The tram came to a stop, dipping beneath an overpass choked with exposed cable vines and light-stripped trees. The doors hissed open, and David pulled the lizard from his lap, its claws hanging onto the fabric of his pants.
He brought it to his face and glared at it. "No more drooling. Got it?"
The lizard blinked its beady eyes, and as expected, nodded.
David sighed. "I'll take that as a yes."
He placed it on his shoulder and stepped out of the hovertram. He walked past mech waste areas, steam vents and back-alley stalls. Under the bridge, close to the river, few locals made it their home. Those that didn't have the money to live in the more comfortable parts in the inner ring of Sector Twelve.
Locals like Jethro.
David knew the way. It had already been implanted in his mind with the memories, and so he just walked, knowing he would arrive soon. The gutterling pretended to know the way too, occasionally tapping David's neck with its tongue like a signal to turn.
Although annoying, David tolerated it.
Soon enough, he sighted the building from afar. It was a squat, two-story structure secluded in the darkness of the evening. One side of the building was residential, with a chipped door and tiny balcony. The other was a garage, having a metal door half-covered in faded paint.
It said: Harlon Merrick - Mechvet & Repairs.
David stepped closer, his boots crunching against the stony ground filled with tiny metal scraps that had washed from the waste areas close by.
Thinking that the house was empty, he hastened his steps, only to pause.
Sparks flashed behind the half-closed garage shutter.
Zzzzrrrrk. Click!
Zzzzrrrrk. Click!
He heard the sound of welding coming from the shutter, filling the air, yellow light glowing from within. Someone was working inside.
For some reason, David was scared for a second. The noise had stopped, and he heard the sound of metal like a tool was being dropped.
David wanted to run and hide, but then he heard a voice.
"Jet!"
David froze.
That voice. It was familiar. He felt it rumble through his bones, drawing out memories that he had long forgotten.
Then footsteps approached.
Out of the shutter came a man in a worn jumpsuit, gloves still on, and a welding mask covering his face. There were oil stains of different colors on his chest, tools dangling from his belt, and an Artillery Weasel standing beside him.
He paused when he saw the lizard on David's shoulder.
And then, slowly, he raised the mask.
David almost gasped, breath leaving his lungs.
He'd seen that face before. The brown neck length hair, the hazel eyes, the scanty mustache and short goatee. It was the face of a man he had known a long time ago.
His face was hard-edged, older than in his memories. The goatee was rough, his eyes were tired, but upon seeing the lizard, they shone with shame and regret.
"I... failed you again, son," the man said, lowering his head. "I'm sorry."
David just stared, frozen, heart pounding like a war drum.
Finally, his lips parted.
"…Dad?"
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
They both sat at the table. It was a round metallic one, rusted around the edges with grime and dried stew from many years past stuck on its body.
David sat at one end, while his father— Jethro's father —sat across from him, a guilt-ridden and anxious look on his face.
But that face was the problem.
David couldn't stop staring at it. It was the exact replica of the face of his father back on earth. Exactly as he remembered it though some of the features were weathered by time.
He couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend how it could even be possible. Not only did this man look like his father, he sounded like him too.
Harlon watched his son, eyes low beneath the weight of hard years. Jet was being uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Not that Harlon didn't understand why. He glanced at the little red lizard perched on Jet's shoulder, blinking and bobbing its head at him.
Shame filled Harlon. He'd let his son down over and over again. Even now, when it came to securing a future for him, all he could provide for him was a Gray Rank egg, and even worse, a mere gutterling.
They were both silent for a while, the plate of fryloops and fish skewers wafting thick vapor in between them both.
Harlon, hoping to break the ice with his son, spoke first, "Do you still have some credits with you after boarding the tram? I made some repairs today so I could give you some."
David lifted his brows, waking up. "What? Oh, no. It's fine. I don't have any expenses until the week is over anyway," he replied, still staring at Harlon.
Harlon chuckled nervously. "Beastcorp is moving this faster than usual, huh? It used to be two weeks. Then again, I don't think there's ever enough time to prepare a parent to say goodbye to their children."
David didn't say anything, he barely even heard it, his head tilted a little, still studying Harlon's features. 'Seriously, how is this possible?'
Finally noticing David's stare, Harlon asked, "Are you okay, Jet?"
David quickly snapped out of it again. "Huh? Yeah. Yeah. I'm just… The food smells good."
Harlon smiled. It had been a very long time since Jethro appreciated his cooking. Maybe it had to do with his choice of dish for today. "Does it?" he asked, all smiles. "I caught some fish today by the river and I thought, why not make fish skewers and fryloops. Was your mother's favorite and…" his voice trailed off, looking at Jet as if he had said something wrong. "...I admit I've been thinking a lot about her lately."
David's ears perked. By the looks of it, Jethro's mother was dead and it had fractured the family because of it. He didn't speak, but he watched Harlon silently.
Harlon, on the other hand, was surprised that Jethro didn't scold him for mentioning his mother. He was being rather soft spoken and gentle today, and so, he saw it as a chance to try once again to plead for his son's forgiveness.
"I'm really sorry, Jet," he said, gazing down at the hot fish on his plate before meeting his son's gaze. "I'm sorry about what happened to your mother. I failed at everything, I know. I failed at protecting her, and when they took everything from us after, I failed at protecting you. Just as I have failed now."
David didn't say anything.
"You know," Harlon continued, voice rough, "I think about it every day. That night."
David glanced up, heart pausing mid-beat. Was he talking about the same night? The one when he lost his parents to the crash?
