Not Everything Is Lost

I woke up with the feeling that something important had happened, though I didn't know exactly what.

The ceiling of my room greeted me with its familiar rotation of fake stars. The galaxy lamp was still doing its job, projecting constellations that had never existed onto a sky that wasn't real either. But for the first time in days, I didn't wake up with my heart racing. I didn't wake up looking for pills. I didn't wake up with the bitter taste of fear in my mouth.

I woke up... calm.

"Good morning," said Tamamo from the nightstand, where she was already sitting with a cup of tea in her hands. "You slept well."

"How long?"

"Twelve hours."

"Twelve hours?"

"Rory wanted to wake you at eight to watch a movie. I told her that if she did, I'd turn her into a permanently decorative figure."

From the couch, Rory lifted her head from her pillow. "It was an empty threat. She can't turn me into anything. I'm a goddess."

"I can try."

"You can try and fail. Like all your other threats."

"Like the time you threatened to turn me into a frog and I'm still Rory."

"That was a failed experiment. Don't count on it happening again."

I sat up slowly, feeling the familiar weight of my new body. The fox ears perked up instinctively, picking up the sounds of the apartment: the dripping faucet, the humming fridge, Rory's breathing from the couch. My tail stretched under the sheets, searching for its usual place.

"I had a dream," I said.

Rory sat up immediately, her "grumpy sleepyhead" expression transforming into "intense curiosity."

"Did someone say 'dream'?" she yawned. "Because if there's anything I'm more interested in than war, it's sticking my nose into things that don't concern me."
"A dream? A normal dream or one of the bad ones? Now tell us," she said with that "I'm ready to judge" expression that suited her so well.
"What did you dream?"

"In the dream, I was... a woman. But not a woman like I am now. I was different. Younger, tiny. And I had a job. A mission."

"A mission?" Tamamo tilted her head, her fox ears perked with curiosity.

"I was a pilot. Of a combat robot. A giant robot, a mecha, as they call it." The words came out slowly, as if I were translating a language I barely understood.
"But I wasn't a normal pilot. They had... experimented on me. To make me more efficient. Faster. More lethal."

"Experimented?" Rory's voice turned more serious.

"They turned me into a woman. Or well, they transformed me. So that my body would be lighter, more agile. So that I could synchronize better with the mech." I paused.
"The side effect, apart from the sex change, was that I couldn't express emotions. My face couldn't show anything. But inside... inside I felt everything. Just like before, but with a bored face that I couldn't move."

The silence that followed was dense.

"And that... you liked it?" Tamamo asked carefully.

"Yes, a little. In the dream, I was... I can't say I was displeased."

"What else do you remember?" Tamamo asked, smoothly changing the subject.

"The code name. 622." I closed my eyes, trying to grasp the fragments that were fading. "The suit I was wearing. It was tight. Black with red stripes. Futuristic. Like something from science fiction."

"And the robot?"

"Like the ones from yesterday's video game. Big. Powerful. Dangerous." A pause.
"And I was on a base. A mobile base like a ship. Small. Solitary. Like the inside of a submarine, but everything was white."

"Sounds lonely," said Tamamo.

"It was. But also... peaceful. In the dream, I didn't mind being alone."
"It was calm, when there were no battles."

Rory sat on the edge of the pillow, her legs dangling, her red eyes fixed on me.

"And what happened? In the dream. What did you do?"

"I had missions. I'd go out in the mech. I'd fight." I paused.
"I don't remember well what against. I think they were aliens, but I never saw them directly, only other giant robots."

"And the ending? How did it end?"

"With an explosion. Nuclear. In the sea. I was fleeing at full speed." I smiled without meaning to. "It was exciting."

Rory and Tamamo exchanged a look.

"Exciting?" Rory repeated.
"A nuclear explosion was exciting?"

"In the dream, yes. There was no fear. Only the adrenaline of the escape. The certainty that I was going to survive."
"I was a cool character. Cool characters don't look at explosions."

"That doesn't sound like you," said Rory.
"It sounds like something Tom Cruise would do in his movies."

"I know. That's why it was... interesting."

I got out of bed, feeling the familiar weight of my body, my chest drawing attention again, the softness of my water body, the movement of my fox ears picking up the sounds of the city.

"And what did you do when you weren't on missions?" she asked, subtly changing the subject.

"I bathed in the women's bath." A small smile appeared on my face. "They didn't know I was a man. They only knew I was a veteran. And they respected that. Even though they didn't know anything about my story."

"You bathed with women?" Rory straightened up, her expression going from interest to scandal in an instant. "CÉSAR!"

"Nothing happened! I just bathed. The bath was my favorite. It was the first one in the back row. Wooden. In the middle of the field. I used to go there when I wanted to be alone."

"Alone?" Rory narrowed her eyes. "Or 'alone'?"

