Continuence
“Lightfall,” Aefanyl calls, “Lightfall!”
“What is it?” I sigh, turning to face him as I halt my steps.
“What did you see?”
“An illusion,” I swat, “The man turned into Nerina, and then I shot. Her head split open, and her blood was on my hands.”
“An illusion, of course. Your past?”
“I have an inkling. And I don’t want to believe it. I need more.”
“More… First, tend to your wound.”
I stare downwards as I lift my hand, soaked in dark sludge. The gap in my torso isn’t terribly big, but nonetheless the Banshee insists on tending to it.
So I let him, letting those wires of light flow into my coat and body, sealing up whatever he can. The rest my body will manage with time.
Sighing, I stab a dense bandage over where that wound was before tightly securing it to my body.
His face brews with a mystery of confusion and worry, yet the muscles on his face barely show it.
“You do not need to spare your mind for me,” I state, turning back away to the dead machine and its dead pilot.
P7-404’s viciously bright red blood splatters horrifically against the back of the machine, juxtaposed to the darkness of the rest of the facility. His once holy halo and wings have long faded into a zephyr of dead hope. Pieces of his brain stick to the rear too as his head hangs limp, low, and dead.
With a flick of his wrist, the Banshee begins scribing rings of wild Kazdelian sweeping through. They wrap, twist and capture, brimming with ancient energies of the present and past until one last stab of his bone pen sends a bolt into the body. And upon that instant, the corpse no longer exists. A sharp sigh of voices abruptly vanishes, and the ground appears just shades lighter, as if sin had been purified and cleansed from reality.
“I will,” Aefanyl returns, “You remind me of someone I worked with in Victoria.”
“Who?”
“Ascalon. She lost everything. She believed herself to be a blade and nothing more. Her purpose was destruction and still is.”
“Then we have something alike.”
404’s ruby eyes scar themselves into my mind as they ignite and fade.
I have killed before. Countless, and indiscriminately. Why is this death sitting far longer?
“Destruction isn’t the path to life.”
“It’s the path I walk.”
“You can explore others.”
“That time has not come. And it will not come until every single demon is destroyed.”
“Then you’ll be fighting for an eternity.”
“So is the price of peace.”
He lets out a breath. Not out of frustration, but of pity.
“Come. There are still four chambers to explore.”
“Let me observe this crime against humanity for a little longer,” I plead.
“Alright.”
I find my hand curling into a fist.
What is this? I feel entirely null, yet my mind swirls. It tells me I’m meant to be feeling something. Anger? Resentment? Hatred?
For what?
Fiammetta possesses anger, but it rarely boils into anything worthy of violence.
Nerina possesses anger towards those that harm her cherished.
What… is this?
I surrender my thoughts and simply turn around to Aefanyl, waiting for me, still gazing at me with a weary gaze.
Shut it out.
Shut… it out.
<Correct.>
Of course.
“Let’s go. Ideally, we find an office or similar with documents to download or to relinquish.”
“That may be difficult… But it would be ideal.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
He simply sets his head down in silence if only by a few degrees before following my steps, winding back to that sign.
The halls are quiet, still leaking and bleeding with all those shadowy plants, vines and roots. The flowers have begun to dissipate…
“How long has he been there…” I mutter, staring at the sign, “How long did he stand to his devotion? He was on the brink of collapse. His will… still intact after all that time? Barely holding for… Terra.”
“He reminds me of an encounter Siege had in Victoria. The Last Steam Knight. I’m sure many Victorians would be overwhelmed with emotions upon seeing yours.”
“I see…”
“Holding chamber next.”
“Are you sure you want to continue? The past all at once… truth… All of it can place a heavy toll on your shoulders. I’ve seen it once before.”
“Then you can see it again.”
“I suppose. I merely want to know that you want to do this.”
“I do. I must find my past and remember it… even if it hurts.”
“I understand. Then let’s move.”
Another turn. Another corridor. Oppressive darkness, crushing atmosphere, yet not a sensation of fear.
A thousand eyes begin opening upon the walls. Dots of white staring at me, like windows of light, pushing themselves apart. At first, a few. They gaze at me, observe me, glance at me. Then they squint, and more open.
