Asahi || The Artificial Light

Prologue

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The Kamen said he was fine again.

This wasn’t the first time Asahi woke up with a sore throat, probably not the last time either. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t wake up and feel static in his ears as he tilted into an end table. But The Kamen said the symptoms will go away eventually. He’ll feel better in the morning. But when morning came, he felt even worse. It took weeks until the symptoms naturally disappeared, and he always had an uncomfortable sensation long after. Like he’s ran a marathon and all his limbs were sore.run

Today felt different though, like every cell in his body protested getting up.

He collapsed onto the soaked warm sheets, ignoring how they clung to his glistening skin. The blanket tangled between his legs as he wrestled with his body, alternating from too warm and too cold. Most of his sweat was trapped in miserable heat in his thin bodysuit. Asahi rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut under the blinding lights that pressed against his lids like moments before a syringe. Above, the fluorescent light flickered, casting restless shadows on either sides of the painted walls. When he was first introduced to his bedroom, it was just four blank white walls with a uniform gray carpet. Nothing that stood out to him.

Now, every corner of was covered in vivid paintings of things he'd heard The Kamen talk about when they thought he wasn’t listening. A big orange thing named the Sun painted over the light, clouds that looked soft and edible danced among the windows, vast fields of green chipped off near the bottom. It left his room smelling faintly of paint. Something sharp and chemical like the rest of the dome and the Kamen.

After another series of uncomfortable wiggles, Asahi kicked the wet fleece blanket off of him weakly. The room tilted as he pushed himself upright, shoulders slouching inward in an effort not to crawl back into his bed. Come on Asahi, even the voice in his head didn’t sound confident, more muted and unconvincing, get up and do your job. He pushed himself off the bed before his mind could give another bad argument. His arms shook with goosebumps burgeoning like bruises. The colder carpet felt against his feet, not as wet, though he felt the stifling heat in his body lessen into an unbearable cold. The Kamen that visited him today suggested he do his work early so he could spend the rest of the day in bed.

The door out of his bedroom had a green hilltop painted, two Kamen standing with an umbrella over one's shoulder. They looked towards the sky, where fluffy clouds leisurely passed and the edges of their coats billowed in the gentle breeze. He imagined it smelled like wisteria, or freshly cut grass. Though Asahi didn’t know what either of those things were. The window was the only unpainted part of his room per The Kamen’s request. Though they refused to explain why he couldn’t paint it.

He staggered towards the light switch next to the door, flipping it off and sighing in relief as the room descended into darkness. Asahi pressed his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily. His feet throbbed, arms straining like a rubber band taut and ready to snap as he grabbed the doorknob. Focus. Just one job, then he could go back to his bed.

The door swung open to the main atrium. With its tall walls covered in splashes of paint like murals in a suburban city. Every inch told a story, and the chemical odour was stronger out here from just how much artwork concealed every piece of monotonous gray wall. The dome was large enough to fit an entire circus—maybe two! Or an entire garden. He’d tried to paint the thoughts out, hoping that maybe the Kamen would grant him a garden. With the help of some of the empty pillars, he climbed and climbed until his paintbrush could touch the curve. He drew falling vines and bushes with tulips and orchids.

Each hallway had a different garden painted at a different time of the day. The hallway to the kitchen was a garden at night, with fireflies hovering over roses and thorns. The hallway to the recreational room was his favorite— a summer evening, where he tried just carefully to paint the perspiration. Water droplets hanging on the edge of a leaf. Do plants sweat? He figured they might. Someday, he’ll be able to have his own and tell.

In the middle of the atrium sat the solar panel. A large rectangular thing with a sleek black screen and thin grid-like patterns over it. They wouldn’t let him paint over that either. It stood out like the wrong colour in a painting. Everything in the dome was grand except for the little solar panel. Every day, his job was to press his hands onto it and send the light built inside him into the grid-like patterns. He would do this for an hour until a Kamen told him to stop. They always watched, but why? Didn’t they know how this worked already? What was the fun of watching someone do something every day for years?

His legs felt like jello as he took one step after another towards the solar panel. Light flickered between his fingertips like mini lightning shocks, instinctively drawn towards the surface. When Asahi reached it, he caressed the edges before pressing both palms flat against the black screen. His heart raced, a cold sensation trickling down his spine like they were drawing too much blood. Sunlight glowed beneath his palms, scalding the machine as he poured his reserves. He swallowed around a dry lump in his throat, hands trembling. When the first canister filled beside the panel, his legs gave out beneath him. Barely catching himself on the edge of the panel, he tightened his grip until his knuckles stood out in stark relief.

“Don’t stop,” the voice resounded through a pair of large speakers towards the ceiling.

“Sorry,” he whispers, mashing his hands against his cheeks and trying to wake himself up. His nose began to bleed, dripping against the panel as he rested his palms against it again. Come on, Asahi, only you can do this. They won’t hurt you. This was just a small sacrifice, he remembers The Kamen saying. Just a little blood. Why are you complaining? You’ll be fine. So he kept pushing.

He wouldn’t fail here, where people needed him. Where Kamen needed him. They were watching from somewhere, probably smiling in pride at his efforts. Asahi tasted a salty metallic flavor on his cracked lips, darkness creeping in his vision. Each breath felt drawn out of a straw. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, pouring everything— “Finished.”

Asahi sunk to his knees like a thread cut in half, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in the still-rotating room. He’d done it. He pushed through as always. Now maybe he could ask them for something. Maybe food. His legs didn’t want to work, he didn’t think he could make himself dinner again.

“Kamen.” He tried to yell, but his voice came out breathless and tired. “May I have some food? I don’t feel well enough to cook.”

No response. After waiting a few minutes, he raised his head and cupped his shaky hands to his mouth.

“Kamen! My sheets are sweaty, may I have new ones?”

After a few minutes of no more response, Asahi whimpered. It was fine. They were busy. Eventually, they will see he needed some help and cook him a hot meal. Maybe stay awhile to talk so he didn’t have to talk to the wall fireflies again. Maybe... he’ll just....

He curled up in a ball beside the panel, closing his eyes. The cold floor stung his bare skin, but he didn’t pay it any mind. He’ll feel better after resting his head. Sleep the symptoms off. Blood still dripped from his nose down his cheekbones, pooling beside his head. But he didn’t move to wipe it away. Instead, he felt darkness claim him easily into a fitful rest.

__

Asahi didn’t know how long he had been sleeping before he heard footsteps. But he felt just as ill as before the nap. He forced himself upright, a smile slowly spreading as he grabbed the panel for grip. Of course, they sent a Kamen! They always did. He never should have doubted them. The Kamen were full of kindness, letting him help others even when their machines simply could!

“Kamen! It’s so good to see—”

Huh. His legs trembled, leaning against the panel as he looked at the person stepping forward. This... didn’t look like a Kamen he knew. Since their faces were obscured, he memorised mannerisms and voices. But he'd never seen this one before.

New person!

“Hi! Hello—oof!” Asahi overestimated his strength, nearly toppling on top of the panel. Couldn’t damage that. No, no. He straightened again with some effort, knuckles white as he looked at them.

“I don’t... recognise you. You’re new?”