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“I would do anything to make her happy, even if it tears me apart.”
Tomate doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. In the dimly-lit confessional booth underneath the church. It’s been long enough for his back to ache from the way he’s hunched over in the uncomfortable sitting stool. Not long enough for a federation officer to be sent out to look for him. Tomate doesn’t know why he felt the compelling need to come here. He can’t talk to confess anything, even if he wanted to.
Still, this felt…appropriate for what he’s done and become. Tomate committed a sin.
He went against his own beliefs and everything that he’s stood for—unintentional but he still betrayed his creators nonetheless.
All for a single emotion that couldn’t be controlled no matter how disciplined you were. Tomate is a living proof of that.
Since the moment he remembers having a consciousness, Tomate has only ever had one purpose. A singular objective that is engraved into every neuron and deep crevice of his brain.
Obey.
It’s crucial nature for him. It’s all he’s ever known. An essential that is just as important to him as breathing.
It’s the whole point of why he’s alive. The sole reason for his creation. To obey who gives the orders and nothing else. The Federation expects nothing but devoted obedience from their workers. There shouldn’t be resistance. The workers shouldn't have the cognitive capacity to refuse them. However, they were not immune from the emotional disease that humans emit. A few Federation employees that were dispatched to work directly on the island were observed to begin having a mind of their own since interacting with the islanders.
Worst yet and much to the Federation’s disapproval, those workers also started to develop affection for the islanders—working with them instead of surveilling them like they were supposed to.
It’s ridiculous. It’s against the rules. It needed to be handled.
The Federation has no room for disobedience and incompetence. Trash were disposed of with no hesitation.
Tomate has seen what happens to those who taste freewill. To the defected workers who acted against their own best interests and disobeyed the organization who were the reason why they breath and live. The Federation likes to make an example out of them. Their punishment comes suddenly but quietly, a stalk of a predator that’s been prowling through tall camouflage grass with its sight locked on gullible prey.
There is no warning. No trial. No final words.
There’s only panicked tears streaming down terrified faces that were once blank. White unblemished skin torn open, flesh clinging to fresh oozing wounds and the violent weeps of crimson red contrasting harshly against the white walls that held and confined their secrets. A consistent pattern is observed through each defected worker. Amusing enough to be noted and observed. Before they were humanely put down, the traitors had a tendency to beg for their lives—the life that belongs to the Federation first before its theirs.
The pleading is in no doubt, a learnt habit they must have picked up from the islanders. The Federation noted the effect and influence the people on the island could have on their workers. It was as if their humanity was infectious.
The indoctrination increased and the executions became a spectacle in HQ.
The higher-ups made it a part of their visual training so they can see for themselves what would happen if they suddenly decide they want a choice. Tomate didn’t need convincing. He understood his purpose and he always followed the orders that were given to him with no hesitation. He’s done his research on the people who live on the island. He studied every single one of them and their relation with one another. Who were allies, friends, partners, family, and enemies. Tomate observed their daily and oftentimes hectic lives from behind the scenes, completely detached from their actions unless it directly involved the Federation.
Until…he laid his eyes on her.
Katie.
A woman who unabashedly wore her emotions on her sleeves but still remains an enigma.
Tomate found her fascinating from the moment she came onto his screen. Katie is a burning star floating in a solar system that moved in a different frequency from her. She refused to diminish when her shine was too bright for the others who occupied the space with her. Katie simply dragged everyone into her orbit with her positive hyper-energy and genuine kindness—granting her precious trust to anyone who said what she wanted to hear and smiled the right way. Katie has a charm that enthralls people, her lure is as mysterious as she was. The Federation didn’t have much information on Katie. Her background is vague, majority of whats written is nothing that could be used against her.
Katie arrived on the island alone and the way she fumbles to make basic tools and struggle to figure out what other islanders already know was meticulously documented by the Federation. It was as if she was living on solid ground for the first time. Tomate found it endearing.
Incredibly and wholeheartedly endearing.
Slow but deceivingly calculated footsteps echo from the stone staircase swirling down the basement of the church. Tomate is pulled from his thoughts but he doesn’t flinch. He sat motionless on the stool, keeping his head resting on the wall behind him. Tomate went through numerous required trainings in his years and one of the lessons he had to complete were the arts of being still and not attract unnecessary attention to himself. It’s essential when becoming a cameraman and Tomate passed that class with a top score.
