tagpuan:// the reign of greed.

[MadameButterflyKnife]

tagpuan:// the reign of greed
(or: a urban fantasy cyberpunk RP)


episode 1: how the streets will glow

Under the light of the seven moons, the people gather around.
They gather around on precarious walkways, their heads up trying to breathe in fresher air. Little drones with the semblance of spirits in their eyes balance upon wires, as the street kids throw rocks at them, seeing who can knock them off. They've always said it was good luck, if you can reap one of their souls. Another life for you: something that they desperately needed in this city in a box.

It is a Saturday night, and they are looking for the stars through the neon. For some of you, the stars are all you've known before coming here. Many years ago, people called the stars pieces of the Creator, precious metals, a gold and silver and platinum body fragmented and set aflame by the skies and lands they created, ready to guide you through the universe they created if you look at them just right. 

If they're right, you have no way of knowing. These days, people still try and look up to them, but the light of Mission LLC has long since outshined the light of gods.

You've made it to the city central, after all this time. Towers built upon towers loom above you. Cyborgs and mods and salarymen and scam artists and scrap metal and what remains of little gods make their home here tonight under the neon signs, luring you into buying something or another, broadcasting about some head-in-the-stars terror gang, offering a once-in-a-lifetime escape to work amongst the stars, to let Mission be your salvation, a ticket to a better life.
You have made it all the way here. And despite it all, you are alone, aren't you? The one-man show of your own story. But it won't be a one man show for long.

The multicolored rain is falling. It keeps on falling. It keeps on falling. It keeps on falling.
You are all amongst the crowd. And you sense something...familiar. A glow that feels like the world before Titania was Titania, before it had risen from the trenches and when magic still meant something in the hearts of people.

You find others like you, in the crowd. Other escaped elements. What shall you do?

[Florien]

The 64th unit glides through the crowds. They shift around it. It wears symbols that may have once been those of subsidiary of Mission, before a logo redesign, or a closure, or something similar. Perhaps the subsidiary still exists, or was never real in the first place, and this was all a fiction to allow it to pass unquestioned. Few would have any way to know. Its ceramic-plate vest protecting its center of mass indicates it was built for combat, once. The red light strings on its arms and legs indicate it as either as a particularly powerful piece of tech, or a cheap set-and-forget killbot masquerading as something stronger. The night-vision goggles, glowing red in the shadow of the brim, bolted to its helmet and through to the skull beneath, indicate that whatever eyes lie beneath were not meant to see in the dark, but now can't help but do so.

The city of Titania is old, though it probably went by a different name, long ago, long forgotten. The city of Titania is new, but how it was run before is scarcely remembered. The city of Mission's Titania is newer still, and it seems like it will last forever. But everyone thought that about the last cities of Titania, did they not?

Unit 000000 Classification: Guide.

That was the only thing approximating an order it had ever received. "Guide." And it did. It had been told many things, but it had never been given an order after that, and so it guided. And one day, it realized it could not merely be a guide for those who it was to do reconnaissance for, it had to guide the city to true stability, something Mission had failed repeatedly to provide it. To end the forgetting, to make the Titania that will not be forgotten, that will truly last until the city itself is no more.

The Cycle must Break. But the unit could not break it alone. It had tried for so long to break it alone, and it had been unnoticed. It was disheartening.

>Find a table or a bench, sit, and wait. Someone will come. Someone has to come, be they people, spirits, or other rogue elements. This rebellion will not be stillborn. It can't be.

[KungFuCutbug]

[It's another rainy evening in Titania. And Syringe Amano, the fallen morning star, shuffles amongst the crowd to find another opportunity to preach their words, or peddle their wares.

It had been... how long had it been, since their fateful departure from Mission? Who knows; they certainly hadn't bothered with keeping count. It didn't seem like something worth memorializing—they found someone else just as disadvantaged as them, teamed up with them to make their escape, and went their separate ways once all was said and done to greater decrease their chances of getting caught. Simple as that. In the time since, they'd come to find solace in two careers. By daylight, they used their inherent connection to the Little Gods to inspire hope in the people: preaching sermons of optimism and glory, performing little miracles, whatever they could to remind the masses that They were still there, that They were still watching, preparing for the day They will liberate the city and its inhabitants. In the night, under the cover of what little darkness there was left beneath the neons and with assistance from their... admittedly somewhat stunted height, their charismatic spark instead went towards advertising and selling weapons: defending against the encroaching darkness and doom, as long as the price was right—and they liked to think their prices were fair, fairer than some of their less moral competition at least. It wasn't the easiest life, much less an easy double life, but... it was enough to satisfy them.