"We were coming back from the Mechbeast Fair. You'd won a toy Lightning Dragon in one of the competitions, you remember that? Hah, you were so damn proud." Harlon smiled faintly, though his eyes remained sad. "Your mom had just called me a 'grumbling junkman poet' for complaining about the transit fees so we were laughing about that. Then the Rift burst happened…" Harlon's gaze turned dark. "...right in the middle of the street."
His fingers curled around his spoon.
"One of the Darcbeasts slammed through the skyway, crashed into the wiring. Cars started falling out of the air, the entire hover unit was destroyed, causing our car to crash into an overpass, nose-first."
David stayed still, absorbing each word like ash into cloth.
Harlon stared darkly into nothingness as he continued. "I remember your mom unbuckling you. 'Hurry through the hatch, my little jet, hurry throu—" He lost his voice, lowered his head and cleared his thoughts.
The memory was hurtful to remember, painful to say.
"I hit the override once you got out, but the doors didn't open. The override panel had been crushed by another car. And we were both too big to go through the hatch."
As David listened, the memories began to play in his mind, the way Jethro had seen them all those years ago.
The smell of fire, the Darcbeasts attacking cars, slaughtering people, the sight of his father hitting hard on the door window, trying to break free as the car caught fire from behind.
"I hit that window harder than I'd ever hit anything, and it finally broke."
Jethro's memory showed Harlon crawling out, collapsing, then rushing back to the door.
"It was your mother's turn to get out, and just when I'd pulled her halfway through…"
Jethro suddenly saw his father stop.
Tears welled on Harlon's eyes. "Your mother was pregnant, and she couldn't fit through the window because of it." He shook his head painfully. "The same thing that was the source of our joy months ago became the cause of our grief."
"I could have done something, Jet, I know," his voice cracked. "I could have been faster, stronger. Whatever it took to save her, I should have done it."
"But all I did was fail her. And I failed you too."
The silence that followed was thick— filled with old regrets and new realizations.
Through Jethro's memories, David saw that he had treated his father rather harshly, judging him for the death of his mother.
In Jethro's memories, his emotions had spun the event into something it was not. Making Harlon seem like a coward who couldn't save his wife. But Harlon had fought to the very end until Mardetta had begged him to let her be.
To live for their son.
Jethro had been too young to understand, too angry, and he ended up hating his father ever since that day.
But apart from this, something else was strange.
His parents had lost their lives in a similar incident.
The memory he held— his memory —rose up like steam behind his eyes.
There was a road accident, a pillar fell and then a car crash. The car caught fire too, but in that world, both his parents had died trying to save him.
In this one, Jethro's mother had died instead.
Mardetta.
She had the same face as Margaret, David's earth mother, except her hair was as white as snow compared to Margaret's blonde.
David realized this could not be a coincidence. It was the same event. The same people.
A different world.
Jethro was him. This was David's life in another reality. In another world.
And he had just replaced another version of himself who never learned to forgive.
It was difficult to reconcile with, but there was no other way to explain it. Harlon was actually his father, even if it was another world's version of him, and Mardetta was his mother.
David's mind melted as rushes of emotions filled him. If only Jethro had known that he had lost both parents in another world, maybe he would have learnt to cherish his father a little more.
Harlon, seeing that he was not going to get a response from his son, pushed back his chair and got on his feet.
"I didn't mean to burden you, son. I'm sorry. I know it's like me to do things that hurt you or remind you of bad times. I shouldn't have said all of that." He turned to the door. "I'm really sorry, Jet. I'll leave —"
"Ughh!"
He staggered as someone crashed into him, arms wrapping around his back.
Harlon looked down, and stared at Jethro's head, his eyes quivering with shock and emotion. "Son?"
David squeezed tighter. "Dad."
Harlon, still staring, began to tear up again. "Son, wha—"
"I'm so sorry, Dad," David whispered, fighting tears of his own, remembering how long it had been since he held his father, how he had missed it. "It wasn't your fault, Dad. None of it was, and I'm so sorry for making you think that it was."
Harlon's eyes softened with relief and joy, his heart melting as he embraced his son. "Son. Thank you so much for forgiving me."
David looked up at him. "There's nothing to forgive, Dad. All you've ever done was to protect and provide for me as much as you could. And yet I've torn you down for it. Can you forgive me, Dad?"
Harlon broke into a happy laughter. "Y- yes!" he said. "Of course I forgive, son. I've never blamed you for anything."
He pulled him back into the embrace.
"I missed you, Dad."
"I missed you too, son."
They held each other for a moment before Harlon stepped back. "I brought back some metal scraps. Do you wanna head on to the garage and see which could fetch us some good credits?"
David smiled. "Sure, Dad. But how about we eat first?" He turned to the plates of fryloops and fish skewers. "It's mom's favorite so let's eat it in memory of her tonight."
Harlon beamed at his son, brushing a tear away before it fell. "You're right. Come, let's do just that."
As they returned to the table and ate the modest meal, David asked a question. "Hey, Dad. Do you still have any of those glyphs on Beast taming and cultivation? I remember you used to keep some in a box."
Harlon nodded. "Yeah. In the old red crate. Might be dusty, but it's all there."
David smiled. "Great. I'd like to check them out later."
Harlon glanced at the pathetic gutterling once again, feeling that guilt rising to his chest. "I'm sorry that I couldn't get you a better egg, son."
David looked at the lizard, then at his father. "Stop apologizing, Dad. I can make do with whatever you're able to provide for me. Just being here with you… it's enough for me."
Harlon's face lit up, joyful. "Thank you… son."