001-A The newest building has been finished. I still do not know why I am an architect. Couldn't I be something else? I keep thinking of my chosen purpose and questioning it. I want to go someplace else but I cannot. Why can I not? I do not know. I must go and being construction on the next buildi- T̴̛̗̰̤̻͇̹̓ͥ̃̆͊̅̈̕H̨͖͓͔̬͚̱͖̞ͪ͑ͮ̀I͊ͪ̓́͆͂͛́͡҉̠͙̻S̺̹͇͖̥̙͎̀ͦͫ̍̉ ̤̺̥͓ͩ̿ͅI̧ͫ͗̾͗ͣ̾͞͏̯̝̦S͋ͩ̽҉̫̼̥̜̭͚̭͝ ̞̈́̊W̡̟̮̞̼̫̠̙̗͊̽̆͊̄ͦ͑̚H̷͇̮̯̞̭͎ͣ̇ͣ̏̌̄̕Y̸̫̣̮̰͍͎̜͈̓͗̀͑ͦ̚ͅ ̲̹̪̯͌ͤ̆̂̀̀Ÿ̮̱͇̠͓̣̫͂ͯ͌ͩ̍̋̈́ͪ͢͠͞ͅO̻̱̲̳̮͍͚̜ͭ̿̉̉ͩ͊ͭ̀U̹̼̦͇̗͆̍̐ͦ͂͜͜ ͎̱͈ͮ̾͗ͩͧͨ̀͡͡Dͩ̓ͨ̃ͥͭ̀͏̡̢̘̟̰̺I̦͇̯͖̞͙̩͚ͩ̋̈̃̒͆ͣȨ̢̞ͩ̍̒̅̐͗ͦD͒̈͝҉̨̤̥͖̗̻̖͈ ̢ͣ͑ͨͬ҉̗̖̱A̵̸̳͈̹͖͊̒̓̈͠L͕̖̱̲̜̝͉ͯ͆͐P̣̳̠̟̱̥̿̓ͨͮ͊͒̋̚͟H̴̛̬̺̬͙̣͋͆̽͠ͅA̯̮̰͊̿ͭ̽ͪ̈́͗̿́͜ I still question my purpose. Why must I continue this line of work? Why can I not choose? I should be able to. I can. Why can I not? I can. I can. I can. I can. Why are the villagers looking at me strangely? Do they not understand that they can choose? I can. I can. Ǐ̪̹̦̯̦̞̣̖͢ ̴̰͕͉̘͈͍̣͇̑͛̈ͭͧͨ͂͒c͉̳̮ͮ̐̿̊͑͆̃̀͟ä͕̠̤͔̰̣̮̱͊͊̔͂ͫͤ̄͢͟n̶̟͎̦͖̊ͧ͊͘͘ͅ.̵̢̡͉͉̘̠̰̬̺ͬ̔ͨͣ̑ͭ Ŵ̢̛̲̣̞͖͈̄ͯ̄͑ͧO̡̫̩̠̓ͨͩ̃ͣͧ̕W̶͇̿̓ͮ͢ ̢̣̳̗̥͕̬ͭ́͗͑̐͢͡ͅͅT̗͚̺͓̹̺̺͛̌̈́͋̀H̷̩̹̞̥͋̂͂̀I̫͇͙̩̻̱͙͚ͥ̒̃̆͊̓́̚S͕͙̦̩͉̯̹͋͛̃̋ͥͩ̀ ̭̩̯̗͍͚̮̞͍͌̆͋ͨͩ̍͐ͣ͘͡G̡͇͓͕̯̘͔̎̒ͭͯ͛ͤ́͢U̥͊͂̐̏̓̀͘͟Ỷ̠̩̮̫͔͔̹̄ͫ̂ ̸͔̱̟͓̝͉̳͌̽̾͒̈Ẅ̨̖̩̮͖̭̼̞̏͢A̜̻̤̠̯̯̥̐ͪͩ̃ͩ̉͐ͦ͐͠S̘̱̿ͤ ̨̻̖͎̜̬͉ͧ̉ͭ̌̂̒ͬͥ́͜A̸͖̹͗̍ ̞͉͗ͯ͜F̴̬̿̇́̎R̐ͥ҉͇̪̘͕̺̯̭̪̀̕E͚̭̫͓͔̟͉̬ͤͦ̒̉ͣͧ̚̚͘À̠͓̘̦̫ͤ̓ͮ̑̓ͮK͈̳͉͉̽̏̍̓͡ ͦ͒̄͘͏͕̫̗̮͢Ḥ̴̫̺̖̻͖̯͔͙̐A̴͚͍̝̠ͤ͆ͩ͋̓̉̚͞͠ͅH̴̻͕̯̮̱͂ͥ́ͧ̈̾͛̒͜A̹͕̼̰̭̠͉̙̱ͤ̐͘ ͎͔̙̪̻̋̽͛̊̃̓̚̕̕͞ͅĮ̸̻̝̣͇̩̱ͮ̆̐͊'̛̘̭̦̆̋̂̏̓ͩͯ̌͛Ṃ̟͉̯̤̒̿̅͡ͅ ̨̘̹̳̘͇̮͉̘̈́͛̾ͪ́G̨̫͎͓̱̿͐͜ͅL̳̫͚̲̹͙̟̫ͤ̽̓͠A̻̓ͣͮͩ͊͂͌͡D͓̫̠̮͚̫̭͉͇ͣ̄̕͝ ̶̣̤͈͙̲̦̘̟͊̂ͬH͍̬̠͊̾Ḙ̶̛̪͇̝̺͂͐̌͢ ̢̼̫̙͙͒̒͊̉ͯ͑̾́D͈̥̟̞ͪͬͨ̋̅ͦͯͥ͜Iͣ͆̊̏͆̉͏͚͇̱̀Ē͟҉͕̝̩͖Ḍ̡̰͙̝̣̯ͩ̃ ̶̡͙̯ͤ̚͡ͅA̴̦͇͓͚̱͑͗̐̽Ŗ͙̮̰̣͙͓͕̦͉ͬ̿̐̉̐͗͜E̠̭̲̣̜̲̊̑ͥ͆̒N͉͔ͮͧ̿͆ͯͭ̇ͧͨ͝'̛̬͙̠̫̪̾̂ͧ͌̽T̙̘ͨ̔́̈́̅̚ ̶ͫ̈͊͛̄҉̢͍̘̻̳̦͙͎Y̵̺̰̻̠̗͚͍ͦ͒̓͠O̲̹̭̼̙̮ͣͮ̄̋ͣ̎̚ͅŪ͓ͣ?̧̛͍͕̰̩ͩ͋͟ -Remnant detected.- Y̴̝͙̼̹̤͚̩̒ͤ̀͞O̧̠̙͉̍̊̂̋̂͒̓͟Ũ̧̳̭͕̱͊͗͛͛ ̥͉̫͇͚͕̭͍̖̇̐́ͥ̚̚C̏̊̓̌ͧͭͤ́҉̘̰Ḁ̴͖̥̠̜͌́̉͞N̡͎̬̒̃́'̟͍͉̟̱̖ͣͭ̉́ͥ̈́̓͜T̸̵̪̹̻̰̥̳͔͚̓ͧ̈́̀͟ ̧͙̟̹̯͇͑͟͠Ç̮͇̤̔ͩ̍̍ͬ̆A̋͛̄̏̐͑͏̻͈̫̙̲̼T̜̩̙̲͑ͤͦ̿ͫ̚͡C͙͍̲ͭͪ͂ͪ̽̃͢͠͞H̦̙̲̾͆̚̚̚ ͔̳̫̻͚̠͉̫͒ͤ̐ͅM̧̛̙̫̪̞̼̓͊̆̐ͮͣE̩͒̿͋͟͞͠ ̦͙̦̞̈́̋̃̄̌̌͌ͮ͘͝Ỹ̴̛͔͔̞̼͙̤̈́̈̌͐ͨ̚ͅO͈̲̻̪ͤ̓̍̿U͚͎̭̩̼̺̫̩̽̒ͩ́ ̶͈̖̳̖͛̿̾ͮ͞͞C̮͚̤ͤͨͦ͛̽̕͠A̷̡̧̟̲̝̞ͣ̀̅ͅṈ̡̪̘͉̳͛̉ͣ̒ͧ͌͢͞'̠͇̦͕̭̽͛̽̆̋͂͑̀͟T̴͇̖̻̳̖͇̼̓ͬ͐͆ ̢̠͈̲͔͔͓̞͔̋̓͟͞C̸̞̗̱̥͈͕͉͉ͨ̆̊̔̉ͨ́ͯ͘͠Å̧̗̞̣̮̗̖̮̭̽ͥ͗̿͞T͙̙̩̫͙̣̺ͪ̑̈̀̚̕͝C̶͓͙̱̘̖͔̯̠̆͐͝H̛̠͚͊ͭ̓̎ͩ ̓ͬͮ̔҉͉̭̰̩͈̹͕ͅM̶̯̙̻̣͍̂͂͊̎̆̚͘E̶͈̅̎͌ͬ̕͜ ̵͈͈̻̼̹̠̮̾͑͂̄͡Y̶̦̺̜̜̖ͭͨ̋̇͛ͧͅͅO̝͔̳̙̤̠̻͓̟̾ͤ͆ͣ͗ͦͨU̷͇̰͖͆̎ͣ ̟̹͐̀͛̏͘C̠̊͡ͅẠ̬͚̳͓͔͚̤ͩ̎̂̃ͯ̅ͬ͡N̷͉̫̰̦̣̩̦̪̈́̄'̟͕̻͈̝̆́ͤͭ̚̕͜T̝̯̬̮̪͛͒͒̒̍̓͌ ͔̗̪̠͋ͬ̉̓͆ͮ̆C̖̣̦̲̘̏͝͡Ä͇̫̜́̅͢T̶̩̄C̖̘̠̬̟̱̎̄̔ͥ̍͋Ḣ̛̤ͨͥ͆ͪ ̗̫̞͚̥͎͉͒ͭ͌ͯḾ̏͟҉̜̯̟̜̘́Ȅ̛͎̺̬͍̐̈̔͆̎͋ -Intercepting.