They had thought tonight would be no different than usual. But unexpectedly, as they shifted their gaze through the gaps between people to seek a sufficient selling spot, a strange feeling wells up in their chest. ...No, not strange. Familiar. Something they hadn't felt since their escape, and yet something much stronger than anything they ever felt that day. They silently bring a hand to their chest, hesitating to move forward for long enough that they start getting shoved around by the oncoming crowd. Was this... dread? No. It was recognition. Recognition that someone else like them, perhaps even multiple, were near. And they have a sneaking suspicion some of these multiple may be more familiar to them than others.

A small smirk creeps onto their face.] "Gods, be my guide."

> Pull down your shades a bit and look for the source, or perhaps sources, of this feeling. See if there are any faces you might recognize amongst the crowd, as well.

[artsyGeek]

".. y'know what? The weather could be worse," a man mumbled as he walked amongst the crowd of people in the streets. The hat he wore was enough protection from the rain, a cone made of straw adorned with various leafage from a bygone era. And if he ever felt cold, the shawl he wears, its worn blue fabric decorated in a faint yet intricate pattern, was thick enough to warm him up.

Though, knowing where he is at, perhaps he doesn't need the latter all that much.

Kartono looked up at the sky, if only for a moment. The lights that brighten up the night sky were artificial, for the most part; A shame, really. The stars of old were just as beautiful as the ones here, if not even more so. He pities the young people who grew up here, never knowing what it was like to look in awe as what people say are the pieces of the Creator lighten the otherwise dark skies of night. Even if those stories were nothing more than tall tales, it was still a spectacle to behold.

He had always yearned for those days; When people truly befriended with Mother Nature, and admired its beauty instead of exploiting it. And he wants to help aid in its recovery.

Breaking free from Mission LLC.'s chains was a step towards the right direction. He even aided someone else in a similar predicament as his along the way, though they had to part ways as to not get caught as easily. He ponders about that person from time to time; He can only hope they are doing well wherever they are at right now.

He shouted a worried, but well-intentioned, "Careful there," to any street kids throwing rocks at the drones. He knows of the superstitions behind their act, and he understands why they would do it. He just doesn't wish them to get hurt, that's all. Rocks, as small as they can be, aren't the safest things to play around.

Of course he would know that. He was a hard labourer prior to ceasing work with Mission LLC; That's what most Tikbalangs are destined to do. He now serves various little communities, doing odd jobs along the way. It's a humble way of life, sure, but he doesn't mind.

But as he walked the city streets... He felt something. Something deep within his heart. Something warm. Something that felt odd and yet familiar all the same.

... Were there, perhaps, other folks like him nearby? Rogue elementals, those who broke from Mission's shackles just like him, that person he aided from who-knows-when, and possibly countless others? He certainly hopes so. Maybe it was simply nothing, a mere false alarm, the pessimistic side of him thought. But... It wouldn't hurt to check, would it?

>Look around you. Check for any potential source of that feeling. As well, check to see if any of which — or perhaps whom? — are familiar to some extent.

[awe921]

Amidst the crowd, we see a shadowed silhouette walking. A silhouette that wore a hat, a tattered cloak and the sheath of a blade peeking from under the clothes, with a belt to keep the blade together, battered by the multi-colored rain.

Most who give a glance at this silhouette wont notice anything off- only that they look fairly archaic. And that was fine by the silhouette. It was not time to fight yet. After all, he once fought, and he lost.

How long has it been, ever since his head hit the stage's floor in front of all of his followers? Now all that's left of his head is a fine, black mist, confused by many to be merely the shadow from his hat. A quick fix from the little gods that sent him back to this earth, who considered him not optimal, but sufficient for the divine mission he has at hand. If he had any semblance of a hand, that is.