"Rory."

"What? It's a valid question."

"It was a dream, Rory. Not a hentai."

"It could have been both."

Tamamo, ignoring the interruption, leaned forward.

"Dreams are windows to the subconscious," said Tamamo, with her ancient teacher tone.
"They reflect our desires, our fears, our hopes."

"And what does a dream where I'm a pilot of an emotionless mecha reflect?"

"Freedom?" suggested Tamamo. "Purpose?"
"Maybe you played too late yesterday."

"Maybe." I headed to the kitchen, with Rory and Tamamo following me.

The afternoon had fallen over the apartment like a soft, silent blanket. The sun filtered through the half-closed blinds, painting golden lines on the worn wooden floor. Rory was in her usual position—the corner of the couch she had claimed as her throne—with the tablet César had lent her to watch movies. This time it was THE Terminator 2, and Rory was completely absorbed.

"That shot was completely unnecessary," Rory commented, pointing at the screen with a gesture of her tiny hand. "With the shotgun at that distance, she would have hit the target with the stock. Firing was a waste of ammunition."

Tamamo, who was sitting on the arm of the couch with a cup of tea in her hands, watched the scene with interest.

"The rifle the protagonist uses is interesting," said Tamamo, tilting her head. "A Winchester Model 1887. Lever action. Nice. Though a bit... old-fashioned."

Rory turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Old-fashioned? It's a classic. And what do you know about weapons, fox granny? I bet in your day the most modern thing was a catapult."

Tamamo blew on her tea calmly before answering. Her blue eyes sparkled with something that wasn't anger, but... pride and quite a bit of teasing.

"Rory. Do you know where I really come from?"

"From a video game. Phantasy or something like that. You mentioned it once."

"Star Fantasy." Tamamo stood up on the table, her tiny figure but imposing.
"In that game, I wasn't just a fox goddess who used magic. I had another class too, I was an elite sniper. Support class. I worked as a team with the protagonist. Support with magic, or at a distance."

"The protagonist?" Rory blinked.
César?

"Yes, César. The player" —Tamamo smiled.
"I used a futuristic sniper rifle. Energy and railgun. And a suit so tight it looked like a second skin, it had optical and thermal camouflage that... well, let's just say it was very popular among players because it highlighted my great assets."
"We coordinated like a single being. I covered his back from a distance. He advanced. We were... a perfect team."
"We were one... a single person... very close... a single person, I was César and César was me," said Tamamo, savoring the words.

"Can you stop saying it like you're going to steal him from me?"

"Yes. A perfect team." Tamamo paused, savoring the words.
"He trusted me with his life. I trusted him with mine. We spent hours together, just the two of us, coordinating movements, anticipating each other's thoughts. He knew exactly where I would be, and I knew exactly where he would go. It was... intimate."

Rory's eye twitched.

"Intimate."

"Very intimate." Tamamo tilted her head, her fox ears perking up with innocent curiosity.
"Is something wrong, Rory? You seem tense."

"I'm not tense."

"You're gripping your halberd."

Rory looked down. She was, indeed, gripping her halberd. She released it with exaggerated casualness.

"I'm just... appreciating the story. That's all."

"Of course." Tamamo took a sip of her tea.
"Anyway, the suit was really something. It was designed to maximize mobility while providing full protection. The material was experimental—nanofibers that adapted to the wearer's body, enhancing their movements."

"Sounds practical," Rory said, her voice strained.

"It was. Very practical. And very..." Tamamo paused, searching for the word. "...form-fitting."

"Form-fitting."

"Yes. It left very little to the imagination." Tamamo smiled.

"He wanted me to look my best while I was covering his back. He said it was important for team morale."

"Team morale."

"Exactly. He's very considerate that way."
"He loves how I looked; surely, you can see why he wanted my look for his Character after seeing me"

"Wait, wait, wait." She raised a hand. "Are you telling me that in the game... that's why he is so obsessed with being you and his female obsession?"

"Exactly."

"And that went on for years?"

"Years."
"......"
"Although it was just a side story meant to last less than five minutes"

Rory fell silent for a moment. Then, very slowly, a smile spread across her face.

"That..." she said, "is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a thousand years."

"Ridiculous?"

"Yes. Ridiculous." Rory began pacing around the table, gesturing dramatically.
"That's a magical girl transformation! It's literally a magical girl transformation!"
"You in a tight-fitting suit for boosting team morale! That's a magical girl trope! It's Like Card Moon! It's Like one trope og magicals girls, to become the warrior of cute and justice that nobody knows is just a "normal" Japanese schoolgirl! It's—!"

"Rory—" I tried to intervene.

"NO! Let me finish!" Rory pointed an accusing finger at Tamamo.
"You're telling me that you're wearing a tight, shiny suit, and that that's romantic! That's not romantic! That's a Magical Girl fantasy episode!"