Therefore, it made sense when Ewron doesn’t notice him immediately.
The red panda hybrid came down to the church’s basement, whistling idly to himself as he steps towards the multiple chests that were stacked against the walls. He opens one and he rummages through it, gathering supplies when his movements halt abruptly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood and a swirl of unease churns inside the pit of his stomach. Ewron’s shoulder tense and he slams down the lid, his panda ears swivel forward to listen for any subtle noises that shouldn’t be in his church. It’s silent—nothing but the breeze whistling through the cracks of stone and his own breathing can be heard.
Ewron couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’s being watched. His hand inches towards the sword strapped to the hidden holster under his assassin cloak and his lapis eyes dart around the room, scanning for whatever was setting off his instincts. His gaze throughly sweeps through the basement, analyzing for anything that could be slightly moved out of place. Ewron’s focus lands on the confessional booth built neatly into the wall and he stops. The harsh pause of his movements were nearly mechanical like a malfunctioned animatronic. Ewron didn’t make any indication of being surprise and he simply stares at the person who is, uninvitedly, sitting inside the booth. He recognizes the distinct uniform and after shamelessly staring for a solid minute, his deadpan expression breaks when his eyebrows furrow together in genuine confusion. Out of everyone who could be a threat to him, Ewron didn’t expect to see a Federation camera-man slacking on the job in his church.
“Tomato man…” Ewron spoke, his accent lancing through his words. He took a step forward, cocking his head slowly to the side without taking his eyes off the camera-man. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think a federation worker would have anything that requires the need to confess.” Ewron muses. His arm raises and his fingers slid over the delicate detailing on the wood before his thumb flicks the metal latch on the priest compartment door. Ewron wordlessly slides inside the booth, settling down across from the motionless camera-man. He’s positive Tomate won’t speak even though he took the time out of his day to come here on his own. But Ewron is willing to entertain him. A priest offers his services and wisdom to everyone, even to those who, in his eyes, were less deserving of it.
Ewron leans back in his seat, catching Tomate’s faceless appearance through the screen. “You do know what this booth is for, correct?”
Tomate did know.
The islanders have this assumption that the Federation workers were mindless robots that didn’t have an ounce of intelligence outside from what’s spoon fed to them. Tomate doesn’t react to Ewron’s patronizing tone. Even though he was sitting in his church, he tunes out the red panda hybrid as he begins to fill in the space with his own voice. Tomate’s mind wanders again, recalling when he was granted and first given his camera-man job. Tomate was an organizer before. His main task being to sort all records from the island in the HQ filing systems. He was efficient and the administrators pulled him aside once they noticed potential. He was reliable enough to be trusted with a camera and sent to work directly on the island, replacing Pepino.
Tomate expected negative reactions to him once he appeared to the islanders and he was right. No one reacted well to him, asking instead about Pepino’s whereabouts and or insulting him when he didn’t engage favorably. Tomate knew what the islanders were like, especially to unknown federation workers. He didn’t expect kindness. He would be considered lucky if all he got was indifference on his first day.
Katie had beamed at him.
While others regarded him with wary, she smiled at him.
Tomate recalls being a little startled at Katie’s friendly demeanor. He knew she was outgoing but he hadn’t been expecting for her to care that much when it came to him. There was no hidden intentions underneath her sleeves when she treated him with basic respect and kindness, exchanging one-sided pleasantries and accepting with grace when he didn’t return the sentiment. She viewed him as a person instead of a faceless fed pawn. That caused him more internal conflict than the multiple death threats he received so far from the other islanders. The aggression thrown his way was easier to handle than whatever warmth was given to him.
Inside the simple cobblestone house he found her ransacking through, Katie declared that she would protect him from the skeletons without hesitation, ignoring the fact she isn’t the strongest in combat. In her eyes, Tomate was someone more vulnerable than she was and he felt immense conflict at her blatant selflessness. Katie asked him a few questions that he wasn’t sure if he should answer. His supervisor said it’s better for the camera-men to behave impassive and neutral towards the islanders. They should avoid engaging with them as much as possible so it doesn’t distract the islanders from their adventures that needed to be documented. But there was one question among the multiple she had been firing at him that caught his immediate attention.