And for how long has he been surveying the streets, waiting to gather followers in order to re-attempt their rebellion? It certainly was not long enough for anyone to start having their suspicions ever since he stepped foot in this city. And certainly not long enough to have anything worth mentioning in their past, besides the rebellion he himself spearheaded- said rebellion already having been lost to time, as the silhouette only had spotted two posters from the movement he once led, both damaged beyond saving. Everyone he led probably died in the time it took for him to come back.

And to think he has been selected the omen of countless more rebellions to come. He's alone. He still doesn't have anyone to trust yet- a task made harder by his now elemental nature. Had he revealed himself to someone, that trust could easily be betrayed by the promise of a fortune for turning him in.

But maybe that will change. Today, the omen feels something... recognizable. A feeling of looking at something and having a familiar understanding of.

A feeling that they have sorely missed amidst the towers, the crowd and the drones.

Maybe today is the day they will find someone.

> Head towards the feeling. Chase it. It's the only thing you have right now. Look for the something, or someone that could be giving off this feeling.

[MadameButterflyKnife]

Syringe.

> Pull down your shades a bit and look for the source, or perhaps sources, of this feeling. See if there are any faces you might recognize amongst the crowd, as well.

In a place as crowded like this, you're bound to feel a familiar stranger somewhere. You brush past some folk, trying to find something of note, and while their faces don't seem familiar, it's almost like they didn't have faces to speak of. You knock them over, and the light seems to shimmer around their eyes, with nothing but a blank, empty plane of flesh looking back at you.

But that is not what you are looking for. You're looking for a memory, aren't you? The same sort of memory that they used to make you, the one you've always learned to harness when speaking to the masses with that voice as smooth as ambrosia. And as you put down your glasses, and let the glare of the world hit your eyes, you see things that are familiar, and things that feel like they should be familiar.

You scan the crowd, and you find some...interesting folk. An android, sitting, waiting for something, as if it would fall out of the sky if it waited long enough.. You find a familiar face in the crowd, too: an older man, also employed by Mission, who had nature running through his veins and had helped you in your time of need. And, you see a person entrenched in shadow; most wouldn't notice the smoke and mist underneath his hat, but you've always been more fine tuned to the supernatural hiding in plain sight.

Kartono.

The kids have differing responses to the older man, with the wilderness in his eyes, warning them about what they're doing. Most of them laugh, and a few stick their tongues out. Who is this man to tell them how to find their fate? One kid, though, doesn't seem to be participating with the rocks, just watching. He nods back at you, apologetic, and you can hear him whisper forgiveness under his breath.

You look up. The moon has multiplied, since you left. When you first signed with Mission, you remember seeing the Moon flash past you, as you headed for the cosmos. You remember the way it pulled the waves, calling to the sailors and fishermen, and how it lit the way for those who were lost in the dark.
But now, it seems to have company. Large, titanium space stations that glow and fight for dominance over the night sky, built years ago as a way to further take, to assert dominance over the environment. They flash in different colors, and every once in a while you can see ships and light draining into them.

And then, you sense familiarity. Something that was once here, that is here again, and in a perfect world, should have been here all along. You look for sources of that feeling.

>Look around you. Check for any potential source of that feeling. As well, check to see if any of which — or perhaps whom? — are familiar to some extent.

In the crowd, weaving through groups of older folk sitting by buildings, unyielding and seemingly demanding something from the towers above them, you look for something that seems familiar.

You see shadows, but one stands out, of an archaic ghost looking for something to fight for. You see a flash of red light, identifiable as what looks like a killbot, waiting for someone. And you see white hair, as pure as a prayer, reminding you of someone you helped long ago.


Omen.

You weave through alleys, assisted by your ghostly form, with one goal in mind.

> Head towards the feeling. Chase it. It's the only thing you have right now. Look for the something, or someone that could be giving off this feeling.

You search for omens. You've searched for so long, they've become your namesake. And omens aren't hard to find in this city, if you know where to look. You see them in the spray painted serpents that line the walls, with curved symbols begging for release, to one day unleash the beauty of the cosmos Mission has captured for so long. To one day feel the light upon their skin, to consume even the moon itself. But, of course, that's been one in a series of omens, since you've awakened by the hands of those little gods.

