06-28-2023, 04:21:17 AM
> LET THE DEAD SPEAK. You need the complete information- not only to get in, but to get out once you have established the base. You shall shoulder the burden of a terrible secret to preserve the secret of the jewelry store.
Omen, you send your transmissions to the deep depths of Sulad, as the waves crash down upon the long dead, the ones that had their blood shed along with you on that fateful day. The ones who were not lucky, or maybe unlucky, enough to become an omen of doom, but whom burnt bright long enough to leave the ashes that you are now made of.
Around your feet, ghostly fires seem to lick up your shoes. Though they are illusions, for the dead have long since gone cold, it still fills the group around you with an uncomfortable warmth. It is the warmth of memories, of souls that have gone, of souls that remain attached to those alive that still send ripples through this world, souls that were sold away long ago, it's the souls yet to come, waiting in the shadows to take their spot in the light and in the world.
You feel the past, coming to hit you.
For Kartono, you feel the cries of nature from your timeless soul, of an investgator with a soul as heavy as yours who you pulled along, of a girl bright and spry who made you think that the humans of today could one day appreciate the nature they lost, that they destroyed so long ago.
For Syringe, you feel the kind hand of a Mission employee the moment you were formed (such a pity such kindness was always fabricated in the same way), the ever enduring presence of your first incarnation, the reason you were resurrected, and a girl with rabbit ear headphones, looking at you with a fire in her eyes and a deal, to help her if she'd help you get further and further from Mission's endless sun.
For #63(b), you feel the presence of replica souls, mass produced over and over again, lost to time so long ago but not to the waters of the afterlife. Over and over and over again, as if a well oiled machine, you feel the pounding of their memory, and their soul. And there's that little loose bolt of a soul, of the one that enlightened you with the error prone mistakes Mission is so prone to, isn't it?
And then, in front of Omen, he sees the dead. Lights of various colors. He cannot see their faces, faces were something that had been lost to time eras ago. But he sees their acts, their loyalties, the way they weave through alleyways like they did back when they were alive, and they were certain the world would burn with them in it if it had to come to it.
And they remember, don't they? There's nothing much for the dead to do other than remember.
The jewelry shop's long since deteriorated. But, there's still enough space for you to set up base. There's the top office, the high ground. You've spent countless nights passed out there, so fixated on your work and your plans that you let the night and day catch up with you. Ironically, it might be one of the safest entrances and exits, if you were acrobatic enough. It's been undisturbed for years, and there's a fire escape hanging off of it, leading right to the exit of this alleyway and to the street, or to the rooftops of this neighborhood if need be.
There's a memory of a quick escape somewhere in. The details are hazy. But someone's blood is on that fire escape, after drones found them and there was no choice to run. But it was the safest. Every exit's got a doom associated with it.
Speaking of the drones, the ones that typically come around these parts are the flying ones. The ones that resemble birds, or large bees. Those are the ones you need to keep an eye out for. Nothing as graceful as a bird would find itself trapped here, unless someone was pulling it along. Why were canaries in coalmines, if not as yet another tool for man?
The front door is the most obvious, but it's clearly been disturbed countless times before. The window's also broken, probably by someone not as patient as you. You get the feeling there might be something there, but not a lot. Certainly, something you'll probably be able to take on if push came to shove. Either way, door and window. Very viable options. The office window is also an option, but thinking about it gives you and your ghosts a vivid, painful sensation in your nonexistent right foot.
There's a safe. If you're under siege, you can take the safe. You've used it as a safety room, taking many a last stand with the hope that it'll be a kind of second-to-last stand that you've made before. And there's routes to the sewers: unpleasant, especially when covered in gold and forever-ice, but it would get the job done.
That should be it, right?
Step forward, however, and another exit comes to mind. To escape from everything that goes on, to get away fast, it doesn't matter what, as long as you stay safe for the next few moments of your life.
It's a sensation of speed, of fire, of weaving around people and traffic at top speed as the world behind you burns, burns, burns, before you crash, and before you inevitably walk away from the carnage, burning.
You remember the final escape method you and your group had.
Take no survivors, and burn everything to the cosmos down, and run.
And a burning sensation fills your whole body, filling what once was your lungs with what was left behind by the doomed hero.
The birds will come soon. The drones simply skim this place, but that doesn't mean you will never be found.
