Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Drives

Rei’s days bled together under the bright lights of Eidolon’s promotional halls. She was the hostess, the ornament, the bait; draped in Kuroda silk, laughing softly at jokes that were in fact too crude, brushing away hands that grew braver with each glass of imported whiskey.

Most often Cillian stepped in before she had to make a move, a silent wall of beige and brown between her and the grasping fingers of hungry-faced executives and billionaires. He never said much, just a firm hand near his sidearm and a hard green stare that made even the most entitled corpos falter.

The drives between Sakura Avenues and Kuroda Plaza became a secret sanctuary. Rei slipped into the front seat again after the first success, and from then on it was their unspoken ritual. Rei watching the city streak by, Cillian’s deep voice weaving casually through the noise. The Rolls-Royce was a world unto itself, gliding through the neon-drenched canyons of the city. Inside, the usual corporate silence had been replaced by something warmer, easier.

One night Cillian was in the middle of a detailed, surprisingly passionate explanation of the merits of a pre-collapse, gas-operated shotgun versus a modern mag-pulse rifle. “—so the recoil is more of a push, see? Not a snap. It’s honest, tells you exactly what you’re dealing with,” he finished, his hands making a smooth, pushing motion on the wheel. Rei grinned, tucking her feet up under her in the spacious seat, “So what you’re saying is, the old one is like a grumpy old man shoving you away, and the new one is like a snobby corpo giving you a dismissive flick?”

Cillian’s stern mouth twitched, “Didn’t say that.” Rei rested her chin on her knees, “You didn’t have to,” she chirped, “I’m beginning to understand weapons my own way with your help – Grumpy-old-man-shove has more character.” She gestured vaguely at the glittering Helix Apex tower they were passing, “Unlike that building. So sleek. So… soulless.” Cillian gave an exaggerated sigh, “It’s a building, Rei. It’s not supposed to have a soul.”

Rei lifted her head from her knees mock appalled. “Everything has a soul,” she countered, leaning her head against the window instead, “That building’s soul is a spreadsheet.” She turned to look at him, a mischievous glint in her eye, “Your before mentioned shotgun’s soul is a grizzled war veteran who spits and tells good stories.”

He let out a low chuckle, a rich, rumbling sound she was hearing more often. “And what’s the soul of that… colorful mess you’re gluing together in your apartment?”, he’d seen a mess of collages littered across her dining table in her apartment through the door once; a riot of torn magazine pages, circuit boards, and fabric swatches.

“That,” she said with pretend haughtiness, “is the soul of a magpie who appreciates fine art and stolen cable parts”, she sighed dramatically, “It’s a critique of consumerist culture and the fractured nature of identity in a hyper-technological society, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he deadpanned, “Looked like a bunch of junk to me.” She swatted his arm, laughing. “Philistine. You wouldn’t know fine art if it bit you on your tactically-trained backside.” He lifted his arm in defense and a warning, “Rei, I’m driving here – and I’ll have you know, that my tactically-trained backside, as you call it, is too disciplined to be bitten by art.” She stopped her swapping and crossed her arms instead, “We’ll see about that,” she teased, “I’ll make a collage so powerful it’ll leave teeth marks.”

A comfortable silence fell, the city lights painting shifting patterns across their faces. It was Cillian who broke it, his tone softer, “You know, for a corporate Brand Ambassador you’ve really got a mouth on you.” Rei’s smile was genuine, touched with a hint of sadness, “And for a stone-cold corporate protector, you’ve got a thing for grumpy old guns and a surprisingly high tolerance for my nonsense.”

She looked out at the passing city, “It’s easier in here. In this car. I don’t have to be… her. The perfect, polished Eidolon poster child.” Cillian glanced at her, his profile sharp in the dashboard lights. “You’re telling me…,” he said, his voice quiet but temperate, “…in here you’re nothing like her. You’re… louder.”