“Crouch if you think I’m pretty.”
Katie is pretty.
With her azure eyes that shine bright with emotion and the delicate curve of her smile. The warm pink of her suit complimented the fairness of her skin and the torches illuminating the house caught the color of her hair, making her look like she was glowing.
Katie is beautiful and Tomate is honest to a fault.
When he retuned to HQ after his shift ended that night, Tomate requested a change of uniform. He had this urge to change the color of his clothes, though he wasn’t entirely sure why in that moment. He didn’t mind the blue. But red felt more like him.
Red compliments pink.
It’s the first choice he made outside of Federation influence and it granted him a name. Tomate. His first shred of identity.
The name means so much more to him whenever Katie says it.
“-Hej, are you even listening to me?” Ewron’s voice cuts through Tomate’s thoughts. The camera-man tilted his chin up, properly facing the red panda assassin for the first time since stepping into the church. Ewron scoffs and an agitated smile spreads on his face.
“What’s the point of you coming here?” He kept his voice light to mask his growing annoyance. Tomate spent most of his time watching Ewron and the other islanders through a screen. Reading micro-expressions and hidden emotions were his specialty. A federation requirement. “Logically, you have no reason to be here. You can’t make a confession because you cannot speak.” Ewron leans forward. He props his elbows on the wooden table and he tries to study Tomate’s intentions through the grille.
“Are you here to threaten me? Is that it?” Ewron accuses. Tomate doesn’t defend himself.
He wonders though—if he truly had come to threaten or harm Ewron, would Katie still look at him? Would she defend him? Would she still reach for him?
Ewron made a place for himself inside her heart. He craved a hole with his bare hands and wedged himself so deep that he couldn’t be fully removed. He’s a meteorite in Katie’s stellar system, destructive and unpredictable. He craves to see Katie frustrated, to see her become erratic with emotions and create bigger problems for herself. Ewron loves to be the cause for her unravel. He’s the one who’s yanking the bottom block that supports a jenga tower. He’s the one who leads Katie to the edge of the cliff and he steps back to watch when she jumps. Then, once Katie is defeated and humiliated, Ewron swoops in with sweet words and meticulously puts the pieces of the puzzle back together.
Lately, Katie has purposely been hiding some of those pieces, forbidding Ewron from ever making the puzzle whole again.
The roots from a shepherd’s tree didn’t compete to the depth and the complexity of their relationship.
“Go ahead, do your worst. It won’t matter in the end.” Ewron waves him off. “The cockroach always survives.” The corner of his lips hike into a self-assured smile and he interlocks his fingers together in a praying stance on the counter.
Tomate stares at the polish panda. He doesn’t hold him in the most positive regard. All Tomate feels for Ewron was indifference. Unless, when he’s with Katie. Tomate is not a jealous person. At least he didn’t think he is. But, it didn’t feel good when Ewron constantly flocks to Katie and strings her along on another of his shenanigans. They were besties and then sworn enemies all in the span of minutes. Sometimes Katie looks at Ewron more than she does with Tomate and while it shouldn’t, a creep of something hot and thorny tugs inside his chest.
In a way, Ewron is indeed like a roach. Infesting, plaguing, searching.
The rackety and old stool Tomate sat on squeaks when his body leans forward, the motion being so sudden and smooth that it nearly looked like he wasn’t moving at all. Ewron’s fingers twitched. The urge to reach for his sword almost consumes him.
The silence in the church is almost painful. The stillness of the air made his molars ache.
Slowly, Tomate raises his right arm—the one he usually carries his camera with—and he made a fist, palm facing out, and his thumb tucks in between his index and middle finger. Whether Ewron knew sign language or not did not matter to him.
“That’s the thing about roaches, isn’t it?” Tomate signs. Ewron narrows his eyes.
”They only thrive and survive in groups. A roach without his colony is just as useless as a priest kneeling for a false god.”
Roaches flourish in societal structures. Ewron doesn’t. They’re highly gregarious and work better in a colony while Ewron does not. It might seem so to other people because the polish panda has a remarkable ability to befriend anyone, even those who deemed him as an enemy. But Ewron is loyal to no one but himself first and his entertainment second. Manipulation is not a skill for him, it’s an instinct and Tomate is good at sniffing out lies.