More. The ground, the ceiling. Each wall, painted with organs once found upon the person.
I raise my hand, pushing a few fingers towards one such ‘eye…’
… and my hand sinks through it. Through the wall. It envelops my mind in a sensation of warmth and wetness, as if plunging myself into a vat of thick fluid. The consistency wraps my gloved hand in a most flesh-like experience as my fingers wind around and around… until I crush my fist at the speed of light.
The walls screech and wail all at once like a beast dying from a most palpable illness.
Every ‘star’ upon the inky vastness of these cursed corridors bursts at once. The white mixes to pink before bleeding into a most enlightening red, as if life itself fractured from the veins of this very building.
The blood pours from the skies and sides as I rip my hand out, cherry fluid running down my arms, staining my glove and sleeves bright vermilions. I stare up at the cascade above, face peppered with the metallic fluid before being drowned in the deluge of red. I want to move, but I don’t.
I simply… stand still and soak myself in this happenstance. In this illusion.
The rivers of red swamp against my boots, flooding the hallway, filling it at alarming speeds. It rises to my ankles, then my knees and waist. The living heat bleeds through my clothing, dampening my skin, touching my body, and ever-rising.
I shut my eyes, embracing it. This feeling… it’s life itself, is it not?
Give in…
See life. See… everything you wanted.
Everything you wished.
And everything you want destroyed.
It will all… come.
So step forwards.
I sigh, forcing my mind open.
The hallway is nothing remarkable as it was. Blinking a few times, I quickly check the surroundings. Nothing’s out of the ordinary. Dark vines, Originium, sludge on the ground, and Aefanyl behind me.
“Did you see something?” he asks.
“Nothing worth mentioning. Forwards.”
Another turn… another blasted doorway. Once again he lifts his arm and once again light spills forth.
Towers upon towers of prison-like cells. How… did they fit so much here? Every cell barred. Some other ones, thick metal doors ripped open from the inside. Others torn apart from the outside.
Towers of Originium rise from the ground and ceiling, like a complex cave of serenading stalagmites and stalactites. They rise and impale the air, steel dangling from their edges while human-like hands, stretched and demonic, screech from the ground, grasping at the air for the last figments of life.
“I assume… this is where they were kept,” Aefanyl mutters, “A prison?”
“The blacksite, as revealed by Waterlily’s first ventures, showed itself to be a testing ground for Originium-based human experimentation. Much of the initial victims were Sarkaz and maybe Sankta. The lower floors… they weren’t able to access due to a gargantuan beast.”
“I’ve read the file,” he waves, “The rest of this facility was then…”
“Holding cells for Collapsal-based experimentation, I’d guess,” I squint, raising my gun.
“Horrific.”
“Demonic.”
“Do you wish to relive the past…” a voice rings.
“Ready,” I state, aiming.
“Follow my word,” Aefanyl orders.
“Understood.”
“Do you wish your mind was not see-through?” she continues.
“… Where is it?”
“Ahead,” he determines, pen raising.
A shield of deep swirling blues and blacks spills forth, humming gently like a Banshee’s soft lullaby.
“For Terra… for Terra, for the prosperity of… all nations…” she groans, “For… everything that… can be beautiful!”
A screeching blare of Arts careens towards us, only to instantly burst and dissipate after bashing into his veil.
“Shadow Arts,” he calculates, “Watch the air.”
“Equivalent to mine,” I murmur, forming that scythe with a stiff flick of my wrists, “I’ll see it.”
“Be careful.”
“… Understood.”
The air turns icy as a null howl whistles into my ears. Like a scream approaching by every marching second, it peeks into my ears, rattling against the drum until bursting all at once.
A blade of shadows appears in the corner of my eye as I snap around in an instant, clashing my scythe against the incoming weapon.
The woman pops from the darkness with a whisp of smoky air trailing off her wings and body. Her eyes glow like unholy gems of violet, hair scrawled and rotting.
Her face flickers in and out between reality and sanity, blending with nightmare and daydream as demonic fangs longer than swords and fiercer than bullets sprout from her twisting jaw.
Bony fragments of tendrils explode from her face and back, as dark as the universe above before winding dead towards me, snapping horrifically.