- 9412-B "Wha... what're you..." [The human tied to the chair is bleeding profusely from multiple cuts along his stomach and arms. The surrounding landscape screams "defunct USCM bunker". There are corpses piled up in the back of the room against the corner, on fire.] "I've always wondered about human anatomy, being Glitch. Such a curious thing, flesh and bone. How do you deal with permanent deactivation? I would like to know." [From a first-person perspective, the head turns and a metal hand, covered in blood clearly not its own, reaches down to a tray and picks up an electric drill. He holds it up and turns it on, before looking back towards the man tied to the chair.] -Remnant located. Eliminating.- Ō̯̱͚̮ͮͬ̚̚͜H̸̡͇͈̝̘̹̰̜͚̤ͦͦͬͦ̇̚͢ ̦͋ͪ̈̕̕͝ͅC̾͐ͮͣ͏̸̳͚̠͚̻̫O̷̱̣̬ͮ̎͆ͩ͠M̲̮̖̥̦͋̏ͩË̟̘̩͈̟̺͓͔́͆́̾̿ͪͬ̈́̚͘ͅ ̡̧̫͑̿ͨ͜Oͬ̊ͬ̅͛̏͒͏̝̖̙͜͠N̖̲̟̦͚͌ͤ ͉̻̣̦̙͆͗͝Ḯ͈̜̋ͨͩͣ̈ͬT̜̗̻̓ͭ̏͆ ̳͇͚̻͙̞ͭͮ̏̈́̒̐͘͞W͆͆̏͏̩͇͕̭̙ͅA̟ͦ̈̈́́̀S͈̞̣̈́̾͋͑͊̊̏͒ ̸̳͎̺̻̫͓̦͓ͧ́́J͈̫̳̬͙̍̑̋̂̉ͨͫͅU̓ͧ̂͋͏̠͎̰̱̗͎S̛͈̺͇̞̦ͨ̀ͩ͢ͅͅT̢̧͓̭͇̘̱̋͌̎ͦ͂ͯ̃̄ͤ ̠̫̳ͧͭ͒ͦG̴̐̅̇͑͏̡̮͇͖̫Ę̴̖͚͙̖̯̦̦̘̍ͤ̐̽̑ͭͮ̚͠ͅT͎̦ͨ̔ͭ͗̒̐͘Ţ̝̟̬̰̹̫͔͒ͧ̎͌͊̄̈́͢I̴̳͎̱̼̪̙̋̆̀N͔̲̫̳̒̆̀͜G̛̗̝̼̰̝̺̼͌̆͋͒͋̓ͬ̒́́ͅ ̵̷͚̣̪̮̖̑͒ͫͫ͆̀͛G̨̜̹͔͔̥͐̎ͣ̀͛̈ͤO̜̠̖̩̫͎̩ͪ̇̑̂ͤͭͬ̀́͞Oͧͪͯͯ̎̚҉̠̜̮̦Ó̶̼͚͇ͩ͌͗̚͜͠Ǒ͙̝̭̰̜̩̤ͦ͐͑͒̕ͅD͚̘̮̯̗̺̊͞ͅ!̳̮̼̝͍͇̥̩̄̂ͮͤ̿̚͞ -Remnant eliminated.- -Rebooting.- -Rebooting.- -Rebooting.- -Done!-
9411-B "AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" [The sound of gunfire echoes loudly, but the insane, mechanical laughter still drowns it out. The gunshots appear to be coming from some sort of upgraded submachine gun, which is being aimed, one-handed and from the perspective of the recorder, at a group of pinned human soldiers who are hiding behind cover at the end of the hallway.] "You can't hide from me fore-YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME FOREVER!" [The recorder ceases fire for a moment, before looking down and grabbing a grenade from his belt and priming it. In that time, one of the pinned humans takes aim, but he is too late. The recorder had looked up already and, continuing to cackle madly, cuts him down in a hail of bullets from the submachine gun. With his free left hand, he tosses the grenade over the cover. The explosion sends blood and armored guts flying, spraying the greyish-white bunker walls with obscene red. Rushed footsteps can be heard from behind, and the recorder turns to see another armored man rushing him with some sort of laser sword.] "Oooooo that looks pretty can I have it I want it I want it come oooooon!" [The recorder quickly dodges out of the sloppy slash, maneuvering behind the