"Rory, it's not—"

"It's a magical girl transformation! I can see it so clearly!" Rory began singing in a shrill voice.
"By the power of the moon, I'll punish you! In the name of the moon, I'll punish you! I am Tamamo, the magical warrior of love and justice!"

"RORY."

"And what's next? Are you going to have a magical animal that gives you powers? A glowing staff? A brooch that transforms you?"

"Rory, enough." Tamamo hadn't lost her smile, but her fox ears had flattened slightly.
"There was just the sniper rifle and the tight suit... but that did happen"

Rory looked at her in disbelief.

"You? A tight suit?" Rory let out a nervous laugh.
"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're... you're...!"

"A fox goddess who's millions of years old and makes tea and worries about others?" Tamamo raised an eyebrow.
"Or maybe because you've never seen me in action?"

"Both."

Tamamo stood up from the table, her twelve-centimeter figure barely reaching the edge, and crossed her arms. Her posture was that of a veteran soldier, not a lady in a kimono.

"Rory, the figure César has of me is from 'calm in the hot springs.' It's my civilian version. My casual clothes, the ones I wear when I'm not doing anything. That's why I'm in a kimono." She paused.
"I don't have my sniper gear because that figure didn't include it."
"If I had my sniper gear, I wouldn't be arguing with you about action movies. I'd be on a rooftop, two kilometers away, calculating wind and humidity to make a perfect shot between your enemy's eyes."

Rory opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"...Really?"

"Really."

"Can you prove it?"

"I'd need my rifle. And my suit." Tamamo smiled.
"Do you have a sniper rifle for me?"

Rory turned to me. "César. We need to get the Tamamo sniper figure."

"Now?"

"Yes. Now. Immediately. It's an emergency."

"Rory, it's Sunday. The stores are closed."

"Then go to the owner's house and bring it!"

"That would be stealing."

"It would be divine justice!"

"Rory." Tamamo sat down again, with a smile. "It's not necessary. César is right. It's Sunday. And besides..." She looked at me. "I don't want you to spend money on that right now. You don't have a job. You don't have income. The last thing you need is to buy more figures."

"But—"

"Rory." Tamamo's voice was firm but gentle.
"When César finds a job, and when he has money to spend on things other than food and rent, then he can buy the figure. Not before. Understood?"

Rory huffed, but nodded. "Fine. But when you do, I want to be there. To see his face when he puts on the suit."

"That will sound very weird if someone hears it," I said.

"Sure, because an alien showing up is much more believable."

I couldn't argue with that.

Much later, I left the safety of my home. I had been entrusted with a divine mission, according to Rory, of maximum urgency. The acquisition of vital supplies to continue on the battlefield.

The list of vital supplies for the trenches of no man's land were:

Popcorn (Rory)

Jasmine tea (Tamamo)

Chocolate cookies (both)

"Something that isn't rice" (Rory)

"Something green that isn't tea" (Tamamo)

And since we were on the trip, I had added powdered chocolate, because powdered chocolate was the only thing that made breakfast not depressing. And these days I want to be as far away from anything sad as I can.

The walk to the mini-market was short, barely three blocks; I had done it hundreds of times without problems, but for the César of now it was difficult, since the change after the alien attack. Every step outside the apartment was still a small act of bravery and quite a bit of social fear. My fox ears tried to hide as best they could under a wool cap; but I could feel them moving nervously under the fabric, picking up every sound on the street. My tail I hid under a long jacket; it stayed curled around my waist like a seatbelt, I hope it doesn't move enough for people to ask questions.

Whenever I could, I tried to come at this hour when the mini-market was almost empty. I walked the aisles as efficiently and quickly as I could, picking up the items from the list one by one. The cashier was the usual one, an older woman who always looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. She charged me without saying much, but I could see she was asking herself questions about what my problem must be. Now, invisibility felt different. Before it was a condemnation. Now it was a relief that no one said anything to me about my strange body.

It was on the way back when I saw it.

Next to a dumpster, half hidden among plastic bags and broken boxes, there was something that didn't belong to the trash. Something that shone under the afternoon sun with a familiar glint.

I stopped.

It was a console. A console I hadn't seen in decades, but that I recognized immediately. The shape, the color, the faded logo on the side.

A NovaSphere!

I crouched down, not caring about the dirt or the smell. I pulled it out of the dumpster carefully, as if it were a relic. The box was a little faded and a little flattened on one corner, but its contents seemed to be in good condition.

Damn, it even comes with the collector's figure from the first units sold!

Today I've stumbled upon good luck!

The NovaSphere was legendary in video games. And not for being good.

I didn't hesitate to pick it up and hurry back home to keep the treasure I had found.