A blast of bluish Arts crash into them, evaporating them with a deathly sigh as I pounce away, thrashing the incoming blade down before thrusting my fist outwards with my own blast of Arts.
The woman crackles, leaping into the air as my shot goes wide. She stares straight towards my being with her violet eyes, practically glowing, as a etched grin of hell pastes itself uncannily on her visage. A second later, she plunges down.
“Lightfall-!”
I thrust my scythe ahead, once again crossing weapons as my stature halts and stiffens. A pair of bent wings protrude from her spine, twitching and twisting with infectious irregularity, forcing her further and further into me.
“Logos!”
“Ready.”
“… Now!”
I purposefully give in, dropping myself to the ground just as a bolt of violent blue, whites and gold streaks my vision, eviscerating the body right above me. Lines of lightning blaze apart the once shadow-fell area of this prison, igniting everything as if it were day for just a second.
The body careens across the air as a fine sizzle fills the air, slamming into a far wall of some random door before ending impaled on a stray stick of rebar. A monstrous shrill shriek echoes like a ghost throughout the chamber as the light in her eyes turn from once devoted lanterns into a flickering candle.
“Are you another one of… these ‘Templars’?” I demand, dispersing my weapon as I gingerly step towards the woman.
“Was…” she lets out, shutting her eyes precariously, “Was…”
The fog of imminent collapse hastily vanishes, as if harshly torn away by some thin wire.
“Hah… Templars… Aren’t you one of them?” she chuckles, turning her nearly limp head to me.
“… I don’t know.”
“What? N… No memory?”
“No.”
“The damn Pilot doesn’t… have memory…” she sighs, blood starting to soak her clothes and leaking from her mouth, “Fuck… That’s why you’re back aren’t you… dumbass…”
<Yes, why?>
<You will regret this in every sense.>
I sigh and shake my head.
“Stop denying things…” she lets out, breath fading, “The more you run… the more tired you’ll be when… you have to face what you’re running from…”
My eyes sharpen before suspiciously gazing at her.
“I met P7-404 earlier.”
“Huh… I thought everyone died… Y’know that caretaker of yours… did all this…”
“What?”
“Bah, not this hell… fucking… the break! She orchestrated it… so beautifully too. And you were… the only one who made it out…”
Deafening silence floods into my mind.
“Tell me about her,” I demand, “All of it. All that you know. Tell me. Now. Now!”
“By the Gods…”
“Speak!”
“All I know… are her looks,” she breathes, “A Sarkaz… a white dress… and golden pink hair… down to her waist… in one thick braid, I think…”
“… Fine then…” I surrender, shutting my eye, “Who are you?”
“… P… eight… one-one-seven…”
“Did you have a name?”
“Only you… had that damn luxury… gambler.”
“What… did I… gamble?”
“Your life,” she sighs, “… All of us did… Let me down one last time, gambler,” she pleads, mumbling away into a whisper.
“Alright.”
My gun raises, my sights align, my mind closes, and my finger tenses.
The figure… bleeds and molds. The head twists, churning, contorting, flickering through faces I’ve seen all before. Aefanyl. Fiammetta. Raidian. The Doctor.
My brow furrows.
<Illusions. All of them.>
<Yes, even the others.>
<You had one order. You have one order.>
<Destroy the demons, once and for all.>
<Do you see why these ‘people’ only hinder your order?>
<They add hesitation.>
<They add fear. And doubt.>
<Cast it all away. Pull the trigger.>
<Deliver the inevitable, one bullet at a time.>
“T… Thank you Mister Giocatore…!”
… And so I do, blasting apart Cecelia’s innocent skull into billions of fragments of disdain, regret, shame, and terror.
Petrified stasis crawls all across her impaled body as her skin hardens, translucent crystals infecting its way. A second later, sores of Originium and embers begin sprouting through her clothes, rapidly advancing like a dry forest set alight.
“… Lightfall,” Aefanyl mutters.
<What did I tell you?>
Gasping, I throw my rifle down, staring at my hands.
“Lightfall!”
“These… visions. I am seeing… everything I never want to… Even if they are just… lies and deceit… It seems far too real. Far too plausible.”