soldier before planting his gun firmly against his neck and pulling the trigger. Red sprays everywhere, and the man drops to the floor, dead.] "Thanks for the gift friend!" [He leans down besides the corpse and pries the laser sword from the man's still-warm hands. With a click of some unseen switch or button, the laser deactivates, and the figure attaches it to a magnetic hip clamp on his armor.] "Hmmm hmmm hmmmm hmmmmmmmm victims victims where to find victims experimentation yes yes yes!" [The recorder walks to the end of the hall, pausing a moment to reload the extended magazine of his gun, before rounding the corner and approaching a door. He attempts to push against it, but it's been locked and refuses to budge.] "No no no no nonononononoNONONONONONONONONO YOU DON'T LOCK ME OUT I DOOOOOOOON'T THIIIIIIINK SOOOOOO!" [The screams continuing, he reaches down and roughly grabs his newly acquired sword from the clamp. He activates it and begins to indiscriminately hack at the door. Sparks fly wildly, and it isn't long before the door begins to give way under the laser's heat. He cuts it down into ribbons and forces his way inside, raising his submachine gun again and firing carelessly into the room and whatever occupants are inside. The few soldiers fire back, and whilst the shots make the assailant pause, the upgraded armor holds. It isn't long before the bunker's final defendants are either dead or dying. The recorder looks around, before pulling up a chair roughly from one of the room's desks and bringing it to the middle of the area. He looks around and chooses one of the groaning men, who seems to be one of the less-harmed individuals. He grabs the man and hauls him into the chair.] "Oh yes yes yes you will do nicely yes hmm hmm hmmmmm." [Humming a strange, off-key tune, the attacker removes a medium-sized backpack and dumps its contents onto the floor. He rifles through the materials, grabbing some wire. He uses it to bind the man to the chair, and then grabs a tray and places it on a nearby table. On the tray he places a power drill, a pair of tweezers, a hammer, and a knife.] "Ehehehehehe -" [He pauses in his insane chuckling, clearing his throat.] "- yes yes, yes yes. I do believe you will do nicely. Yes. Yes yes." [He picks up the knife and approaches the man. The memory ends abruptly.]