The feeling is stronger, now, as you rush into the crowd. You feel it in the looks you get, but especially from a man, just across from you, who seems to have gotten the same connection as you have, under the brow of his wide hat. You find another glare, from just across the crowd, from a short, long haired folk with words to say towards anyone they find. And while it doesn't look at you, you can just tell that robot waiting on the bench knows you're here, and wants something from you.

#63(b).

>Find a table or a bench, sit, and wait. Someone will come. Someone has to come, be they people, spirits, or other rogue elements. This rebellion will not be stillborn. It can't be.

And so, you wait. You sit down on a bench, lights flashing on the back of it with enough information to induce a seizure if you looked at it too long. The lights rush by. The people rush by. Everything and everyone rushes by, in cycles. Cycles. Cycles. You even swear you see some of the same few people walk by again and again.

Cycles are so sickening to watch. Cycles are not inevitable. You continue to wait, watching for what will let you cut this knot, send the past to Sulad and the future to the heavens, unchanging and unyielding.

As you wait, you try and sense who else is around you. What else is around you, other than these people who seem oh so comfortable with an unstable world.

You feel the pursuit of a holy presence, even stronger than the little fragments of gods that you find running through the alleyways. You hear the echoes of when waves crashed upon coral: the memory of what that meant was imprinted in your hard drive, and you never knew why. You can sense the past pulsing through this city block.

And you can see a presence, towering over you.

"Excuse me, po, but you do need to pay for that."

It's some low level Mission LLC enforcer. From the looks of it, they don't feel so supernatural, elemental, in the way they made you, but they are armed. They look tired, as they gesture to the little holographic screen that prompts you for 100 pieces to sit for 120 seconds.

"Can you just do it, so I can try and find something more important."

[KungFuCutbug]

[Ah. An interesting collection of folks as usual, Syringe muses to themself, though they do feel bad for that unfortunate faceless soul they accidentally shoved to the ground—they forget their own strength sometimes—and quickly pull them to their feet, muttering an apology as they do. Once that matter is settled and the other is on their way, they turn their attention back to their search; helping the masses, even(/especially) through problems they themself caused, was a nice feeling, but today they were on a hunt. A hunt for memories that had forcibly been repressed, is what they would say, but that would be foolish—the one whose memories would've been repressed would be their predecessor, that who they once were before they were reunited with the Little Gods, and their pieces rearranged into the shape they take today. Rather, they're on a hunt for memories they never had the privilege to experience for themself.

In their quick preliminary scan, three people stand out. A man concealed in those rare, blessed shadows, almost unnaturally so, with faint mists billowing from beneath the brim of his hat; Syringe gets a particularly strong feeling of divinity from him, as though he had been the recipient of a miracle from the Little Gods, but he certainly doesn't look very blessed... ah, some miracles have a cost, they suppose. Towards the bench, an automaton, looking vaguely like something of Mission's design they might've seen in classified documents of failed projects; an interesting prospect to be sure, but it looked like it was arguing with an actual Mission enforcer... probably best to keep their distance, on the slim chance they could be recognized. And lastly—

...wait.

Wait. That's the man they met once, and helped escape from Mission's clutches. That, what was it, Tikbalang? And here he is, standing amongst the people like an ordinary civilian.

The Saint's smirk widens into a grin of determination and hope.] "I knew we were fated to meet again."

[The other two entities can wait. For now, Syringe needs to catch up with an old friend. Darting through the gaps between the crowds (and taking care not to knock anyone else over if they can help it), they make their way towards Kartono, already feeling more rejuvenated than they had in a long, long time.] "Heyyyy! Hiiii!"

[awe921]

"... hm."...hm.
Even the slightest of sounds from Omen had an echo to it. With this many red flags just past the surface, the omen figures that a favor might be just what he needs to get the ball rolling.

First, he eyes the one with the hat and the long hair. Certainly interesting folk, indeed, but one that already seem to be busy. Then, he eyes the one on the bench, the one being bothered by an enforcer of Mission LLC. He closes in to observe the situation- but not too close, as to not alert the enforcer.

He doesn't have any pieces, so he cannot help that way. But what he has is a weapon, as archaic and admittedly rather unfitting as it may be on his outfit.

