[19][17] You close your eyes, focusing on the void within you, the place where the voices come from...and you fall into them. A cold void of blackness burning through you. Something outside your consciousness echoes, but you can only hear the echo.
Ne̶̠̳̲̜͇r̗̲͔͘v͈̖͢ò͉̦̮ú͖͉̬s͚͔̰̗͍ͅ ̺̝S̸͉͕yst̸̟e̢̘̜̠̝̮̰mͅ:͓̺ ̘͚̜͍̺̘͙͝A̱̖̘̱̻̗͖̕c̟͈͓̫͙͠t̷͍̰͔͔̺̗ͅi̬̤v̞̟͝a͢t̢̼̹e̠͘ͅ ̸̪u̟͚̭̺̳̝̱n̫̻̱͚̭̺̠c̖͓̣̠̟o̹͘n̘̪c̪̦̺̺̺͙̕i̶̲̩̟̞̭͔͓o̹̼̦͎u̱̩ṣ̯̯̙ ̥̬͖̜b̲͇̦͓͇as̰͔̭͎̻̯i̸̦c̠̳͓̗̗͔ ̫̭̼l͞i̹̻̬f̰͉͜e̯̹̪ ̝͉s̤͇̞̥̰̮̀u͙̹p̙̤̭͎͢p̧̱or̀t̝̼͘
You open your eyes again, and you lay in the sand, feeling the burning hot grains against your back with a vividness that not even boiling water can match. The wind howls across the wastes, carving through mesas and plateaus. Two suns burn high in the sky, filling you with warmth. A vessel sits nearby, smaller than some, but larger than any Hovercraft you've ever seen. Red sand and white salt pile up around its landing struts.
You rise to your feet with a yawn, hand coming to your mouth as you make your way to the vessel. You key in a code instinctively, stepping into the cool metal airlock. The mechanical door shuts behind you, and you close your eyes as various hues of light blink through the room. Fresh air, humid and smelling of your new home is vented in, hiding the familiar dusty scent of your previous life.
You check a small console only to find no new messages and busy yourself with a jog around the track, then a number of isometric exercises. With your exercise done for the day, you--why do I have a beard? Where am I? Who-- [17][18]
You open the door to the armory and step through, towards the Mark Fifteen. With humorous intent long gone, replaced by the ritual of a lonely man, you ask, "Having a good day? Wonderful. I'm glad you slept well, but you're going to be able to wake up soon." It didn't really respond, it never did, not until those sickening spikes were deep into the tips of his fingers. Then it spoke. It spoke of war. Of nightmare. Of a bloodlust more ancient than civilizations. It didn't speak until they were one, joined together into a brutal war machine.