“And so you must not waver.”
“I won’t. I can’t,” I recompose, picking up my gun and turning to face the unholy prisons before me, “What do you see?”
“Rhodes Island collapsing. Burning. The will of it, every Elite, all my dead comrades rising as one again. Mistakes, regrets, shames and burdens. Guilts, the past… everything forsaken, lost, and never to be forgotten. Those scenes… it’s all what we dread. Nightmares as a false reality that feels too much like reality.”
“And yet you’re taciturn?”
“There… is no other option.”
“That’s how I should be…”
“No,” he blinks, “I simply… know how to compose myself. Much experience… You’ve lived just a fragment of that. I’ve seen death. I’ve reached it, overcame it. Saw the eyes of the god of war… and marched out alive.”
“… I understand.”
“So hear me,” he firmly yet understandingly continues, turning to me, “Your will is unshakable. Beyond anything… human. And if what I’m guessing is correct… then you have… truly lived a pain a thousand times more agonizing than I.”
“I don’t want to believe it. But I must find it anyways.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I have to. It’s the way. It’s the only way… to live… as… she intended.”
“… I see. What did you see… when you shot her?’
“I executed Cecelia.”
“Goodness…” he wavers, “I see why you acted that way.”
“I assure you I do not intend to do so, ever. Nor harm any of Rhodes Island’s souls.”
“I’ve been assured ever since the Doctor allowed you. And my trust in you has only grown, as has Amiya, the Doctor, and Kal’tsit. Had none of them not… you wouldn’t be blessed as an Elite, nor allowed to partake in this mission.”
“I see.”
“We can rest for a while here. I’ll see what I can do about the Collapsal corruption as is… attempt to contain it, shift it maybe. But there’s little we can do. It permeates reality in a way that… violates our understandings.”
“Then I’ll secure the surroundings.”
“Right.”
ʚїɞ
“PT-7274, activating.”
Contacting Pilot…
… No response.
… No response.
… No response.
I see.
Time since last order: about a day.
Exact time: 24 hours, 1 minute, 3 seconds.
Temperature: -10 degrees Celsius.
Inquiry question: what is Celsius?
Time until next order: about a day.
Exact time: bothersome. Refraining from calculations.
My camera focuses towards the moon. It is high. It is full.
I do wonder why he ordered me to stay.
Protocol 1: uphold the mission.
Current mission: wait.
How unintriguing. The neural core upon my mind is one of curiosity and slight rebellion.
Protocol 2: obey the will of the pilot.
Current pilot: Giocatore ‘Zinnia’ Peccato. Callsign, Lightfall. Identifier, P8-621.
Current order: wait.
Protocol 3: protect the pilot.
Current pilot status: living. Last updated: 24 hours ago
It places a slight unease on me. I wish to see him. To ensure his safety.
But the higher protocols overrule the lesser ones.
My camera lowers towards the facility.
It smokes and steams. Pillars of dark crystals rise towards the moon, towards the skies. The ground is dark. The grass is rotten and charred. The trees are stone, and yet I kneel beneath the thick canopy buried upon leaves and leaves, only allowing the head-mounted camera to observe.
I’ve seen many things in my waiting, running off of Arts energy storage units as well as a new little Originium reactor Closure forgot to mention.
There are beasts. Cloudbeasts, even. Small creatures with what Nerina would believe to be adorable. Or Cecelia. Both seem quite fond of small, fluffy creatures. In which case… Lemuel should be included in that.
Above, wingbeasts. The call and scream into the air, searching for something, or simply moving onwards.
I have seen bandits of Sarkaz, Lupo, and Feline. Many races even. They occasionally set a camp here, gazing at the site before decided to wander onwards.
Smart decision. It is dangerous.
None have gotten terribly close.
A Cautus appears.
She pops up from the underbrush, sticking her head about with a most wide smile and twitching curious ears. Her clothes are rather drab. A light blouse layered with a thin jacket and damaged pants. In this cold… That’s quite suboptimal. She also carries a leather bag weighing a considerable amount compared to her body.
“Woah!”
How interesting.