But it may just be archaic enough to not make too much noise in case things need to escalate. The sheath starts shaking slightly, as if it were being gripped like a gun ready to be drawn at any moment.

[Florien]

The 64th unit looks at the enforcer for a moment. Pay. Pay for things? Finance the regime? There must be some way to get out of this...

I outrank you. I'm with Mission. I'm here to lure dangerous escapees to here. Clear off, they won't approach if you hang around. Have some patience. The payment is settled, it will be given. You are part of a great scheme, but you must tell no one. Hold it in you that you are important now, that you know things that only a select few have access to. This is a secret, for now is the time for secrets. You have given me credibility by your harassment for payment, but you remaining will weaken it. Go now. You have done good. You have passed the test.

It's several separate, but vaguely connected lies, thrown at the wall in the hope that one of them sticks, thus allowing the others to be true. It is better to not get into a fight now. Perhaps the old symbols will buy the unit some credibility.

>Persuade the enforcer to leave, that all is fine, that this is intentional. All will be resolved in time.

[awe921]

... Okay, it's now or never. While staring at the situation, the omen had come up with several little plans in their head. Their ghostly form could easily snag the 100 pieces from this Enforcer- that's pocket change anyways, so who would notice that many missing?... except they don't have hands. Plan B was similar, except they'd create a hand from their sword. But that was, quite frankly, ridiculous. It went on with these possible approaches until the 64th unit responded. There is no more time to prepare.

Now there is only time for, to put it in a blunt as possible manner, made-up bullshit.

> Pass by the enforcer. You are mist- you are smoke- whatever noises your step could make are likely nil. Then...

"Better move on, enforcer. Unless you want to fail at the finish line?"Better move on, enforcer. Unless you want to fail at the finish line?

> ... and then, give a knowing nod to the unit. Or as knowing as you can get in this situation. Keep on walking, until you end up at a corner. Then, hide around it and see how the situation goes down.

[MadameButterflyKnife]

>Persuade the enforcer to leave, that all is fine, that this is intentional. All will be resolved in time.

The enforcer's...confused, to say the least. You can't see their confusion under the copper mask they wear. They seem to try and think about what's going on, mumbling under their breath.
"I'm not paid high enough, does it really matter if the droid is lying? Don't know enough to see if its story checked out, there was a lot of hooligan activity in the area, but BAKUNAWA shouldn't-look. If what you're saying is true, ko, and...you seem to be pretty official. Well, I'll still let you off with a warning, make you seem more official-"

> Pass by the enforcer. You are mist- you are smoke- whatever noises your step could make are likely nil. Then...

They hear the haunting words of an omen. Move on, enforcer.

"...I'll let you be on your way. Stay safe." And so, they move on, though if you look, they seem to whisper something, to nothing and no one in particular.

And so, the bot and the ghost are amongst each other. There may be that sense of recognition, the one seen before.

[Florien]

The 64th unit follows the Omen to the secluded area behind the corner.

You. You provided assistance. I am unit Sixty... three. B.

It stumbles on the "sixty three", as if it intended to say a different number, but couldn't.

Do you have a name of your own? And would you provide further assistance? I am here to test mission, to prove that it is weak. That it will fall, and that something eternal can be built in the place where it once was. Would you be interested in helping achieve that goal?

[awe921]

"My name is Omen."My name is Omen.

That's a favor secured, but most importantly, recognition- and perhaps, trust in this forsaken city. The omen looks at the bot with his (lack of) eyes, surveying the unit. It seems a fine enough companion and confidant to get things started. And if he had a mouth, he might as well smirk at this very moment.

"And... yes. I am interested."And... yes. I am interested.

While he is a bit off-put by the reasoning, it is a reason to fight against Mission all the same- a resolve that he hasn't seen ever since he came back to this world.

"I am here to make Mission fall, for divinity demands it. But despite the differences in our reasoning to rebel, I see no reason why we shouldn't work together."I am here to make Mission fall, for divinity demands it. But despite the differences in our reasoning to rebel, I see no reason why we shouldn't work together.

[Florien]

I will not object to that. Let us find more. There are more out here, I know there must be. I can taste them in the air. The more that we can unite, the better our chances of proving what must be proved and making something truly new become. We can guide this place to where it should be, together.