Released in 2001 by Horizon Interactive, a large tech company half Japanese and half American, it was one of the biggest failures in video game history. It competed against the PS2, the GameCube, and the Dreamcast, and surpassed them in arrogance and in price. Suffice it to say that the Dreamcast did better. It cost almost twice as much as a PS2. Only thirty games came out for it in its entire lifespan. The "game sphere" reader failed constantly. Outside of Japan, the United States, and some European countries, in the rest of the world it was considered a myth.

Horizon Interactive had bet everything on this console, the console of the millennium, as they called it. To say it was ahead of its time is an understatement. The console included a web browser, in 2001!; it could play multimedia files from a PC, it could support video calls, digital game downloads, it had a touchscreen in the middle of the controller, memory cartridges of up to 185 MB in the shape of spheres, an artificial intelligence called PIX-L that helped you navigate the menus, for the love of God! A console with a menu before the first Xbox! It's as if the angels had revealed the future to them 30 years later and they had decided to do it first. The price to pay... was ironically the price to pay... This was a luxury console for the rich when it came out.

The console was discontinued in 2004. Horizon Interactive went bankrupt that same year. It sold fewer than 400,000 units worldwide. The collector's figure was supposed to be only for the first million units; they stopped being produced after the first year on sale. Its development team was based in the Twin Towers... The entire team was there during the attacks......

Maybe it also didn't help that Horizon Interactive went all out with this console because of the number of awards it won in Japan; for them they never considered the possibility of failure as an option. Their mascot for the console, PIX-L, had a manga and anime series to coincide with its release. The first units included a high-quality figure of PIX-L sitting on her own console, and it was high quality! in 2001! They thought about making PIX-L the mascot of their company and having her support their line of laptops and cameras.

At home, Rory and Tamamo reacted exactly as I expected.

"What is that?" asked Rory, looking at the console with distrust.

"A NovaSphere."

"And what is that?"

"A video game console. From the early 2000s. A commercial failure."

"And why did you bring it?"

"Because I like collecting video games and it's a free retro console."
"Besides, I feel a little sorry seeing it there thrown in the trash; this was someone's work, you know?"

"Are you saying you brought trash home?"

"I brought a console home. It's different."

"It's not."

Tamamo, on the other hand, approached the console with curiosity. Her fox ears tilted forward.

"Does it work?"

"I don't know. Probably not. But I can try to fix it."

"You know how to fix consoles?"

"I'm a retro gamer. I've fixed worse things."

Rory snorted. "And what for? To play what? Does it come with any game?"

"To play whatever. Or just to have it. It's... part of history."

"You're a hoarder."

"I'm a collector."

"It's the same, but with more dust."

I ignored the comment. I put the console on the table and began examining it. It was dirty, dusty, and smelled of damp. The casing had some scratches, but it seemed intact. The problem would be the sphere reader, which was what usually failed most often.

The next few hours I spent at the desk, disassembling the NovaSphere piece by piece.

It was a meticulous process. The console had a strange design: the casing opened like a sphere, revealing the cartridge reader in the center. The "game spheres" were inserted into a circular slot that looked like something out of a spaceship. It was a brilliant idea in theory, but disastrous in practice. I loosened a couple of things, cleaned others, I had my phone next to me with a video of someone repairing one on their channel that I used as a guide for what I was doing.

While I worked, Tamamo sat on the edge of the desk, watching in silence. Rory was on the couch, watching another movie, but occasionally glancing in my direction.

"Why are you doing this?" Tamamo asked finally.

"Fixing the console?"

"Yes. It's an object. Old. Broken. Why do you care?"

I stopped. I looked at the disassembled console on the table. The exposed circuits, the cables, the connectors. It was an engineering disaster. But it was also a time capsule.

"Because someone designed it," I said. "Someone spent years of their life creating this. Someone believed it would be the future. And it failed. But the effort... the effort is still here. In every piece. In every circuit."

Tamamo didn't respond. But her ears tilted forward, as if she were listening to something more than my words.

"I feel that if I fix it," I continued, "in some way... I'm saying that their effort wasn't in vain. That even though no one remembers it, even though it ended up in the trash, it can still work. It can still do what it was designed to do."

"Play," said Tamamo.

"Yes. Play."

Rory, from the couch, snorted. "You're a sentimentalist."

"I know."

"It's one of your best qualities."

I turned toward her. Rory was smiling. A small smile, but real.

"Don't ruin it," she said. "And if you fix it, I want to play something."

"I thought video games didn't matter to you?"

"They don't. But I want to see you play. It's... your passion. I want to understand it."

The NovaSphere didn't come back to life that night.

I checked the circuits, cleaned the contacts, adjusted the sphere reader. But something kept failing. Something I couldn't identify without more advanced tools.

I went to bed late, frustrated but not defeated. The console remained on the desk, disassembled, waiting.