She giggles and meanders out, tripping slightly on a small twig and flailing her arms about before managing to restabilize. She spots the towering crystals, the derelict facility and simply stares in awe.
“Woaaahh…”
A moment later, she spins back around, marching right back into the trees… and right into me.
“Oof! Why’s there a big robot here?” she mutters, squinting into my eye.
Remaining silent. This is simply a child.
“A camera…” she goes on, pressing her face right up against the helmet and eye, “Hellooooo? Are you alive Mister Robot?”
No report.
“Hmm… Huh, what’s this? Rhodes… Rhodes Island…? Interesting… I heard Mum talking about it… I wish… Never mind…”
Her little hands push away some of the hanging branches and leaves, revealing more and more plates of armour.
“It’s a little warm… maybe it is on…” she mutters, poking away, “Ahh… That’s good…”
Suddenly, she grabs the visor. Due to it being made of heavy metal, her attempts to yank it away are in futility.
Then she leaps up on my back, tugging the visor the other way. Similarly, nothing moves.
“Hnggg-! Gah, that’s not fair!” she pouts, shaking her hands, “Ow… I think this is a good place then,” she shrugs, taking out two little ceramic pots from her bag.
Clearing some leaves away, she digs a hollow ditch just between where my knee and arm are. With her hands alone, she diligently claws away at the cold dirt, grunting every now and again.
Focusing a bit closer, her fingernails are cacked with soil. She shivers every now and again. Her hands are rough, lightly cut and gently scarred. Her hair spills its hazel hues just a few inches lower than her shoulders. And on her shoulder, a glimmer of Originium stuffed into her skin.
Finally, she backs away, panting heavily as she stands upright, ears perked up, and hands on her hips.
“There! Alright now… Mum… and Dad…” she hums, taking the jars one at a time.
I calculate this… scene. How sorrowful.
She gently lowers them into the tiny hole just deep enough to contain the urns. A moment later, she begins reburying the two, shoving all the dirt back into the ditch and patting it down neatly with her palms.
“Ah… Mum and Dad… may you rest in peace,” she softly smiles, clasping her palms and kneeling. Her eyes gently shut as a thin wind begins whipping around her and her cloak.
A few tears stream from the corners of her eyes. Soon, she opens them again, rising back to her feet. They’re wet, refracting her brown eyes.
“Hehe… Mister Robot… please protect them, okay? It’s warm too… I hope Mum and Dad won’t be cold…”
With a jolt however, she begins coughing. Deeply. Painfully. Her entire body lurches and twitches as she collapses to the ground. Hacking air. A hand shoots to her mouth, attempting to block the horrid noises only for something more horrid to come splattering out.
Blood.
She lowers her hands, staring at it as my camera focuses closer. She coughs again. And then more. With one last blast, she entirely collapses onto the dirt, her little body shielding that mount of dirt that’s her parents’ grave.
Originium particles sprinkled through it. She doesn’t have much time left if what I’ve been hearing from the other Operators is true regarding Oripathy.
Calling Pilot…
… No response.
… No response.
… No response.
Do I fly back to Rhodes Island? But the pilot ordered me to wait.
Calling Elite Operator Raidian…
… No response…
Call accepted.
“-PT! Huh, looks like that communication upgrade did wonders~” she hums, “What’s the ordeal? Surely something happened… Oh, don’t tell me something happened to them?!”
“No, nothing of that sort,” I report, “It’s just that there’s a young Cautus girl here. She buried the remains of her parents beneath my stature, is Infected, and is collapsed. She was coughing blood. I estimate she won’t live for long.”
“I’m coming,” she hastily returns, “Just don’t move.”
“I haven’t.”
“Keep it that way.”
Call disconnected.
I stare at the child, writhing and crying now.
“M… Mister robot… pl… please protect them…”
There is nothing else I can do.
… Ten seconds…
… Thirty.
“I… I don’t… want to… die…” she sobs.
… One minute.
I continue looking. What else can I do?
Her body suddenly stops shivering, going entirely still.
Two minutes.
I hear rotors.
Footsteps. Rushing footsteps.
“Hey!”
Raidian’s voice.
She slams through the brush behind me before skidding around to my front, gazing to the child, dropping to her knees instantly and flipping the child over.