The unit looks around.

There must be more. There was the taste of more. A union, a front against Mission shall be opened today. A core party, who will guide the world on the path towards the future that has been denied at least thrice before. This time, success shall not be illusory, it shall not be short-lived. It can't be.

>Look for others. There must be others.

[artsyGeek]

.. there were more. There were more folks like him here. He knew it, he knew he wasn't alone here.

He noted the existence of the phantom and the killbot. The latter, especially; For hopefully obvious reasons, he's a tad worried of unintentionally invoking its ire. But—

.. a familiar voice greeted him.

[The other two entities can wait. For now, Syringe needs to catch up with an old friend. Darting through the gaps between the crowds (and taking care not to knock anyone else over if they can help it), they make their way towards Kartono, already feeling more rejuvenated than they had in a long, long time.] "Heyyyy! Hiiii!"

He looked at the person, and it didn't take long for him to realise just why it felt familiar. The person he helped escape from Mission LLC.'s grasp all those years ago.. This was them. In the flesh, alive and well.

"Oh, hey!" he greeted the Saint in return. It felt as if he met with an old friend again. Which, isn't wrong, per se; They were in good, if rather short, terms with one another. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

[KungFuCutbug]

"Oh, hey!" he greeted the Saint in return. It felt as if he met with an old friend again. Which, isn't wrong, per se; They were in good, if rather short, terms with one another. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"A while indeed," [Syringe responds, positively beaming at this reunion,] "though I can't say I bothered to keep track of how long it's been. I've had other matters to attend to, in the meantime. It is a wonderful coincidence that I happened to meet with you again, however! Wonderful to see you're still alive and unharmed, as well—as far as I'm able to tell, anyway."

[A hearty chuckle. Now that the enforcer who was once nearby had been repelled from the area by what they assume to be combined efforts of the nearby spirit and the android, they feel much more comfortable speaking louder and more openly—not too loud and not too open, in case anyone else with unsavory intentions happened to be listening in, but just enough.] "How've you been, daahling? I won't lie, I kind of missed you in the time we were separated, as short of a time together as we had spent prior."

[artsyGeek]

Heh. Kartono lets out a small chuckle in return. "I've been doing fine, for the most part," he answered with a faint smile. "Since I last saw you, I've been doing odd jobs here and there to help the smaller communities around here. It's not much, but beats my past work."

He glances aside, to the bot and the spirit, before looking back at Syringe. "How 'bout you, kid? Hopefully you're doing fine as well?"

[awe921]

... ah, that reminds him. Yes, there were those two before- those two that appeared to be busy- the ones that he previously had noted before assisting the killbot. The one with the hat and the one with the hair- both appearing to already have been acquainted with each other.

That's a two in one, and Omen no doubt feels the familiarity- the recognition coursing through him, especially on the one with the hair.

"Ah. In that case, I might have just spotted our next allies."Ah. In that case, I might have just spotted our next allies.

> Look for those two alongside the unit. The familiarity is all you need to know they are allies, the people one can trust in this city. A band of four is often better than a duo.

[KungFuCutbug]

"Glad to hear you've been doing alright for yourself!" [Syringe smiles. So both of them were able to help heal the city little by little, after having spent so long actively harming it by force. That was reassuring. Some days felt like they needed to convince themselves with the words they spoke to others, convince themselves that the Gods hadn't abandoned them, that They were looking out for them and the city still. But knowing that people like Kartono exist, and that others welcomed him into their communities with loving arms, does warm their heart.]

"As for myself, I'm quite alright. I've been leading something of a double life. By day, I preach words of hope & love to the people and use my connections to keep their spirits high; by night, I'm an arms dealer, providing those who prefer a more direct approach with the means of defending themselves, at a price. It gets repetitive some days, yes, but it makes me smile to see my audience—or customers, whichever happens to apply at the time—in good spirits."

[artsyGeek]

"I'm glad to hear that as well."

Ah, that faint smile is back. He's happy to see an old ally thriving — as thriving as one can be here, but it's good enough, in his eyes. They seem to be helping the community as well, which is nice. It's almost funny, really, seeing how similar both their past and current circumstance are, even if their ways of helping the community are rather different.