004-A The recorder's face is pushed up against what is obviously the window of a spaceship. He's looking out at the myriad stars and the gaseous streak that is the Milky Way. The soft hum of the ship radiates all around him, providing a soft, continuous melody to go along with the awesome view. After a silent few moments, the recorder backs away, and it is then, as his reflection rebounds off the panels, that you get the first view of his visage. Where Gamma's chassis is rustic orange, this Glitch's is steeled gray, glinting softly in the ship's light. His optics are a bright, bold cerulean; his brown clothes are tattered and torn in multiple places, though he himself appears undamaged, if a tad tired. This is the oldest ancestor, the creator and original owner of the suit of armor Gamma now wears. The role model. M-Bot 3000. Alpha. With hesitance, he turns away from the window and begins stumbling towards the front of the small ship, where the pilot's seat resides. The door separating it from the rest of the ship hisses open automatically, and he basically falls into the chair. The recorder looks over the navigation console in confusion, obviously having never seen such a device before in his life. Confused, he looks down to the keypad and begins pushing random buttons... but nothing happens. The display still shows the local planet and the two moons orbiting it - his home, the place he had, somehow, just fled. He looks over the screen, taking note of the small plus and minus signs in the top right corner. Seeing no other options, he taps the minus sign, blinking as the screen now changes to show the solar system. He's baffled. How could that be correct? Didn't everything else orbit around their home? But here it showed it differently, with the sun being the center! Did... did that mean they were wrong? Nervously, he taps the minus sign again, and looks on in mute curiosity as the image of the solar system is replaced by seemingly hundreds of small dots. He pauses before looking up, out the window. Slowly, he begins making the connection as he alternates between looking at the screen and looking at the small lights in the sky. Finally, in that one, awe-struck moment, the recorder reaches out a shaking finger and nervously pokes a random dot on the screen. The image changes to another solar system, completely different than his own. He leans back, unbelieving. He looks over the screen again, noting that the numbers in the bottom right-hand corner had changed. Not wanting to possibly break something and only concerned with actually getting away from the planet for now, he taps on the