What was worse was how he could already feel his hand slipping into the glove. You can stop at anytime, you reason, content. This is your history, you past lives and your future, why shouldn't you want this connection? You have no others. They all left you alone. But its been there for you, all this time, and will be there for you, all this time.O̿͊͗̋҉̺̩̟̟̻̻͇̯̪̗̱̗̫̰̺́v̸̢͍̻͉͓̞̝̤̙͙̯̮͖̭̝̱̄ͧ̓̊ͯ̎̇̓̚ę̸̸̗̲̙͙̪̗̥̥̈́̒̏̅̌ͮrͮ̑̃̀ͮͤ̎҉̴̱̬̪͖͖̝͖͇͟r̶̨̼̥̫̭͕͆̍ͪ̈͗̃̎ͧ̑͗͒͟͞͠ḯ̴̧̛̹̭̱̦̯ͦ̏ͯ̎̈́ͦͭ͊̿́ͫ̓d̷̷̢̻̤̞̪̠̼̫ͮͫͯͣ̏͋ͧͨ͢ȇ̴̺̰̟͚̼ͯͧͧ͌ͭ͛͊ͭͮ̏̂ͤͫ́ ̢ͨ̄̇ͧ́̒ͧͪ͑͛̀͏́҉̛̠̯̬͓͙͙̖̙̖̻̗͈̘̻̦̖A̶̢̢̛̜͍̗̥̼̞̭̳̝͉̹̤̙̟͚̓̈́ͧ̽̒̃̄́c͆ͯ̈́͆͛͛ͪ͂̃ͣͩ̍͌͝͏̧͢͏̮̙̪̟t́ͪ̏͋̅́҉̧̧̡̛̪̳͔̬iͫͯ͑ͬ̒̍̉̇ͥͬ̑ͬ̿̀̚҉̧̣̝̟̞̺v̧͖̱̮̖͔̘̖̦̜̠̇́̇ͧ̔̾͂͊̓ͤͥ̊̄̊̾͂ͩ̐͡à̶̵͓͓̥̗̖̫͎̳̯͕ͯ̈́̿ͩ͂͒ͬͣ̐̒̑͆̓̅́̚̕͠ṯ̝͙̱͓͔̱͙̘̣̯̰͒͑ͥ̐̀͢͟ė̸̵͔͖̤͕̥̙͔̩̿̉̆̈̒͊ͥ̔ͭ̊̔̾̓̚͞͝d̆ͥͬͯ̎̑̿ͧ͊̓͌ͤͨ̽̅́҉̮̲͍̱̘̯̞͚͉̹̤̩̱̪̯͎̕͜ ̴̶̴̧̞͎̜͔͎̣͔̐ͧ͋ͥ͡-̥͉̺͖̗̖̟͚̫̪͎̘ͭ̿͌ͧ̑̈́̊̽͜͡-̵̼̭̥͚̙̟̼̯̥͈̪̗̳̱͚͚̪̆̋̐̅ͥͤ̎͑̋͌ͥͪ̊̐ͦ͂ͤͅ ̴̡̝͈̤̲̯̪͈̦ͭ̆̆͋͛̈̑̇͐̏̀̅̃͊̑M͇͔̞ͭ̉ͩͪ́͢͠c̈ͦ̈̍͋̒ͥ͆̽̑̔̔͏͏̯͉̖̬͠Ç̪̻̥͚͕͔̹͇̏̑͒̑͑̅́̀̚͢͡ŗ̗̮̜̖̻͕̫ͤͨͯ̉̽ͨ̀ͥ̅̍̕e̵̴̷̳̦͖̦̞̓͌͋̐̄̔̋̅͒̾̄̈́̏͞a̧͆͗͗͂͋͒̄ͤ̃̉ͥ̔͑ͪͦ́҉̢̧̥͈̻̱̺̮̱̺̪͖͉͙͉͟r̃̂ͭ́̚҉̶̢̣̖͍̳̻̻͙̣̙̫̦̦̠̙ͅy̛͚̟͓̳ͣ̾ͧ̓̅̃̐͊̏͑ͥ̔ͮ͗́̚͢͜͠.̈́̇͛́ͩ͏͏͚͇͎̝
[12][2]Your hand slips into the glove, and despite your nose dripping blood on the floor, despite McFee trying to pull you away, you activate your powers, focusing on those tiny little atoms of metal that stick out into the fingers of the gloves, connected into impossible chains of...of...madness? No element, no molecule, no matter can be that compact, that complex, that-- spikes slip deep into the tips of your fingers, into the bones.
But despite the promise, you don't feel whole. Just wrong. Th-this isn't right. This connection... but the glove, once loose, now feels like a second skin, tightening around your hand and digging more needles into your bones. A shiver runs down your spine, as you feel disgusted with it, with yourself, with everything, and you grip your arm hard. You strain, hearing your elbow pop, hearing your sinews and muscles start to come apart as you desperately try to rip your---his arm off at the elbow--
[14+3 vs 7]
I̠͇̰̝ͅm̶̘̭̝̯̻͎p̴̟̯̻̼r̰̰͎o̦̞̹p̘̬e̞̼͔̦̖̝r̙̲͖͔̦͈ ͔͔͕̞̫̜Á̝̭̳͇̣̜̗r͕̤̭͟ͅm̘͎̭͍͔͚o͍͙̣͖̟̭r̮̤̼̙̭ ͚͓̭͞F͠i̹̝͢t̸̩̲t̼͙̖i҉̱͓̬̦̮̰̦n͈̱g̯͓̮:͕ ̧̳͈Ú̝̯̫̦̩͕̲s͔̠̥i̖n̘̕g̥̭̟̠ ̢d̗͍̱̦̰̖̳͝e̗s̴̳i̯͓̝͓̝̥̕g͖̯̹n͉̭̭̬at̲̤̤̜͕̕ͅi͖̩o̝n̛͎͍̠̣̖͇ ̲̙͎M̭̙͍c̫͉̖̱̘̖͇C͓͙̤̼͓̝͘r̷͔e̠̯̱͓̤̝̤͟a̜͈͙r͈̜̪̻͘y͉̻͔̣ ̨̱̠̼̪͓̥s͖̩̠̻i͎͉g̢̝͈̩̫n̗̯a͎̻̭̫̣ͅt҉͈͉̞͎u̖̩̥̙̤͜r͏e̤̗̪̲̼͍ ̜ͅt̖͚̦̪̟̮͔o̝̥̱̤͎͕͙ ͡i̛̲̺̭͈͎̠ͅn̻̮͙̺̘ṭ̰̭͇̣̰ͅe̩̯r̻͚f̢̹a͉̜̫͝ͅc̞͎͖̫͈͍̞e̞̖̺̞.͇͍̪
̪i̴n̘̹̝̱̱̻̺t́e̼̗̳̠͙̠̦r͈̙̝͕͖f̥͈̯̞͚̪ͅa̫ce̯̻̗:̥̺͚͓̙͡Su̩c̺̞̤̟̗͇ͅc͔̤̙̮e͓̹̙͕̘s̷͉̩͉͉͇͎ͅs̼̬f̮͚̗̩͕̪̦u͠l̶̠͚̫̥̭.
The disgust fades slowly, leaving you cradling your broken arm as blood blooms beneath the surface. The glove doesn't come off, but doesn't dig any more needles into your body. Guards approach from behind, but none of them hold hostile intent-- Zachary wraps a coat around you, calling for a medic.
