Wuthering Heights (before battle)

Come back, Heath.

To the manor where the last vestiges of its beauty remain in its violet flowers.

To the manor where its storm-broken breach has siphoned all that was once warm.

To the manor that gave you not only life... but also scorn and desolation.

To the manor where your place was the frozen corner that couldn't be further from the hearth.

Return from the moors.

It's time for you to come home.

<So this is what T Corp.'s Nest looks like...>

We had surprisingly little trouble making it past the Nest's borders. I guess my concerns were unfounded.

Well... Somehow, we made it through this Nest checkpoint without any trouble.

Ahem, ahem...! 'Tis nothing! Forsooth, such wild compliments are unnecessary, says I~

But... we... didn't say anything...?

She's grown so much...

Everyone seems awfully relaxed for having just entered a different Nest.

I guess everyone's gotten used to this by now. Humdrum, routine... I guess they'd be the words to describe the general sentiment among the Sinners.

Except for one, that is.

…….

<We're headed to this place called 'Wuthering Heights' next, right?>

I could tell from Heathcliff's glum expression that his mind was weighed down by all kinds of complicated concerns.

Huh? Uh… yeah.

Though his eyes were staring at the moving scenery past the windows, his mind was affixed on something that his eyes couldn't see. Something that lay beyond the building walls.

'Wuthering' Heights...

That manor must've been built on one windy hill, huh?

Yeah. Bloody 'wuthering', like its namesake.

... Not a single corner of that place gave any comfort.

Heathcliff's voice carried an unusually dark tone. The other Sinners on the bus noticed this and began chatting him up.

A return to one's homeland must bring forth quite the tangled mass of emotions.

Homeland? Well...

I wasn't born here, I was raised here… I suppose that could still count as a 'homeland', in a way.

But it doesn't conjure in me the same feeling that a 'homeland' is supposed to.

... That is to say...?

You've no idea how many times I imagined it, played it out in my head. Returning to that bloody manor, smashing every little thing in that place to bits until there is nothing left...

Okay, so you'll smash everything to bits. Then what?

Did you really learn nothing from watching what I went through at the Lake?

... I did learn something.

If I ever lose the plot and push myself to the brink of no return, I trust that one of you louts will pull me right out of it.

... Are you giving us permission to beat the sense back into you?

Yeah. If that's what it takes.

Interesting. How far are we allowed to go with bodily harm? Amputation? Nerve mutilation?

Maybe we can at least smack his head really hard?

All right, you cheeky bastards...

Seriously, this ain't an invitation to use me as your emotional punching bag. I'm not in the mood to -

Still, I think your present self can do this, Heathcliff.

Huh? What do you mean my 'present self'?

Heathcliff, your present self is… deprived. You're poor, and you don't have anything left...

What? 'Poor'…?

Right, now you're skipping past the pleasantries and going straight into personal insults, yeah? I'm -

Oh, ha ha… I think you took my words the wrong way.

Hong Lu is far from the most talkative Sinner, but when he does speak… he usually has something insightful to say.

Though since he never says it in a way that's immediately obvious, his words are very prone to misunderstandings…

In a way, we're all 'deprived'... and that can change a lot of things. Maybe there are things that we can understand only when we're left with nothing.

Doth that poverty explain our current unsightly lack of colorfulness…?

Don Quixote looked mournfully at everything around her, then at herself. She sounded like she was about to cry.

Everything had been drained of color since the moment we entered T Corp. through the Backstreets.

It feels like even more of our colors have been taken away since then.

I was wondering when we'd bring that up~

Haah, maybe we'll get our colors back soon...

… or so I thought, like ten hours ago...

Are we gonna be colorless forever? Are we gonna be stuck in this gloomy hue for the rest of our lives? Seriously, nothing looks tasty in this sepia hue… I'm starting to lose even my will to live...

Everything's in that sickly brown hue! Guys, even meat looks downright rotten in this color!

... That's a bit of an overreaction, isn't it?

Oh, and what about those guys? They've got color in their clothes!

With an annoyed look, Rodya gestured toward the people outside the bus.

A sufficient amount of payment must be made in order to retrieve your colors. It must be emphasized that this question has been repeatedly answered on twenty-three separate occasions.

Well, let me have a gander. His coat, his trousers...

Hah, That bloke's not even that loaded. He's only trying to come off as though he is. Real toffs spare no cash to get every single colour back, even to their trivial trinkets like the rims of their glasses.

Did you also have to live without color when you lived here, Heathcliff?

No. The manor had some colour, yeah. … Though it was still far from vibrant.

Agreed. This is the color of shit. Blood should've remained red.

That poor sod's going to get himself jumped wanderin' about with that look. That's just enough colour to invite the bandits, but not enough to keep 'em away.

Heathcliff's predictions came true soon enough; several thieves surrounded the 'bloke who's only trying to come off as though he's loaded' and bashed him on the back of his head.

Fie, a bunch of shameless villains they are!

Preying on a weak civilian like a pack of hyenas...!

Are they... what you would call a 'gang'?

Tsk, the gangs of T Corp. have certainly seen better days. I wouldn't even call 'em a gang… they're just lowlives running out of 'time'.

The last time I was here, scum like 'em couldn't even dare to infest the streets so brazenly.

<… There are gangs that aren't scummy?>

'Course! The gang I was in would never dogpile on some poor, unarmed bloke like that.

Charon wants to vroom-vroom. Can't vroom-vroom with a roadblock.

Well, there isn't much point in waiting for the situation to resolve itself.

Vergilius finally spoke up after quietly listening in on our discussion for the last few minutes.

Take care of them before Don Quixote starts making a fuss about it.

Ooh! An enactment of justice! I thank thee!

He's really starting to get the hang of this, huh...

... Haah.