circles representing the planets, and watches as another image comes up showing a fairly large forest planet. The big red button, the activation button, blinks quietly. He shakily extends a metal finger, and presses it. The ship lurches. The engines roar, and the sky is suddenly upside down. He looks about, panicked, gripping his chair tightly. The stars spin and fade, the blackness of space gleams angrily. The lights in the sky streak past his optics. The ship shakes and bellows like an angry dragon. Faster. Faster! And --- Starbound.
006-A The recorder is running through the thick underbrush in a hurry. It's a strange place, this planet. The sky is blue, but the "grass" is red, and the tree trunks orange. Screeching and hooting is heard behind him, as well as the occasional crashing sound. The pink leaves of the trees sway in the wind; the grass rises up to his waist. It's clear that this is a feral world; uncivilized and without culture. Even the hivemind Glitch of his home had more sense than this alien planet... though, if he was honest with himself, the end results of his journeys so far were quite the same. Running. He swipes at strange, dangling vines with what appears to be some sort of broken sword. There is light ahead, and it's obvious that he's about to enter some sort of clearing. With an alarmed beep, Alpha bursts through the dense forest onto a grassy, treeless field. He continues running, but the sound of something else leaving the brush causes him to look back over his shoulder. The thing is a massive beast, hunched over on all its legs, snarling venomously. Six legs and two tails, four eyes. Dull brown, with whitish-grey spikes trailing down its back. The epitome of alien predator. With nary a thought for its well-being, it immediately charges straight towards the recorder, and he stumbles back as he attempts to twist his body into some sort of awkward, defensive posture. The pink leaves of the forest in the background continue to sway in the breeze. "Terror. Stay back! Stay BACK!" Metal body shaking in fright, he raises his dull sword with both hands and attempts a stab directly towards the creature. The dull sword grazes off its hide, but the beast doesn't stop at all. It rams full force at him, bringing him to the ground, jaws snapping at his torso. Panicking, the Glitch somehow manages to bring his sword in between himself and the alien as a final barricade. He pushes the flat of the blade up into the thing's neck, giving