06-30-2023, 00:16:37 AM
As Syringe finishes that sentence, Ninoy just finishes recovering from...whatever the fuck that was. He's bruised a bit; that's what one gets when a machine of the night tries to shove its finger down your throat to make you throw up.
And he hears the tone. It's not an authoritative tone, the one that people mock and fear from suits and Missionaries tripping on power with little consequence, for they have become so rich with the essence of the universe that not even the Creator could tell them to stop. Awful, yes, but you cannot say it isn't a tone that is unjustified. And it is rarely a tone you will hear in person.
The blank tone that Syringe slipped in, however, is a tone that is all too familiar. It is the sound of the infirm secretary that charges you thousands for saving your life, citing that it's simply market rates. It's the sound of the agent that declines your insurance, citing debt that they put you in. It's a bored, toneless, mechanical voice that permeates so many aspects of living in this city. The little gods were designed to save souls, but these voices and lives have lost so many of their souls, for so long, that even they could not save you from the endless machine.
Ninoy tightens his backpack, and clears his throat. "...You all seem like excellent people. People that deserve help, and safety, and kindness." He weaves through the debris, walking backwards. "And I hope, one day...you get that. You have earned it in here, correct?"
"...But I hope everyone around you gets that as well." And as he weaves through the part-open door, he turns, and runs. He runs, with the knowledge of you four, your names, and your location. The forces of Mission will never learn from him that you are here. But, like a microbiome in a gut feeling, Mission wasn't the only kind of force roaming through these streets. There's others like you, looking to make a change, looking over their shoulder for enforcers.
And they may soon learn your names.
Syringe has 4 tokens.
And he hears the tone. It's not an authoritative tone, the one that people mock and fear from suits and Missionaries tripping on power with little consequence, for they have become so rich with the essence of the universe that not even the Creator could tell them to stop. Awful, yes, but you cannot say it isn't a tone that is unjustified. And it is rarely a tone you will hear in person.
The blank tone that Syringe slipped in, however, is a tone that is all too familiar. It is the sound of the infirm secretary that charges you thousands for saving your life, citing that it's simply market rates. It's the sound of the agent that declines your insurance, citing debt that they put you in. It's a bored, toneless, mechanical voice that permeates so many aspects of living in this city. The little gods were designed to save souls, but these voices and lives have lost so many of their souls, for so long, that even they could not save you from the endless machine.
Ninoy tightens his backpack, and clears his throat. "...You all seem like excellent people. People that deserve help, and safety, and kindness." He weaves through the debris, walking backwards. "And I hope, one day...you get that. You have earned it in here, correct?"
"...But I hope everyone around you gets that as well." And as he weaves through the part-open door, he turns, and runs. He runs, with the knowledge of you four, your names, and your location. The forces of Mission will never learn from him that you are here. But, like a microbiome in a gut feeling, Mission wasn't the only kind of force roaming through these streets. There's others like you, looking to make a change, looking over their shoulder for enforcers.
And they may soon learn your names.
Syringe has 4 tokens.