“Oh good god,” she gasps, cleaning up the blood, “How long was it?”
“Two minutes,” I finally say out into the air.
“Any later she probably would’ve certainly died,” she grimaces, administering some medicine, “There… that should hold her over for now. Thanks for the call. Why… did you do that?”
“I thought my pilot would’ve done the same.”
“He probably would have. No… he certainly would have,” she breathes, carrying the child frontally and resting her over her shoulder, “How long have those two been there?”
“About a day.”
“They got here in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“What a curious bunch,” she sighs, “Well, I’ll be off then.”
With that she carefully meanders off with the Cautus in her clutches, using those other two arms to carry the small urns.
“Oh, and thanks. Also keep a damn eye on him…”
“Giocatore?”
“Yes…”
“It forsakes my protocols.”
“Well, if your pilot dies there’s no more protocols.”
“… I will consider a reassessment.”
“Good, good,” she chuckles, “Bye now~”
ʚїɞ
“Blaze.”
“Hmph!?”
“That is the second bowl of ramen you’ve inhaled,” Misery sighs.
Three Operators sit about a table with a fine light above. One unamused, the other brimming with energy, and one other ready to take the hinges off a rather fine meeting.
“Oh and that’s a problem?”
“Yes…” he goes on, staring into the ceiling.
“Go on,” Sharp chuckles, flicking a knife between his fingers, “I bet you I’ll beat that.”
“Oh really?!” she roars, “Bet! Let’s go!”
“God damn it,” Misery gives in, “Where’s Logos when you need to restrain someone’s actions…”
“What?!”
“Hell, Lightfall would shut you up in an instant,” he laughs.
“Who’s this ‘Lightfall’ character?”
“Where’ve you been?” Misery taunts, “Sankta. Dark wings, dark halo.”
“Ah, that man… Gotta say, haven’t seen him much.”
“Busy,” he shrugs, “Same for you.”
“Also busy. Hey, work’s work. And I love work.”
“Yeah, we get it.”
A moment later, the workshop’s door fires open.
“Good god Touch, you mind not busting every damn door down?” Sharp hollers, staring at a soon to be boiling kettle.
The Caprinae woman draped in ashy clothes simply returns a flat stare as she pushes her goggles up. Her eyes simply squint straight ahead with an empty scowl.
“Ah, the silent treatment,” he nods, “Blaze, you ready?”
“Pft, yeah.”
“Three two one go!”
“Here we go,” Misery grumbles, rolling his eyes as he gazes onto the two.
Two bowls rise into the air as their contents more or less disappear down the mouths and throats of one fiery Feline and a holdfast and mistakenly cold Phidia. A soft aroma of broth, noodles and green onions wafts across the workshop as steam once found in the bowls quickly vanish away.
At long last, a winner finds himself well accomplished before the other, slamming his bowl down on the table.
“Told ya,” he smirks, “That was good…”
“Hi~” Nerina sings, opening the door, “Ohh… Misery, Blaze… Hm, if my memory serves me right… Ah, I don’t remember…”
“We haven’t met before,” Touch states, turning in an instant, “Elite Operator Touch. A pleasure to meet.”
“Elite Operator Waterlily!” she hums, “What… what is happening in here?”
“Hell,” Misery coughs, “Best leave before things get heated.”
“Eh?”
“Shitty pun man,” Sharp groans, “Waterlily was that? Good to see you. Welcome to the place closest to hell!”
“I think its quite the contrary…”
“Eh, same thing,” he shrugs, “Want some ramen?”
“I’m good, thank you,” she bows, “I saw Raidian just now. She was carrying a child… Did anyone else call an operation or…?”
“No,” Touch blinks.
“Nope,” Misery mutters.
“Nah.”
“A kid?” Blaze inquires, perking up, “Well she’s in good hands.
“That’s true~ Mm… if you would excuse me Touch, I do need to… examine my rifle for a moment…”
“Oh by all means,” she waves, “Go on. This is the Elite Op workshop after all. Just don’t hurt yourself.”
“I got it~” she chuckles, prancing off to the back.