It was the highest compliment he could have given her, wrapped safely in a joke. Rei felt an amiability spread through her chest, a feeling of being seen, not as an asset or a fantasy, but as a person. In the shelter of the moving car, with the city blurring past, they weren’t a driver and his charge. They were two people poking fun, sharing pieces of themselves, and for a little while, forgetting the chains of duties and contracts binding them both.

He spoke about guns with reverence, about karate with the same tone, and once, almost religiously, about how whiskey should always burn just enough to remind you you’re alive. Rei laughed more with him than she ever remembered. She confessed to her collages, her love for dancing barefoot in her kitchen, for cooking and her own taste for whiskey.

The second week’s drive was quieter. The initial, giddy thrill of their secret front-seat rebellion had settled into something more contemplative. The neon of Kuroda Plaza faded behind them, replaced by the more chaotic, vibrant glow of the entertainment districts they passed through.

“One of the things I can’t get over,” Rei mused, staring out at the busy streets, “is Takumi’s memory. He’ll reference something I said or a detailed instruction he gave me a month ago, like I should know better – or correct the angle I held a data-slate at during a presentation weeks back. It’s… inhuman.” Cillian gave a low grunt of agreement, “He sees everything. Missed a spot polishing your shoes? He’ll notice. Breathed wrong during a security briefing? He’ll know.”

“Do you think he ever just… thaws?”, Rei asked, her voice laced with a weary curiosity, “Like, he goes to some secret executive spa, lounging in a sauna and all that control just… drips off him into a puddle on the floor?”, she straightened in her seat, painting a puddle shape with her hands, ”And then he magically reassembles in the steam room, fully dressed and ready to critique the humidity levels?”, she gestured vaguely around the air as if painting steam, “A weird, moist-based workaholic vampire.”

Cillian’s head snapped towards her, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. A snort escaped him, then it turned into a choked laugh, until eventually he was properly laughing, a deep, rolling sound that filled the car, “By the gods, Rei. What is wrong with you?” She acted offended, placing a hand over her heart, “I’ll have you know, an unorthodox creative mind is a sign of high intelligence.” He shook his head, still chuckling as he navigated a turn, “Well, I guess they do say insanity and genius are close cousins.”

The laughter died down, leaving a more serious, silence in its wake. Rei’s smile faded as she looked at her own reflection in the window. “Sometimes,” she sighed, the word heavy in the quiet car, “I do feel like I might be going insane.” She turned to look at him, her expression unguarded, “But then I remember the world we’re in. The things that are normal… and I think maybe that just makes me the sane one.”

Cillian didn’t tease her, nor did he offer an empty platitude. He stayed quiet for a long moment, one hand leaving the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck in a gesture, that Rei now recognized as a sign of some discomfort or deliberation. When he spoke, his voice had lost all its teasing edge. It was low and earnest. “You know, we joke around a lot,” he began, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, “But you should know… I admire you, Rei.”

He glanced at her, his green irises holding a gentle glow she’d never seen before, “Eidolon, Takumi, everything. It’s enough to make most people crack. But you…”, he shook his head, a look of genuine awe on his face, “Just when I think you might, you don’t. You shine brighter.”

He took a breath, as if realizing how much he’d said, “You’re not like Eidolon Rei. You’re way stronger. Much more complicated, more beauti—”, he cut himself off with a sharp cough, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. He cleared his throat, the moment of raw honesty retreating behind a familiar, gruff wall, “—and much, much more annoying.”

Rei didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, at the faint blush creeping up his neck, at the careful way he was now focusing on the road. The heat that spread through her chest had nothing to do with the car’s heater. It was the warmth of being sincerely complimented for her complicated and defiant spirit. It didn’t feel like a disadvantage being highlighted, it felt like a secret strength.

But every laugh with Cillian came with a dagger’s edge of guilt. She wanted him to be her choice. Yet dragging him into Takumi’s cruel little theater could ruin his career or worse. What other options were there? Could she refuse Takumi? Would that improve or worsen everything? The worries gnawed at her.