spam; dean.

[Beyond receives many gifts, all of which are entirely unexpected, but perhaps none is as bewildering as the raptor claw from Dean. He doesn't immediately respond, but takes a day to think it over, to alternately pick it up and set it down on the desk, to spend time holding the claw and turning it over in his hand, to feel the smooth surface and how it tapers to a sharp point.

Then he finally leaves his cabin, claw in hand, and walks down the hall to Dean's. He hesitates for just a moment before he knocks on the door.]

voice; max.

... It's a beautiful bee.

spam; rosethorn.

[Beyond seeks her out in the greenhouse, for the first time since their initial meeting, and when he finds her, he's carrying in his hand the book she gave him for Christmas.]

voice; luna.

[They've never spoken before, but Beyond knows who she is, because of course he'd pay attention to someone who is connected to someone who was once the most important thing in his world, at the exclusion of everything else.

Perhaps it's not the right way to do this. Perhaps it's not the brave thing to do, but it's the only way he can think to communicate what it is he wants to say.]

I'd like to speak with you in private, please. At your convenience.

voice; shiro.

[He's put off having this conversation as long as he can, but he knows he can't avoid it forever. Shiro deserves to know what's happening; she's his friend, after all.]

Shiro, if you're not busy, could you come by my cabin, please?

video.

[Those who've known Beyond for the time he's been on the Barge, those who've paid attention to the fact that when he addresses the network, it's always without showing his face, will likely find the fact that this is a video transmission something of an anomaly. But like everything he does, the choice is not without purpose; Beyond's time as an inmate is finished, and he's decided to go back to the world and make an attempt at living a normal life with his second chance at freedom and happiness. And people who live ordinary lives don't have a need to hide their faces.

At first, the camera just shows a miniature Tesla coil under glass, the sparks of electricity accompanied by a faint strain of music.]

Whoever gave me this ... there was no note, so I'm afraid I can't thank you for it personally.

[Then the view swivels and shifts to show Beyond himself, in profile, his unkempt mop of dark hair hanging partially in his face, as usual. He doesn't look directly at the camera, only glances sideways periodically as he speaks, quietly recounting a story.]

When I was six years old, my mother explained to me the importance of celebrating the New Year. In Japan, where she grew up, she said, it's actually the most important holiday, because each new year brings with it a fresh new start to life. She told me about the games she used to play with other children when she was a child, and all the different foods her mother would make for them to eat during the first days of the new year, and the stacks of postcards she'd write and send to her friends and family every year. She didn't have much in the way of family, so they mostly went to her friends from school, who all sent her postcards in return.

The thing she liked best, she told me, was staying up late on New Year's Eve to listen to the sound of the bells being tolled at the shrines at midnight, to send out the old year and welcome the new. Then she'd watch the first sunrise, and know that she had the whole year ahead of her, a whole year full of possibilities.

That New Year's Eve was a special occasion for me, because it was the first time I was allowed to stay up that late, even though I didn't quite make it until midnight before I fell asleep, and my mother had to wake me to watch the sun rise.

[Here Beyond's expression shifts into a frown. It's painful to remember his mother, because she was so important to him, and she was taken from him so soon.]

That was the only year I was able to celebrate New Year's Eve with my mother. She was gone by the end of the next year, and I was in a home with half a dozen other children, and adults whose only concern for New Year's Eve was finding a babysitter for all of us so they could attend their parties and drink to excess.

[Beyond pauses, chewing on the end of his thumbnail for a moment as he considers his words.]

I didn't keep much of my mother's traditions, because they weren't useful to me, where I ended up after she was gone. But I think ... this is one I do want to keep. It's been a very long time since I've stayed up and watched the sun rise.

[And for the first time since he started the video, Beyond looks directly at the camera.]

I think ... this year, it's time I did.

[He nods, thin-lipped, and reaches over to turn off the feed. This is Beyond's indirect way of saying he's leaving the Barge. He can still be found in his usual haunts for the next couple of days: at the library, returning stacks of books he's accumulated in his cabin over the past six months; sitting in the dining hall with a cup of cooling coffee; slowly smoking a cigarette on the deck while he looks out at the stars. By the evening of the 31st, his cabin door disappears, and Beyond is no longer anywhere to be found on the Barge.]

text; cassel.

[It's the last thing before he's ready to leave and start his new life off the Barge, one last goodbye, the hardest one, which is why it ends up being an impersonal text message instead of in person or his customary voice messages. Beyond reads his message over and over before he finally presses the button to send.]

Cassel -

I'm not very good with goodbyes, and I don't know how to properly thank you for everything you've done for me. You are the first person who ever really understood me, and my first friend, and I will never forget that, or you.

I never had a brother, but if I did, I would have liked to have one like you.

Be safe. I love you.