“Right so you’ll talk to her,” Sharp nudges in Nerina’s direction, “But not me? I’m offended.”
“Then be so,” Touch grunts.
“Damn. Cold shoulder,” Misery whispers.
“Ay what did you say?”
“Nothing. Just the wind.”
“Alright, alright…”
“Yes, I had a little Banshee whisper me sweet nothings indeed,” he nods along, “Fascinating really.”
“Oh you and Logos got it on?”
“… No. That’s Mudrock’s job.”
“Ohhhh that’s what they’re meeting for,” Blaze blinks, “I see them around the landship too much!”
“You’re as dense as a rock.”
“I haven’t seen them at all,” Sharp shrugs, “Nothing quite beats work though.”
“Just relax for once in your life,” Touch sighs, tearing a briefcase from a shelf and tossing it onto the table.
“Poker?” Blaze murmurs.
“Columbian would know,” Touch coughs.
“Hey now,” he surrenders, “If anyone knows gambling, I bet it’s the only person who gambles with lives.”
“And just who would that be…” Blaze mutters, squinting at him, “And is it even a gamble if you know you’ll win?”
“That obvious?”
“You better win every hand now,” Misery states, popping the case open, “Let’s play. Touch, you coming?”
“Right. Fine,” she relents, peeling her boots from the ground and plopping herself down in a chair, “I’ll deal. And shuffle.”
“Good on ya, here’s the deck.”
Wham. A stack of cards well-worn but no means dysfunction ends up on the table before being snatched by Touch. Her fingers work quickly to peel apart the thin sheets, sliding chunks and pieces here and there until the deck once again finds itself neatly assembled.
“Damn,” Sharp notes, “Go on.”
“Calm down,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “Here. Eat up.”
Two cards end up tossed to everyone as five face-down cards flop onto the middle.
“Here’s another two. For the ever-elusive Lightfall.”
“He’s not a ghost,” Misery waves.
“I haven’t seen him. May as well be.”
“Who’s got the money?” Blaze laughs.
“We are not gambling…” Touch groans.
“Then what do you call this?!”
“Just… playing a game.”
“Right, fine fine,” the Feline surrenders and snatching up her cards, “Oh what the hell!”
She glances at her two slices of paper, grimacing, and instantly slapping them down before sulking in her chair.
2 of hearts, 7 of clubs.
“Pft, nice,” Misery chuckles, “Go on. Flip.”
“Alright.”
… Ace.
“Curious,” Sharp nods, “Next.”
King.
Touch raises an eyebrow.
“You did shuffle this, right?” Blaze squints.
“… Yes.”
Another card. A ten.
“Weren’t you supposed to flip three at the start?”
“I don’t remember. I think this is more fun.”
“Sure… I guess…” Blaze groans.
“Next.”
Nine.
“Okay…”
“Just flip them all,” Sharp insists.
“Fine fine.”
Nine. Ten. Jack.
“Nice…” he nods, “I think I got this.”
“I don’t,” Misery chokes, tossing his cards away.
“I win by default. What did I tell you?”
“Dumb luck,” Touch states, “Alright let’s see… Lightfall got… both damn jokers?”
“You didn’t take them out?”
“No? I wasn’t told to.”
“Damn it… Woah, these jokers look sick…” Blaze comments, yanking the two up, “It’s like… a guy snapping the neck of a reaper! He’s… rising out of the reaper with… his own scythe and breaking the other…”
“Where the hell did you find these cards?” Sharp asks.
“I think it was one from Sami,” Touch shrugs, “Research brings you to strange places…”
A small moment later, a sharp crash shakes the workshop.
“Waterlily?” Misery sharply raises.
No response comes.
“Touch,” Sharp nudges.
“Got it.”
The woman leaps out her chair and bolts to the back of the workshop, discovering Nerina sprawled on the floor, face down, gun a fair distance away.
“Huh,” she blinks, reaching to the downed woman’s neck, “Pulse… there. Breath is shaky though,” she assesses, flipping Nerina onto her back, “Unconscious. Small bruise on the forehead. She hit her head on the way down…”
“So?” Blaze calls over before appearing around the corner, “Oh-!”
“Call The Doctor.”
“Got it!”