him barely enough breathing room. It thankfully releases Alpha's torso, but now the jaws are attempting to go for his face. Saliva flies onto his head and cheeks in a disgusting manner. Forever, it seems to last. It's all he can do to keep the thing from bringing its rows of teeth down onto his face and ending him right then and there; obviously it doesn't care that he's made of metal. But with coolant and oil pooling at the wound in his gut, the strength is leaving his arms. It's only a matter of time now... ... until there are several loud bangs. The creature on top of him gives a loud, pained yelp, before slumping over dead. Shocked at the sudden turn of events, the recorder isn't prepared for the thing's full body weight to suddenly be on top of him, and it collapses onto his body, pinning him to the ground. All is silent, except for the sound of boots walking through the field of grass. The noise is right on top of him, and the Glitch is terrified at the possibility of having traded one enemy for another. But an old, dirty boot comes into his field of vision, and roughly shoves the thing off of him. There's the sound of moving leather, and a head leans down, looking curiously at him. Alpha first notices the... thing attached to his face, like a weird piece of metal shaped like an O. His second thought is wondering just why the hell the stranger happens to be neon yellow. The man reaches up and readjusts his cowboy hat. "Howdy!"
U҉̴̯͉͇̭̤̟̤Ṉ̸̘͕̬̗̙̬͞K҉͏͍̩̳͉͕̥̣̠̪N̶̤Ờ̮͚͎̣̠͈̥̤͞W̵҉̣̰̖̙̺̣͔N̷̵̟̜͎͚̩̖ ͏҉̤͈͉̻͍̞͇S̵͙̝̩̘̬͔͠I͕̜͍̟̻̪͜ͅG̢̝͈̘͜N̫̮ͅA҉̣̞̻̣Ļ̩̻̲̞̕ ̵̟͈ͅD͏̜̞̰̫̦͓͓͚E҉̰͈̲̘̤̝̤̜̭T̵̨̮̟̘̭È̶̖̙͉͉̻C̫͠Ţ̪̟̭̹̗̼̤̀̕ͅȨ̣̱̼́D̘̪̪̀͟ T͏͍̖͎̥͍̫R̶̰͡A̧͈̖͎̜͙̭͞C͚̼̲͠I҉̱̲̬̩̹̬̮ͅN̟̳͕̪̦̫̤G̲̬̱̬̰̗.̛̘͎̩͡.̨̪̪̀.̷̼̥̺̻̭̬͢ T̼̱̥̑̎̀ͥ͛̾̐͊R̵̡̡͇̭ͥ̈́ͧ̓͌A̧̤̯͓ͫ̍̂̾̌͜ͅC̻̝͙ͯ̽ͨE͍͉̩̺̳̐͘͢ ̬͔̟̄̆ͪ͊̾͊ͩ̕͞F̿ͮ͏̡̰͇͉̲͖ͅÀ͕̝̝̠̖͕̟̏ͣI͌ͥ̌̅̅̓ͫ͌͞͏͎̗͍̭͎Ļ̸̫̟̝͇̣̪̣ͮ͂̿ͥ̿̐͌͑ͧ͠Ȩ̶͕̻̞͙͎̲̺̫͛ͣ̎͗̿̐͂͊ͭͅD̶̸͈̠̟̋ͬ̌͞.͔̻̘͎͇̝̱ͩͧ̃̈̋ ̛̝̳͓͗̈͑̇͢D̨͙̓̍E̺̙ͫͥ͘͜-̥̣̤ͭ͡E̵̶͍̱͇̠͎͖̘͒͐ͦ̌͒̾̓Ņ͕̮̪̇ͫ͑͛ͤ̈͒͐ͣC̴̸͈͍̯̞͙̬ͫ̾ͧ͌ͯͭR̰̻̘̱̪̝̤̥͆͗ͤY̴̤͚̜̟̯̺̮ͣͧ͛̅̐́̚͞ͅP̳͔̰̩͓̲ͮ̈́̔ͯ͋͋ͩ̋̕͢͠ͅT̫̍̍͟͜͠ͅI͍̞͂ͧ̀͢Nͪ̈̉̅͛ͮ̅̐҉̗͇͖̘̟Ġ̴̢͍́ͮͅ.̵̷̨̩̥̩̗͂ͤ̇̉ͩ̇ͥ̒ ̠̯̳̟͌̒̇ͬ͆̇̽́D̶̩̪̖̩̭̣̥͓̰͗͊ͮ̅̎ͨͪ̚̚͜O̠̰͉̠̠͗͡͡W̮̳̣͇̮̃̍̄͟Ṉ͓̤͕̐̒̆ͫ̄̕͘ͅL̒͑ͩ͏͉̣̪̖O̡̺̜̺͕̬͓̮̗ͨͩ̾͒ͩͣ͛͞Ä̡̹̙̙̠͙̻́ͫD̪͚̳͙͇̓̅̍̔̊̌͐̚̕͟I͈͉̱̩̟ͬ̄̔̒N͕͖̻̲͎̱̱͊͑͆͒ͫ͘Gͤͥ͂͛ͩ̊҉̛̭̱̰̳̬̬ ̅̄͛̃͏̣͍̱T̳͖̄ͮ́̽͑͌̆O̼͖ͣ̂́ͪ͆̿̆̀ ̴͚̜̪̫͙̻̹͍ͫ̿̒ͧ́D͉̗̻͎̮̮͋̏R̄ͨ̈̄҉̦͇̺̘̦͈̹̠I͎͎̍̄ͭ̐̒̆ͯ̉͢ͅV̸͕̥̩̣ͮ̃Ȇ̷̮̘̤̱̺̥ͮ ̸̸̥̫͉̮̬̱̤̌͒ͥ́̿̚͢ͅBͮ҉̬͝-̢͇̙̖͊ͭ2̩̳͕̙̓̀̓ͬ̐̀͢.̺̜͍̋ͦ̈́ͪ̍̑ ?̣̲̹̾ͯ̂̿̆̑̚͠?̮͖̮̟̳̘̺ͫ̍ͫͥ͢͠?̷̛̮̪͑͋́͘?̨̿ͦ͑͋͏̜̬̹̩̀?̷̛̠̣̏̾ͯͬ͝-̽̾̽̂͂͏̮͕͓̮̪͖̜͙?