Tomate leans down, picking up the camera left on the ground and he stands from the stool. Carefully balancing it on his shoulder, he shoves one hand into his pocket and pulls out his shimmering waystone gem. Tomate squeezes it and the chruch’s interior disappears in a blink. A swarm of purple particles fill Tomate’s vision like a gust of wind as he teleports from the mountain.
Tomate hears the soft cackle of a fire and the distant trilling from a cat before he can take a moment to process his surroundings. The full moon sits heavy in the night sky. Its natural luminescence reflects off the surface of the lake, making the melodic water glimmer similar to a polished diamond. Tomate stood in front of Schlatt’s quiet house that oversees the lake, his shoes scrapping a patch of kicked-up dirt. He was here for someone completely different than Schlatt.
Finding the trap door is not difficult if you knew where to look. Tomate had memorized each step that it took to find it. He knows each blade of grass, every torch hastily placed down, each section of dirt or flower in the path towards Katie’s hidden home. The usual calm rhythm of his heart falters when his hand pulls open the trap door and he peers down the familiar red cavern that’s become his favorite spot on the island. Tomate carefully climbs down the latter, pulling the door shut on his way down and he’s avoids making as much noise as possible. He knows Katie’s schedule like the back of his own hand and at this hour is when she’s sleeps.
Tomate didn’t need to peep to confirm it. Most of the torches were taken down from the walls, plunging the room to near darkness. He walks down to where the narrow hallway opens up to the rest of the room. Stacks of chest were lined on one side of the room and on other is a single pink bed with a familiar person curled up on it. Warmth blooms inside Tomate’s chest like a tiny bud spreading open its flower petals in the mist of spring. His camera is left abandoned. His sense of duty and loyalty to the Federation wavers disastrously when his legs carry him across the room.
He dares to lower himself onto the edge of her bed and he doesn’t reach for her. Tomate would rather sacrifice his own arms before he laid a finger on her skin without her permission. He waits to be bathed in the affections of his god and he eagerly laps up an attention he is given from her. The word grateful isn’t strong enough to properly describe how appreciative he is to be worthy to be held by her. Just the sight of her is enough to replenish him for weeks. Tomate would fight to his death if it meant he would be rewarded a mere strand of her hair.
A peacefulness is delicately painted on Katie’s face as she slept. Tomate leans forward carefully and he places his hands on either sides of her pillow besides her head. He hovered over her, fingers were inches from her sun-blessed hair that was splayed across the pillowcase. Tomate watches her, his gaze tracking the raise and fall of her chest and he notes the seconds between each breath. The sounds of her breathing is comforting. To Tomate, its confirmation that she’s still alive. She’s still with him.
A dull clench seizes inside Tomate’s chest. The ache spreads, tearing through his fragile parts and wrapping around his heart like a boa constricting its prey until the life is squeezed from it. He’s fortunate enough to still have Katie with him in this moment. He knows it isn’t long until she isn’t. The Federation will find out about them. They will find out about Tomate’s emotions and the wretched disease that he’s infected with.
Love is against the contract. It had been crossed out in large sections when Tomate signed it. It had been very clear that romantic love against the rules.
Tomate had always followed the rules.
The thought of doing anything else other than following those simple words had been a ridiculous to him before. Now he realized that it’s never been that easy. Emotion is not something that can be controlled. Love had no rules and the heart flows in a different wave than the brain’s currents. The truth can’t be denied and not once, since Katie pulled him into her arms, has it ever been.
Tomate is devastatingly in love with an islander.
And when he figured that out for himself, he realized as it turns out, he wasn’t as dedicated to the Federation as he thought. He been mourned that. His betrayal to the people he has only ever known greatly anguished him more than he lets on. The trainings, the rule handbooks, the live examples of what happens to those who disobey—all of it never mattered. Tomate has failed. He’s another defected worker tossed into the raising pile of fed trash.
He failed. But he earned Katie’s love.
That’s enough to make him feel accomplished.