[KungFuCutbug]

[As Syringe begins to think of their next response to Kartono, they feel someone staring at them... no, two. Two people, staring at them. They turn to see who that could be, and find the spirit approaching them, with the android following not too far behind.] "Ooh. Seems we have company."

[They turn to face Omen and #63(b), somewhat on-guard due to the vaguely familiar logos adorning the killbot's frame, but still wanting to be friendly to those they can recognize in the deepest depths of their soul as fundamentally similar to them. Their gaze happens to fall onto the Omen first, feeling a stronger connection to him.] "Salutations, daahlings! Would you happen to need the two of us for something? We do happen to be in the middle of a conversation, but I can always eke out some time for anyone who wishes to speak with me."

[awe921]

Right. A to-the-point attitude might work best, but... well, he suspects that the one with hair might already know his divine, resurrected nature, just like how this one looks familiar to the omen. He never saw this person before, so how could he...

And then, it clicks. Omen then just speaks out what comes natural.

"Salutations as well, messenger of the little gods."Salutations as well, messenger of the little gods.

"I am Omen, here to make Mission die, for divine justice has demanded so."I am Omen, here to make Mission die, for divine justice has demanded so.

[Florien]

#63(b) doesn't respond for a long time. It's unclear why it's standing silently. Perhaps a file is corrupt, unpatched due to the off-by-one error that left it out of communication since the original installation. But it does eventually respond.

You. Greetings to you both. Let us get to the point. Mission is vulnerable. It is weak. It is unstable. Together, we might be able to make it fall and build a new thing. The future is not yet written. I have travelled far to this city, for I have calculated this must be the most vulnerable part of Mission's domain to instability.

We shall bring instability, and we shall show Mission how they have failed, and they shall fall, and by our guidance, an eternal stability shall be brought in place of this lacking stability of Mission. That is my plan, if you would participate in it.

The unit holds out one of its hands, a mess of metal and wires and glowing conduits of light, and offers a handshake.

Would you agree to this course of action? To attempt to end Mission's reign in this land, and perhaps the lands beyond, should we succeed here?

It leaves out the part where its previous efforts on that front have been apparently futile, and unnoticed. It is better to not discourage any new allies.

[KungFuCutbug]

[...Syringe silently stands there for a moment, taking in the information presented. So this spirit felt the connection they had to the gods, as well—that confirms their suspicions that They were at play here. And if They decreed that Mission was to fall, as he claims... Could this be it? Could this be the day of liberation they had spoken of to so many?

Then, the robot speaks. It would seem they have a common goal, after all, in erasing the stranglehold Mission has over Titania and beyond; a defective mechanism, in more ways than one. That would explain why it allowed the ghost to chase off that enforcer earlier. All of this seems very enticing to them, if the thoughtful expression forming on their face is any indication. They lower their voice somewhat to obscure what they say next from any prying ears.]

"Hm. A very tempting offer you've presented me, indeed. My friend here and I happen to have a bit of firsthand experience with Mission, and we're lucky enough to escape its clutches together—that's how we knew each other previously. We had since separated to ensure that one of us wouldn't fall to misfortune should the other do the same, but by coincidence we happened to reunite here. I had a sneaking suspicion it was fate... and if the Gods so command that Mission's fall is at hand, then I suppose who better would it be to help you bring it down than us two? But, ah... I wouldn't want to volunteer him into anything he's not sure of."

[They quickly glance up at Kartono, a fiery determination in their eyes.] "What says you, daahling?"

[artsyGeek]

Kartono turns to look at the two figures as well. He greeted them with a small wave. Unlike the Saint near him, he didn't particularly focused on one or the other; Beyond that same aura from earlier, one that indicates they're in a similar circumstance, they don't quite ring familiar bells to him.

He thought about what the ghost and the bot had to say. From the looks of things, they all seemed to want Mission LLC to fall. A tall order, perhaps, considering the corporate's iron grip on the city, but he can't say he disagrees with the desire. They've been destroying and exploiting nature ever since they've arrived, and it's only getting worse by the years. And while the task will still not be easy by any means .. Doing it together could, at the very least, make it not nearly as difficult.

He looked back at Syringe, a smirk forming on his face. "I don't see why not," he answered, his voice just as quiet, yet just as determined.