You begin speaking before you step from the darkness, so that when you finally emerge into the light of the table all eyes are on you. You have your hands raised and do your best to remain nonthreatening in appearance. You apologize for inadvertently listening in before explaining your views on the entire situation. You explain that your desires and theirs coincide, that you have no issue with being kept in the dark about the organization or giving information to them unilaterally. You outline how you want to find more information about yourself as well, and will tell them when you find it. You even make note of the fact that the current government would likely kill or experiment upon you more than ally with you. You think it is a pretty persuasive argument, maybe even more so because you honestly believe it.
The second man, who is older than the first and who clearly occupies some position of importance judging by how those at the table look to him, sighs. He crosses his arms and stares at you for a long moment before speaking.
"Do you know about the Alibi Paradox? Its not something you'll find in any philosophy course or university, but its something that comes up a great deal in worlds such as ours. To put it simply: The better the alibi, the more suspicious the person. Though we like to consider ourselves a rational species, if you press the average man about the logic behind any particular actions they will often stumble over themselves. This is because, in truth, those actions are rarely driven by logic. An innocent man, pressed about his whereabouts on a particular night at a particular time, probably won't remember or at the very least will have only a hazy and generally unhelpful response. But if you ask a killer, then they'll know exactly where they've been and who they were with.
Everything you have told us about this entire situation is perfectly reasonable. You have been an asset to us and provided useful information. You have followed our advice and killed our enemies. And you have until this point known nothing about our larger organization and seem perfectly happy working mostly alone and trying to find out about yourself. It all fits together into an unassailable argument as to why we should extend our trust to you."
"And that," He says, pointing a finger at you, "Is why I am so suspicious."
Esme starts to speak but the man holds up his hand.
"I am sure that your comrade here could list many reasons why this entire situation is not perfect. Your face, your lack of history, lack of identity, your occult composition so to speak. All red flags, I'm sure. Though they are, interestingly, the kind of red flags that draw initial worry but end up leading nowhere. We cannot say anything for sure about any of them; they are ephemeral and cannot be used to discredit you. The perfect sort of imperfections."
Esme looks strained and frustrated but stays quiet as the older man stands up. The others stand up with him, leaving Esme the only one sitting.
"But that is the paradox. You could, very well, be telling us the whole and honest truth. I could be nothing more than a paranoid old man looking a gift horse in the mouth."
He places the wide brimmed hat of priest atop his head and steps closer, placing a large hand on your shoulder.
"For now we will assume nothing and continue investigations on our own. To us you are gray and insubstantial thing drifting in the shadows, a being whose true shape has not yet coalesced. But with time, I'm sure the light of knowledge will shine down and reveal you for what you truly are."
He squeezes your shoulder meaningfully as he says this last part.
"Be well, my friend."
The old man and the other two step into the darkness and you hear their footsteps slowly fade until the front door of the library opens and they are gone.
Esme slumps forwards and places her head in her hands, hiding her eyes.
"Bastard." She mumbles, rubbing her face for a few moments before letting her arms fall to the table limply and glancing up at you.
"That could have gone better." She says tiredly, a dim and ironic smile on her lips. She doesn't seem to be angry or accusing you of anything...just exhausted.
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Topic: The Left-Hand Path (Read 119131 times)