Tomate lowers himself, teasing the invisible barrier of Katie’s personal space. He’s close to her and he can smell the adored fresh floral scent that he associates with her. Just a single whiff had Tomate twitching for more. He vowed to not touch her without her permission but he’s addicted. An addiction that had no rehabilitation. Addiction is blinding and Tomate feels the drug that is Katie’s scent fogging his personal morals. He leans down into her warmth, his hands trembling with every last shred of self-control he had left and Tomate gently presses his forehead against Katie’s. He feels the firm base of her opaline horn pressed into his skin and Tomate feels a impulse bubble from his throat.
His lips part.
“…Katie…” His voice, soft and low, drips from his mouth and floats into the unheard air between them. “…Katie…” His tongue rolls comfortably around the syllables of her name. Saying it felt right. It didn’t feel like his voice was being torn from his throat and forced into the frigid air like the other occasional times he spoke. This felt natural. As if it was meant to happen.
Tomate doesn’t like being negatively emotional around Katie. She makes him incredibly happy and that’s a version of him he wants to constantly present in front of her. However, there’s only so much he can keep bottled up. He couldnt help it. Tomate is already grieving her loss. He yearns for Katie even when he sits next to her. He knows he can never truly have her. The Federation will never allow it.
In their eyes, Katie loving Tomate is as insignificant as dog-hair clinging to their sleeves. Inconvenient, sure but ultimately harmless and useless. Tomate loving Katie back is a felony, an act of betrayal greater than placing a bandage over a bleeding wound that is never meant to heal. Their love is going to get them killed and Tomate continues to hold her, inconsiderate of her life and thoughtless of the consequences. But has he not earn the right to be selfish for a moment? All his life, Tomate followed the rules. He stayed in his place. He never retaliated.
He was a puppet and a good one.
Katie reminded him that he, too, is human and like the other islanders, he’s entitled to emotions, even the tactless ones.
Tomate’s hand slid across the pillow, his fingers threading through Katie’s hair as if it were silk and his palms to lightly cup the sides of her cheeks. Her warmth is balm to his frazzled nerves thrumming beneath his skin and flesh. His thumbs drift softly over the apples of her cheeks, relishing of how she felt against his touch. Katie inhales a deep breath and she stirs and her body tenses in the slightest bit. The subtle defensive perch melted in an instant once she recognized who hovered and she became dough in his arms, her trust laid in velvet ribbons in the palms of his hands. Tomate doesn’t move and she doesn’t wake fully. Her head tilted upwards and she leans into him, returning his caress with affection of her own. Her right arm raises lazily and her hand came to rest on his hip—grounding, comforting, and acknowledging him. Tomate places his hand over hers, his touch idly running over the empty area of her ring finger.
Tomate wanted to place a ring here. His bear tail wiggles at the thought.
The Federation can wait.
They don’t need to know of the love that they perceive as betray in this given moment. Tomate will do all he can do to keep them ignorant and unsuspecting. For now, he ignores the impending storm of consequence. Just for tonight and the next. Until the moment their blood is sprayed and interwinds on the asphalt.
He’s neglected his duties for far too long now. Someone will be sent to look for him if Tomate didn’t go back to work. He sits up, removing himself from the warmth he wanted to engrave into his bloodstream and he forces his legs to stand from the bed. The loss of Katie physically pains to the point where he had to lean against the wall to collect himself enough to reach for his camera. He runs a hand down his face, threading his fingers through his overgrown wavy bangs that drape down from his forehead and he balances the camera on his shoulder.
Tomate doesn’t recall much from his early life. Most memories of his upbringing he tries to recount results in white blanks. Yet, in the deepest parts of his mind, he remembers a book that was filled with words he did not understand and laced with meanings that flew over his head and it stuck to him like tree sap. A book that is uncomfortably similar to how his relationship with Katie will conclude when the curtains fall.
Tomate straightens his back and he risks one last glance of Katie for this night. She remains asleep, beautiful and alive.
A specific section in the book flickers through his mind like a static memory.
***
”Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.”
“I would I were thy bird.“
“Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night…”
***
“…Parting is such sweet sorrow.” Tomate finishes out loud, his whisper hardly raising above the cackle of the torches hung on the wall.
The meowing coming from above and the wind lightly jittering the hinges on trap door were the only sounds in the room.
Hm.
Tomate reaches to adjust his hat and he quietly leaves Katie’s sanctuary.
He’s not going to grieve anymore. He will continue to live in her moment and he’s going to be happy until the play comes to an end.
For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
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