There was supposed to be a connection, but it feels instead like you're wearing someone's skin.[Greetings 'McCreary', what is our primary objective today?] A soft voice echoes in your head, polite, gentle, almost loving. But it almost encourages you to throw up instead of feel comforted.
[You have injuries. Should I lower nutrient transfer to allow for faster healing?]
You are Pheobe Gainer AKA Alphira
Local Time: 7:15 pm 6/19/2011
You feel disgusted with yourself.
There is metal purposefully embedded in your arm. It itches as it scabs over. A glove of gold and black metal is tightly bound to your other hand.
You have a severely broken arm, blood discolors the skin beneath the surface, and you can't move your fingers.
You have a splitting headache.
You're rebuilding muscle definition.
You are starving.
Torso:
A fitted grey shirt with long, tight sleeves. Lower Body:
New grey semi-formal, military-style pants.Hands:
A pair of leather gloves. Feet:
Woolen socks(hidden)
Feet:
A pair of new leather boots.[100 credits] in local currency.
Overload: Amateur.
Inferno : Amateur
Healing Factor: Amateur.
-
Endurance Boost: Beginner.
Matter Manipulation:Earth?::Beginner
M̽ͥ̏̇̒̽͛̇ͩͦ͏̷̡̨̳͈̦̥̥̣̟͖̩̜̱̰̖c͇̠̮͙͓̗͗̈́ͦ̇͌̌̇́͜͜͡C̴̵̢̱̩͎̩̗̬͎͈̘̪̝̋̎ͯͨͤͪ͂͐̆ͨͩ͂͑̀̚͝r̷̛̮͖͚͍̗̺̦̘̩̼͍̭̥͍͊ͮͯ͑̊̄̏ͨͩ͟e͈̟͚̟͈͙͌ͮ͊̉̄̓ͫ̍̅̓̄ͥ͟͠a̡̢̡͍̠̥̺̭̪̲͙ͥ̎̃̄̋͊̋̈̈̃̽͛̔ͧ̑ͥ̊ͤ̕rͪͯ͗́ͫͨ̾͆ͣ̔̌̀́͝͏̛̬̟̙̹̤̯̥̫̻͓̞̘̭͚͓y̛̙̮͖̩̞͛ͬ̎̌͐̀͌ͣ͐̑͆̈͆͘ ̯͎͕͎͍̯̱̬̮̮̘͉̘̫͉̲̎̀ͪ̐ͯ̒͗͌̽̈ͫ̀̀͢M̏̈͐͋̉͐ͥ͛ͨ̅̍̇̇̚҉̷̸̴̮̲̦͎̺̙͈̖̀ë̶̴̢̬̰̠͖̩͍͈͚̮̬̖̗́͑̒̎͌̂̎͗͌ͧ̃̉̈́͜͢ͅm̵̡̱̭͚̤̮̗̠ͬ͆ͥͫ̈́̓̿ͨ͢͜͝o̴̸̙͓̬̬ͬ̂̈̐̌̈́͆͌̓̇͐̔̊̒̎̽ͨ̀͘͝r̷̨̬̼̥͍̭̼̣̭̮̊͆͗̌͛́ͯ͒̋͋̿͒ͧ͒̑ͥ͐͟i̛ͯ̓̒̌ͪ͆͆͑͆̉͂҉̧҉̘̤̠̫̩̰̞̟͚eͩ̆̌̐͊͐͂̍̑͒̂͘͡҉͔̹̜̩̣̳̪s̪̮͈̳̦̬̜̼̦͎̩͙̳̖ͮ̑͋ͥ̀͘͞.̧̍̔ͯ͌̅̒͆ͨ̎̔̃̐͑͗̒͝҉̢̱̩̗͖ You are under contract with The Brotherhood of Scholars for twenty-three years. [Angel] of The Holy City State of SEED
--High Influence within its borders
--Full command of all military resources, as approved by Crusader General
--Full command of all military resources, in emergencies
--Assigned a personal team of researchers, medical officers, and trainers.
Grandmother(adopted): Mother Nicole Gainer, (Beloved),
--Contactable in person.
--High Influence with Scholars, Crusaders, the Thornton Family
--Current lawful ruler of Steelworks 9 Region (Crusader Supported)
Organization: The Thornton Family
--Contactable through Mail, Emma
--High Influence within Steelworks 9 Region
--Allied with Nicole Gainer, you
Contact, Threat: William Thornton
--Contactable through Mail, Emma
--High influence within The Thornton Family
--Feared within Steelworks 9 Region
--Allied with Nicole Gainer, you
Contact, Military Trainer Coordinator: Tyler Hop (Cordial)
Lover/Adjutant: Emma Thornton (Content-Exhausted)
--Low influence within The Thornton Family
Friends(?) (Lost Contact):
-McGee Foster
-James Foster
-Johnathan Shellton
-Jesse Hardhouse
-Erica Hail
-Amanda Silversmith
-'Other' Eric Armstrong
-John Frost
-Quincy Black
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