activity from that day works. In fact, he barely has anything on that day at all.”

Samuel sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I could just hack into it,” he continues, a murmur, “but it feels kind of wrong, you know? If the password turns out to be something only he would understand…”

“I get it.” Arthur exhales. “Kaiser…liked his privacy.”

“Yeah.” Samuel makes a sound, a half-attempt at a laugh. “Even if I did try to hack it, knowing him, it’s probably pretty air-tight. It might take me a while, so… any ideas? I’ve—I’ve tried to think of anything I remember about Kaiser and that day, anything he said to me, anything we did, any plans, or—or jokes, or movies, or something, but I’m drawing up a blank.” Samuel gestures to the computer helplessly. “I mean, I-I didn’t even know him at that point! We met back in May—”

“Easy,” Arthur says, putting a hand on Samuel’s shoulder.

Samuel visibly takes a deep breath. He lets it come shuddering out of his mouth and scrubs his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “Sorry, I…”

“It’s alright. Let me see if I can think of something.”

Arthur tries to remember. April 15th. That’s… Well. What would have been his show night in Carpazinha was April 13th. He remembers that date well, looking forward to it for weeks as he traveled home. Then life went in a direction that he never could have ever imagined. Some terrible mix of nostalgia and longing and hurt aches in him, remembering the spider in the woods, Chris dying, his gang dying, his father dying, everyone, dying, Virgulino and the drench of red over his vision, the hospital, the mansion, the cemetery, the bar, laughing with Thiago and Liz and Joui and Cesar, Kaiser…

Wait a minute.

Arthur whips out his phone. He has one post on his Instagram from April 15th, and he didn’t make it.

“Here,” Arthur says. He holds his phone out to Samuel. “Do you think this might work?”

Samuel looks. He gives a small laugh. “It might.” He takes Arthur’s phone, sits, and starts to type.

“hAccked by thE ANgel of teh Niightx!!!!”

The file opens.

Arthur can’t breathe. It’s a library of cellphone photos. Photos, upon photos, upon photos. Samuel scrolls through its contents, stopping every now and then to look: A photo of Jennifer, curled up in the arm chair with Ivete. A photo of some colorful graffiti on an alley wall. A photo of Joui, who looks like he’s trying to steal the phone out of Kaiser’s hands as he takes it. A photo of a sunrise through the curtains. A photo of his Polaroid with him, Cris, and Cláudia close enough to see every detail. A photo of his high score on the Tetris machine. A photo of Samuel in his chair at his desk, throwing up a peace sign to the camera, and Kaiser’s hand just in frame mirroring it back. A photo of their neighbor’s flowers in bloom. A photo of Arthur on his bed with his guitar balanced in his lap. A photo of a mug of coffee in front of his gaming set-up at home, either late at night or early hours of the morning.

Photos of lunch last week. Photos of the rain in the winter. Photos of their boxes when they first moved into their new house in São Paulo. Photos of Carpazinha, the original Suvaco Seco, their smiles and laughter, frozen in time…

Kaiser’s everything. Cesar’s everything. All of his memories. Remembered here.

“Important,” says the file.

Not a detail lost.

#curlyinktordem #my fics #opd #cesar cohen #ordem paranormal #wa hoo yippee!!#I feel like I was gonna say something down here but I forgot lol #guess I’ll just go to bed :P

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