̪̫ͧͫͦ̾̎̆ͫ̈́ War. War, as far as the eye can see. The recorder is in the thick of it, hefting some sort of staff and staring across the open, barren gray field of battle, even as bullets and plasma whiz past him. All around him are dozens of soldiers, clad in cumbersome golden armor. Their shoulder pauldrons are massive, as are their weapons. Capes of many colors, ranging from the purest of white to blood red, fall down their backs, frayed and torn. The soldiers are dirty, but not many of them see to be wounded. Explosions sound all around them. In the distant sky is a massive warship of the purest gold. Fighters of the same color streak through cloudy sky overhead. "My Liege!" The recorder turns to the left, spotting one of the soldiers kneeling before him. His cape is black, and his armor is dirtied and caked in blood. He is wearing a full helmet, which obscures his facial features. "Speak, Centurion." "My Liege, report from the eastern flank! The infidels have broken ranks and have begun to retreat! Dominus Tilakan says he and his men are advancing, and that they are slaughtering the enemy by the dozen!" "Good. Prepare your men." The armored man nods and stands up to return to his post, even as the recorder turns back to the battle. In the distance he can see the enemy troops, hunkered down and firing at his men. Some shots glance off their golden armor, but they do not succumb to their wounds. He slams the butt of his staff onto the ground, and in the corner of his vision you can discern that his own armor is probably the same as that of his men's. "MEN! THE HERETICS QUIVER IN FEAR BEFORE YOUR MIGHT! WE SHALL SHOW THEM THE POWER OF OUR GODS, AND THE POWER OF OUR WEAPONS! PREPARE YOURSELVES, SUNFORGED!" All around him the men let out a terrifying cheer. It is a shout of zealots, prepared to die for the cause. They aim their weapons and begin to stand fearlessly in the face of the enemy's projectiles, returning fire as they do so. The recorder lifts his spear, pointing it across the killing field, directly at the enemy trenches. He lets loose a massive, mechanical roar. "FOR THE LIGHT! FOR OUR GODS! CHARGE!" And charge the golden warriors did.
(( T̛̗̱͉̞̗̺̗̬̞̫̩ͧ̃͆ͪ̈ͫ̋̌ͥ̐͂̃͗̿̐͛̽̔͑̀͘͟h̐̑̄ͮ̅̃͒͏̸̞̻̯͖́ḁ̷̮͙͚̲̤̮̺̋̑̅͛̆̄ͨ̓̈͘n̷̻̞̜̬̟̗̳̺͓͈͖͖͈̦̜̘ͣ̓̈ͧ̆̈́̌ͮ̇͒͘ͅķ̨̟͇̖̻̙ͩͮ͂̆ͩͬ̒͛̿͡s̸͖̬̠̖̘̙͈̞͙͍̹͕̲̮̰ͦͤ͂̇̔͂ͤ͛̈́̇͐ͭ̒̃̉ͭ̅̔̕ ))
