Aftermath

“I always knew it was a bad idea.” The young man was a nervous wreck. A quivering lip that hid behind a prematurely grizzled beard. Eyes that feverishly scanned the room, and yet focused on nothing. The only part of the young man’s restless body that remained still was his left leg, which he kept fully outstretched, motionless like stone.

The therapist leaned back in his chair, adjusted his gaze, and replied with a cold voice, “Elaborate for me.”

“...I mean the projects, the research, th-the damn computers! The world was a better place when wars were fought with guns and soldiers. At least the ones who died then—” He swallowed, voice trembling. “At least they had a chance.” He clutched the locket around his neck, a heart-shaped piece of tarnished silver jewelry. He went silent for a moment, then finally whispered, “It isn’t fucking fair now.”

The therapist nodded impersonally before lighting a second candle and peering out of the window behind him. The sun was going down, and the room was growing darker. He scribbled something down in his notebook, refixed his posture and asked, “Does it comfort you to know that it’s over? That you aren’t going to lose anyone else to it?”

The patient’s brow furrowed as he straightened himself in his chair. “No, it doesn’t,” he said, “and it’s not even about that!” He took a deep breath before breaking eye contact with the therapist. “It’s about the fact that I was one of the motherfuckers sitting behind those screens, sending out those frequencies.” His voice began to falter again as he fought back tears.

The therapist gave an analytic look, before clearing his throat. “You know, that—”

“And just because it’s quiet now doesn’t mean that it’s over! They can find another way to hit us!” The young man’s tearful interjection caused the therapist to rear back and jot something else down in his book. “We can find another way to hit them,” he said. “And then when we do, I’ll just be sent another letter, and I’ll have to go back and do it again! It isn’t over. It isn’t...” He covered his face with his hands as he began to sob.

The therapist silently thought to himself for a moment. He was struggling to find a way to reassure his patient. Perhaps it was because he, too, feared that the worst had yet to pass. It was a common sentiment that the actions taken to eliminate the threat of the Medusa broadcast weren’t enough, and that too much damage had already been done simply through the neurological research conducted to create it. Humanity understood more about itself than ever before, and weaponized that knowledge as soon as it could. 80 long years had passed since the last World War, and most people were certain there wouldn’t be another.

“You just don’t know what it was like, man. You weren’t there, you weren’t watching it happen! You didn’t have to- to-”

“It’s alright. I know,” the therapist said.

“It’s not alright! I shouldn’t even be alive!” The young man reeled back in his seat and looked down to his shaky hands before clenching them into tight fists. “Rhodes and I were the only ones that even survived when our tower was hit, and we barely made it anyways! Watching what Medusa did to a guy, we didn’t even fucking know, man!” Tears began to well up in his eyes again. “Our sergeant, he was trying to warn us when he got hit, and his voice, Jesus Christ it—”

“Yes, I’m aware. You don’t need to relive this right now.”

“—I still think about it, man. It was the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life. At least when you shoot someone they stop screaming when they die, you know? A-And I didn’t want to have to be the one to do that to him but, it was too much to handle, watching him frozen, laying there, listening to—”

“Lieutenant, I said I was aware. Please, take a deep breath,” the therapist ordered with a stern, distant tone.

“...You’re right.” The patient closed his eyes and tilted his head back in his chair. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, then held it for a moment before releasing it and opening his eyes again. “Seeing it happen with my own eyes, it made me realize what that weapon really was. It made me think about the people we were using it on without even considering what it did.”

“That’s better,” the therapist said. “Now please, continue.”

“I was lucky enough to only see it happen to a few people. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for the people who survived the attacks that hit crowded places. They said every billboard and radio in New York City was hit, and by the time they disabled the electric grid, it was… Fuck. Fuck, man, I don’t even have anything else to say.”

“That’s okay. You don’t need to say anything else tonight. I know the transition back to civilian life is already hard enough, coming back to this must be a nightmare. Go home and rest, okay?”

“Okay, yeah. I will.” He stood up, his left leg still unmoving. He managed to smile, though the pain in his expression still remained. “You take care of yourself, too, doc.”