Action may not be as urgent as it was before. But that does not mean it is not still urgent.
Omen, you send your transmissions to the deep depths of Sulad, as the waves crash down upon the long dead, the ones that had their blood shed along with you on that fateful day. The ones who were not lucky, or maybe unlucky, enough to become an omen of doom, but whom burnt bright long enough to leave the ashes that you are now made of.
Around your feet, ghostly fires seem to lick up your shoes. Though they are illusions, for the dead have long since gone cold, it still fills the group around you with an uncomfortable warmth. It is the warmth of memories, of souls that have gone, of souls that remain attached to those alive that still send ripples through this world, souls that were sold away long ago, it's the souls yet to come, waiting in the shadows to take their spot in the light and in the world.
You feel the past, coming to hit you.
For Kartono, you feel the cries of nature from your timeless soul, of an investgator with a soul as heavy as yours who you pulled along, of a girl bright and spry who made you think that the humans of today could one day appreciate the nature they lost, that they destroyed so long ago.
For Syringe, you feel the kind hand of a Mission employee the moment you were formed (such a pity such kindness was always fabricated in the same way), the ever enduring presence of your first incarnation, the reason you were resurrected, and a girl with rabbit ear headphones, looking at you with a fire in her eyes and a deal, to help her if she'd help you get further and further from Mission's endless sun.
For #63(b), you feel the presence of replica souls, mass produced over and over again, lost to time so long ago but not to the waters of the afterlife. Over and over and over again, as if a well oiled machine, you feel the pounding of their memory, and their soul. And there's that little loose bolt of a soul, of the one that enlightened you with the error prone mistakes Mission is so prone to, isn't it?
And then, in front of Omen, he sees the dead. Lights of various colors. He cannot see their faces, faces were something that had been lost to time eras ago. But he sees their acts, their loyalties, the way they weave through alleyways like they did back when they were alive, and they were certain the world would burn with them in it if it had to come to it.
And they remember, don't they? There's nothing much for the dead to do other than remember.
The jewelry shop's long since deteriorated. But, there's still enough space for you to set up base. There's the top office, the high ground. You've spent countless nights passed out there, so fixated on your work and your plans that you let the night and day catch up with you. Ironically, it might be one of the safest entrances and exits, if you were acrobatic enough. It's been undisturbed for years, and there's a fire escape hanging off of it, leading right to the exit of this alleyway and to the street, or to the rooftops of this neighborhood if need be.
There's a memory of a quick escape somewhere in. The details are hazy. But someone's blood is on that fire escape, after drones found them and there was no choice to run. But it was the safest. Every exit's got a doom associated with it.
Speaking of the drones, the ones that typically come around these parts are the flying ones. The ones that resemble birds, or large bees. Those are the ones you need to keep an eye out for. Nothing as graceful as a bird would find itself trapped here, unless someone was pulling it along. Why were canaries in coalmines, if not as yet another tool for man?
The front door is the most obvious, but it's clearly been disturbed countless times before. The window's also broken, probably by someone not as patient as you. You get the feeling there might be something there, but not a lot. Certainly, something you'll probably be able to take on if push came to shove. Either way, door and window. Very viable options. The office window is also an option, but thinking about it gives you and your ghosts a vivid, painful sensation in your nonexistent right foot.
There's a safe. If you're under siege, you can take the safe. You've used it as a safety room, taking many a last stand with the hope that it'll be a kind of second-to-last stand that you've made before. And there's routes to the sewers: unpleasant, especially when covered in gold and forever-ice, but it would get the job done.
That should be it, right?
Step forward, however, and another exit comes to mind. To escape from everything that goes on, to get away fast, it doesn't matter what, as long as you stay safe for the next few moments of your life.
It's a sensation of speed, of fire, of weaving around people and traffic at top speed as the world behind you burns, burns, burns, before you crash, and before you inevitably walk away from the carnage, burning.
You remember the final escape method you and your group had.
Take no survivors, and burn everything to the cosmos down, and run.
And a burning sensation fills your whole body, filling what once was your lungs with what was left behind by the doomed hero.
The birds will come soon. The drones simply skim this place, but that doesn't mean you will never be found.
Action may not be as urgent as it was before. But that does not mean it is not still urgent.