Meridian Clo:Ck To:Wer

Binar paused for a brief second, analyzing the terrain around him. He considered his options: I could reverse our direction and take a chance by running past him, but I’ll be within range of his EMP attacks. It’s too risky.

Shinku noticed Binar’s hesitation, the faint flicker of doubt in his enemy’s movements. He smirked grimly. I don’t need to outlast you—I just need to outsmart you.

With a sudden burst of energy, Shinku darted forward, firing webs not directly at Binar, but around him. Each shot was calculated, closing off potential escape routes while forcing Binar further into the rain-slicked labyrinth of rooftops.

Binar’s frustration bubbled as he dodged another incoming web. He snarled, “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Herding me like some kind of animal?”

Binar’s locked onto the path in front of him. His thoughts were singular. This is it. The EMP is wearing off on me, and it’s wearing off on him. If I can make it past him, I’ll be safe. He’ll be unable to follow.

Without hesitation, Binar surged forward. His legs faltered slightly.

It’s a risk I’ll take, he thought.

Shinku noticed the sudden movement. His head whipped around, catching sight of Binar attempting to sprint past him. Shinku smiled. “Did you really think,” he said, “that just because you stopped infecting the buildings, I’d stop using the EMPs beneath my feet?”

As if on cue, the EMP threads laced across the rooftop pulsed, glowing faintly. Binar’s legs buckled mid-step, the energy coursing through him rendering his limbs sluggish and unresponsive. He stumbled forward, collapsing in a heap. His body twitched uncontrollably as the EMP further scrambled through him.

“No!” Binar growled, trying and failing to regain control of his legs.

Shinku didn’t waste a moment. He dashed, grabbed Binar, and hoisted him onto his shoulders. Rain poured relentlessly as Shinku leaped from building to building, the cityscape blurring around them. Each jump felt heavier, the strain of his injuries and the growing corruption in his body taking its toll.

Finally, Shinku reached his destination: the towering Meridian Clock Tower. With a final burst of strength, he hurled Binar crashing into its ancient, rain-drenched rooftop.

Binar groaned, his body sliding across the tiled roof before coming to a stop. He struggled to only find his legs still unresponsive. The EMPs resonated in his ears, taunting him. “Why… why can’t I infect this building?”

Shinku approached, his hydroarm aimed directly at Binar. The rain intensified, streaming through the arches on clock tower’s roof. Shinku’s voice was eerily calm. “That’s because this is the Meridian Clock Tower,” he said. “The last man-made building in District 1. Tackle introduced it to me. Your program is ineffective here—it’s the one place you can’t infect, there’s no data coursing through here.”

Binar looked down. He exhaled heavily, resigned. “I see…”

But before he could finish, Shinku’s voice rose. “Why’d you do it?! Why’d you kill Kirria?!”

Shinku’s gaze was furious.

“I understand your plan,” Shinku continued, his voice trembling, “but why did you have to involve the child?!”

For a moment, Binar was silent. The rain filled the void between them, its rhythmic patter the only sound in the cavernous rooftop. Finally, Binar spoke, his tone unrepentant. “I had to.”

Shinku’s hydroarm trembled slightly as his emotions surged.

Binar’s voice grew steadier. “The girl… she was on track to uncovering me. She could’ve reported me. I already knew Roton gave you permission to work with her, she had a direct line to him through you. If she told him what I was doing, everything would’ve fallen apart.” He paused, “She was a threat that needed to be dealt with.”

Shinku’s eyes widened.

“But you know what?” Binar continued. “I knew you were walking her home every night. I planned to follow her home and pummel her to death myself. But… unfortunately for me, it was raining.”

Shinku staggered back, his mind reeling. The man before him—his former idol, the officer who had once inspired him to fight for justice—was nothing like the figure he had revered. This wasn’t the Binar he had envisioned. This was something else entirely.

Binar’s words struck like daggers. “When I killed her,” he began, “it was instant.”

Binar’s words conjured an image Shinku desperately wished he could unsee.