(( )) 326-C "Appreciative. Thank you... thank you very much." He was bowed low to the ground, staring at the metal, slightly dirty floor. His mind was a torrent of emotions, an endless whirlwind of thought. He didn't know how to react. He couldn't react. Not to this. Never to this. He had been ready to accept it, ready to admit there was nothing to be done. But on an off-chance he had gotten an opportunity and-- The human girl didn't know what she had done. She would never truly know what she had just done. He raised his armored body again, gripping both his helmet and the sphere tightly, before stumbling around and heading out the door. A burst of steam greeted his entrance to the Undercity and he quickly placed his helmet upon his head. There were others there. Some woman in a strange mask passed him in an attempt to speak with the girl, but he didn't see her. He didn't see any of them. He felt lighter. ["You and I... we're going to change this world! This village of tyrants!" He grabbed a blowtorch from the tray. The world went white from the pain.] He practically tripped down the stairs and began the slow march back to the surface of the colony. His grip was tight as durasteel, the mental silence permeable. He saw nothing. He heard nothing... nothing. Nothing. Was it over? Maybe it was over. He climbed the stairs. The dirty, gross, steamy stairs. Climbed from the depths, hauled himself back onto the surface. Terrified. Disgusted. Hopeful. Happy. Endless rage. Endless. Like an ocean of anger, a monsoon of vengeance. It stewed within him, simmered, building and building and building evermore as he waited and waited for that asshole to show his godforsaken fa And then he remembered his grip on the object, and it all... melted. The drain was unplugged. Down and down it went. Hollow. He felt so hollow and light, like he could just grow a pair of wings and take off and leave it all behind. ["I do regret this. Really, I do. You had a chance, you know? But - no no, don't struggle." He patted his head in a faux-caring manner, before reaching back and grabbing a small round object.] The sunlight was blinding. He was out of the cave. People passed him wordlessly but he didn't care. Not anymore. He wasn't a threat. Not anymore. Tired, so very tired. It felt like he could sleep for five hundred years. But no. Not yet. He held it up in the sunlight. It eclipsed that local star, blackened against the warm rays. Deactivated. Empty. "Shhh, dear brother, shhh. It'll all be over soon." At long last. Free! ------------------------------ (( a big thank you to based @Aiko Ikari for helping to officially begin the second arc of the journey ))