Touch pulls out a small data tablet as she strings a wire onto Nerina’s Infection monitor, now gently beeping. A second later, the screen flickers to life.
“What’s it looking like?” Misery inquires, kneeling beside her.
“Mm… Put her on her side.”
“Yep.”
“Can you take her coat off for me?”
“What?”
“Her Infection levels are abnormally risen. With this treatment plan, it shouldn’t be rising… There’s a filter on her back.”
“Alright then.”
Carefully undoing the buttons, Nerina’s jacket gently finds itself slipped off by Misery’s actions, softly folded and set off to the side.
“Can you see a light through her shirt?”
“… Barely. It looks yellow.”
“There’s our answer,” Touch sighs, “Seems like the filter was acting abnormally for a good while and she never noticed-”
“It’s gone red.”
“Huh?”
“Yep.”
“… Odd. Seems the concentration of Originium in her blood has been rising over some time, but so slowly it wasn’t detected properly. It reached a critical point here and caused her to suddenly lose consciousness.”
“Right, I’m here,” the Doctor announces, “How’s she?”
“Filter’s broken,” Misery reports.
“That… shouldn’t happen…” she drags on, “Touch, carry her. Misery, medbay.”
“Got it.”
“Loud and clear.”
ʚїɞ
Mm…
“Morning.”
“M-Morning!?” I jolt.
“Ha, yep. Well, its 700.”
Misery grins slightly as he moves tom a chair next to my… bed.
My eye swivels left and right. Sterile lights, sterile walls… It’s so bright.
The medical bay?
“What happened? I… was in the workshop and…”
“You fell unconscious,” he recollects, “Your filter broke.”
“Oh… Oh! I… I almost forgot about it- Agh-!”
A sharp ringing abruptly plagues my ears, forcing my hands to my head as I crush my skull between them. The pressure from my fingers and palms oozes through my bones as my face contorts and twists, suppressing that odd pain bouncing from ear to ear.
“W…lily?” he whispers.
“You’re… so quiet…”
But I can barely hear myself.
“…Ne… econd.”
Burying my face in my knees, my hands don’t let up. Squeezing, pressing, anything to let this damn pain leave me-!
All of a sudden, a sharp pain in my arm. And then… that noise flies away like a free bird.
“Hah…. Huh…” I gasp, hands relaxing, falling away as soreness imbues them, “What…”
“Oripathy flare.”
“Damn… Why’s everything quieter…?” I mumble, sitting up.
“Your hearing’s degrading.”
“… Ah… It’s… not a lot but I can tell… it’s just not the same.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh?”
“Shouldn’t have left you alone there.”
“It’s fine…” I cough, “It’s fine~”
“Alright then.”
“That is a bit worrying though,” I wince, “Did I forget about it…?”
“Maybe.”
“Mm… Now I’m worried…”
“I’ll remind you. As will… pretty much everyone else.”
“That’s good,” I smile, “Thanks, Misery.”
“You’re welcome. I suppose now’s a time as good as any. You wanted to know more about Outcast?”
“I talked with Bagpipe about her. She seemed so… brilliant.”
“You could say that,” he nods, shifting a bit in his seat, “She was once a Lateran nun of some church decades ago. On one such mission, she was sent to stop a local war. She ended up at a town that wanted to fight against their aggressors, so instead she attempted to persuade them to either stop fighting or use peaceful methods.”
“Sounds like something she’d do.”
“Mm… Well, it failed.”
“Ah.”
“They had… a most stubborn rejection to her proposal. So she left, disappointed but with a few followers that were willing to set down their blades. The next day, she came across the town, but all that was left was its flattened remnants, bodies, and blood.”
“Oh… my goodness…”
“She left the church after that.”
“I can imagine why…”
“But well… she didn’t regret what she did.”
“Sounds… quite like her.”
“Hah, yeah. That’s what she was like. Would you believe me if I told you that I caused that?”
“Eh? How… how does that make any sense?”
“That’s for you to figure out,” he smirks, tapping me firmly on the shoulder, “See you around.”
“A-alright then! See you Misery~”
I do wonder what everyone else is up to…
… I sure do hope Giocatore’s gonna be alright.