[Can't Opt Out]

Arc F1.8 | Chapter 24: Why, Exactly, Is This My Censor’s Top Priority!?

The second time Olivier came back to consciousness, what seemed to be a dozen voices floated around him, speaking in a mixture of Lüshanian and Baalphorian—although, mostly, it was the former being spoken. Every voice was a hammer through his brain, his Censor trying to catalogue each voice and determine if he knew the voice and what he could glean from each accent, each pitch.It wasn’t a useful thing for his Censor to be doing, especially considering it was trying to connect him to a million relays, reconnect him to a million more. Messages that had been sitting, unsent, within his mind finally plunged off, seeking the intended recipient—his cousins, mostly.

There was one, thanking Axelle for making him install so many functions while also asking her a thousand little questions about how strange a few of them were behaving—those same questions went out to Halen and Emilia as well, his Censor deciding to include the three of them in a group relay as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was, Olivier’s mind lingering on that vision he had held within him brain during his first waking moments—that vision of Emilia and Halen laid out in bed for him, smiling and happy, their legs and fingers tangled together as they beckoned him closer. It was a nice vision, easily pulled into him by the strain of this once-again waking moment. It wouldn’t last—people like him weren’t meant to hold sparks of light and happiness like Emilia and Halen within their heart, weren’t given leave to plant seeds of their affection within those light-filled creatures in turn.

A few messages to Gabrielle had gone out as well, including one that insisted that she and her husband look into moving to the Penns, along with an exact transcript of the long, internal ramble that had filled his mind at some point—back when he was considering the difference between Xavier and the little girl’s learning styles. Gabrielle had yet to respond, although the message had been seen by her. It was a very long ramble, and considering it was likely lunchtime there—or maybe even naptime, Olivier’s mind unable to convert time zones at the moment—it might take her a while to get through it. The last message that had gone out from him was one demanding that they bought a house in the Penns it be both on the southern tip—apparently his Censor or subconscious mind thought his family should live near Emilia’s family and friends?—as well as have

Olivier… wasn’t sure how he was going to explain that last message. Problems for future him. Current him didn’t have the brain space to attempt to explain himself, his mind instead looking to the last of his message—sorry Henri and Clovis; apparently he hadn’t thought either of them in need of their own rambling, discombobulated messages.

The last message had gone out to Louis, which seemed to just say he was an idiot for marrying his bitch of a wife. Olivier couldn’t remember writing that one out, but it was a sentiment he stood by. It was also the one that received a response first: a series of question marks from his older cousin and a question of whether he was okay. His Censor, burning away as it did a million things in seemingly no sensible order, was apparently busy writing out an explanation of the situation for his cousins, the response queuing up… and then it failed. An error message popped up, informing Olivier that the locked Black Knot relay was interfering with his ability to tell his cousins anything. In protest, his Censor decided to send off a message to Malcolm Laprise in said locked relay.

Interestingly, the message was formatted as clearly having come through from his Censor, rather than he himself.

[Olivier’s Censor:]

Olivier wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that his Censor apparently deemed the situation to be . Still, Malcolm Laprise commented that he would have the clones he had assigned to watch each of his cousins inform them that he was fine, although there had been difficulties in Lüshan. Olivier also wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that, evidently concerned with the situation, Malcolm Laprise had assigned clones to watch his family: his immediate family, cousins, as well as Gabrielle’s children.

the clone Emilia was friends and occasional fuck-buddies with, Loren Hyrat, said, although Olivier wasn’t sure he believed the man. No… it seemed much more likely that it was

Regardless, Olivier was grateful that his family were being protected. It didn’t seem like Fräthk’s criminal network reached into Baalphoria, but with how valuable Porsq was—with how horrifically powerful the preteen was—it wouldn’t surprise him if Fräthk would be willing to call in any favour he could in order to get leverage against anyone who would dare try to keep the boy safe. This was to say nothing of the reality that, were information to get out about Fräthk having lost the child, other criminals and governments might try to get to the boy.

A small whimper escaped Olivier as the various relays closed and his Censor once again tried to force information about the people talking around him through his mind.