“She didn’t even get a chance to beg.”

Binar’s voice turned darker. “All she did was look up at me, and her life was gone.” A faint smirk crossed Binar’s face. “If only you hadn’t involved her in the cases you were working on, Shinku.”

“This is all your fault,” Binar said. “You should be putting the blame on yourself, quite literally. I had to kill her because I’m a computer. And you? You just had to show her kindness, involve her in your work, because you’re so… human.”

Binar’s showed disdain. “And all humans do is present a facade to each other of camaraderie, pretending you care for one another when, in reality, it’s far from the truth. They’re all horrible.”

Shinku’s vision blurred, the infection, the rain, and his emotions clouding his focus.

Binar chuckled softly, the sound eerily devoid of warmth. “But I know you don’t want to face this reality, Shinku. You don’t want me to be ‘bad’ in your eyes, do you?” He tilted his head. “But let me ask you this: What are you, Shinku?”

The question lingered, unanswered, as Binar watched the cracks in Shinku’s resolve deepen.

Binar leaned back, his smirk widening as he observed Shinku’s trembling form. “I’m a sitting duck,” he said with a mocking laugh, “and all of what I’m saying is to provoke you. And yet, you still can’t muster up the will to kill me. If you don’t kill me…If you don’t force my data to dematerialize the infection will destroy you.”

Shinku’s destroyed expression said everything.

“That part of you—your humanity—it’s making you hesitate,” Binar continued, his voice almost pitying. “But here’s my question to you: why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Why are you so angered that it’s me?”

Binar mocked. “Why Binar? Why Binar? Why Binar?”

Shinku’s lips moved, but no sound came out. His body quaked, his voice struggling to rise above the storm inside him. Finally, the words escaped his lips, trembling yet resolute.

“Because you saved me three years ago,” Shinku said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “In the drowning.”

Binar chuckled. “At Technamor and Pootle?” he said, testing the words in his mouth. “Hmph.”

Suddenly, Shinku’s mind was pulled back, transported to a memory.

“Why do you want to join the cybersecurity force?” Roton’s voice was firm yet inviting, his eyes scanning Shinku across interview room.

Shinku sat upright in the chair. He hesitated before speaking, his voice breaking from emotion. “Because someone saved me… someone who showed me that I mattered.”

“Nearly three years ago, during the Technamor and Pootle incident,” Shinku continued. “I almost died that day.” He paused, taking a deep breath as he recalled the screams—the cacophony of humans and computers alike. “I still hear it sometimes. The chaos, the fear. It was the first time I truly felt the pressure of my own mortality.”

“Everyone was panicking—humans and computers—but he didn’t hesitate. Binar saved me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

Roton’s expression softened, but Shinku pressed on. “That’s why I want to join the force. Because if I can repay even a fraction of what I owe him… if I can protect others the way he did for me, then maybe I can give back some of the hope he gave me.”

Yet they stood in the rain now.

“If I’d known this was the kind of person you’d become,” Binar’s voice cut through the storm, “I would’ve let you die with the humans back then.”

“When you stood on that podium after receiving your badge,” Binar commented. “and announced your stance as a pro-human… If it were possible for me, I would’ve vomited at that moment.”

“How could you support them?” Binar demanded. “They created an island of waste in the Pacific Ocean—an island we had to fix. We reversed the damage they inflicted on the environment. Computers saved this world while humans did nothing but destroy it. They don’t deserve this utopia that we built. Would you let a person have all the money you made from work? Unearned rewards.”

Binar stepped toward the edge of the clock tower. Shinku’s heart raced. “What are you doing?!”

Binar stopped at the perimeter and reached up, removing his helmet. Binar’s face was revealed—oil dripping from his mouth, his features battered and worn. Despite the damage, his expression held a subtle, serene joy.

It was the most genuine smile Shinku had ever seen from him.

Binar’s eyes closed as he spoke, his voice soft but resolute. “I would never let a human kill me.”

Before Shinku could react, Binar stepped back and let himself fall.