Mikhail and Zavriel were still there—that was easy enough for him to know, even without his Censor being a brat, their voices familiar enough from their brief conversation… plus, he thought they were both still sitting next to him. Another man was talking, his Lüshanian holding no hint of any accent—an actual Lüshanian, then? Or someone so fluent that no one would assume they were anything but a local? At least, that was what Olivier thought until the man’s throat caught on a syllable strangely. Over and over, it caught on that single syllable, as though he’d spent so much time speaking a language where the syllable—where this word itself, borrowed from the nation’s that stretched through the Cyrenix Desert—was slightly different, his mouth and tongue and mind unable to make the foreign and Lüshanian versions meet properly.

—a word that, although pronounced slightly different in each of the southeastern nations, referred to a river that stretched through a number of those nations. The river Emilia had been trying to use?

While his Censor tried to find a map of said river—anything to imply that the Fura’zine originated as a subterranean river in Lüshan—it failed after a moment. Apparently, it was trying to download and send too much at the moment, its connection to the aethernet sketchy and warbling, although it was unclear if the connection issues were due to where he was or the current state of his mind.

In the background, Olivier could make out a queue of what needed to be done, his Censor attempting to prioritize things.

Still, near the top of the list remained Olivier remained unconvinced this was important—he was much more interested in what the group relay of Emilia’s friends, which Halen had added him to, said. Some things could be shifted around by his blurry mind—he understood why his Censor had put a private relay with Mikhail low on the list, considering the guy was right beside him, but if they needed to communicate in an emergency, that relay needed to be loaded, so it really should be done sooner. Other things, such as the summary, could not be moved down in the prioritization queue.

Hence, Olivier continued going through the things it had catalogued.

Another man—younger and Penns-Baalphorian, based on the accent and the occasional bit of slang that slipped out as the group spoke—was with the group as well. Mikhail had called him when the new group had first arrived, sometime in the three minutes he’d been out after his Censor reconnected to the aethernet, his Censor recording the goings-on as he came back to consciousness. That name seemed familiar, but while Olivier tried to summon up any information on someone named , his Censor refused—too many resources doing other things, apparently.

Two more people were grouped around them as well, both quiet and far smaller than the adults. One seemed to be standing next to Levi and the maybe-Lüshanian man, while the other—

It said a lot about how out of it getting his Censor back onaether had left him for Olivier to only now realize that the second child was curled into his chest. Thin fingers dug into his shirt, as though afraid to let go—as though afraid that if he let go, Olivier would leave him behind again.

Every muscle in Olivier’s body screamed as he moved, but he forced himself to do so—forced his arms to rise so he could pull Porsq closer, closer. If he pulled him close enough, perhaps he could pull the boy inside him, keep him save.

he whispered, tugging, tugging, tugging, his nose burying itself into the preteen’s hair. It didn’t matter that they were both disgusting, coated with so much filth and sweat that Olivier wasn’t even sure which one of them was releasing which scent; Porsq was in his arms again, and as much as everything was still terrible, at least the one little thing wasn’t so bad anymore.

the boy said, pressing himself closer. Did he feel the same way as Olivier? As though he needed to crack Olivier’s ribcage open and crawl inside? The preteen was probably a little big, but they could make it work. A giggle escaped the boy, and when Olivier managed to crack his eyes open, he found those stunning blue eyes smiling up at him, Porsq’s chin digging into his chest.

Mikhail asked, turning towards them and asking if his Censor had misunderstood what Porsq said and translated wrong. Within the relay between just the two of them, Mikhail was highly unimpressed and very insistent that

A short back and forth between a handful of the people around him ensued—mostly, the other Baalphorian, Levi, was attempting to explain some niche translation of the word Porsq used to Mikhail. The latter didn’t seem to understand—and really, Olivier only understood because he had been the one having the definitely not sexual thought. At first, he couldn’t decide if Levi was just bad at explaining or if the concept was difficult to explain. Considering it took the other man no more than two sentences and an example to properly explain that the form of Porsq had used be used in a sexual context but generally held more of a context of or for the rest of them to understand, Olivier was leaning towards Levi not being good at explanations.

Olivier asked, leaning down to press his forehead to the preteen’s. The boy pressed up into him in turn, nodding and murmuring that he was—that

he whispered, willing his voice not to crack because the last thing he needed was a headache from crying when he was already worn and starving and exhausted.

Porsq said, twisting to peer up at the other Baalphorian man—who really seemed more older teenager than young adult.

Immediately, Levi was there, summoning food was the aether and babbling about how, as much as Emilia didn’t like eating fabricated food, even she knew that doing so was necessary.

Beside him, Zavriel made a gagging noise, Porsq’s eyes shooting towards the mysterious man. the preteen muttered.