The false sky had slowly cycled to a beautiful twilight, an image that Mahin did not doubt was stolen from a more pleasant rock somewhere in the void of this yawning, wounded Zone. People had appeared in abundance, after that. Marching and scrambling all across the streets that surrounded her. Some had come from buildings, leaving their occupations for the day. Others had merely been waiting for the lights to dim, before putting on their nightly shows. If asked where she had come from, or where she was going, Mahin would not respond. She had bigger things to worry about...and those worries had been tearing at her since exiting the Observer's presence a mere thirty minutes prior.
So she spoke, to herself, seeking the best place to begin the monumental task set before her.
"It starts with a name, whispered from a secret place...probably a Semi-Corporeal Space...for the entire Station to hear. That's assuming they're tuned in, though. One of the interesting things about this anomaly is...it sticks to a pattern and has a very specific method of attaining its goal...whatever that is. Mama O was right to be worried about it..there have already been..." Mahin walked among the Prime Entities for the first time in what felt like ages, stretching her legs with long strides; drinking in the sights and sounds of East City. Most of it she could do without, wishing the noise would abate while she was trying to piece together the solution to a problem most of them would never know about. "Six potential victims, with no obvious ties." She had found the number, albeit slowly. "And at least one of those has something to do with what's going on." This place was certainly slowing down her capacity for utility. She sighed at length, throwing her back against a storefront and sinking to the ground; earning a few sidelong glances.
Somehow, the Guide could never quite pick out a singular conversation amidst the static, even when surrounded by voices. Too many veiled thoughts or animalistic outbursts scented the air, making the entirety of Hati Station feel like a Decaying Space. It was not unnerving, but it did set her on guard. Delusions had been her primary enemy since the moment of her creation, and the possibility of their presence made Mahin ever wary. Despite this, she still enjoyed her idle roaming among the grid of mortal endeavors. She did not appear much unlike the others who inhabited the Station, dressed in standard garb; a too-large hoodie of appropriately neutral color, purple-and-green striped leggings and a pair of ragged sneakers. This was wholly for the sake of slinking among the Prime Entities, however, and gathering information wherever it may present its self. Though, perhaps, a part of the Guide did wonder at what it was like to be a Prime Entity.
That thought, however, was one very much discouraged by 'Mama O'. Mahin let it slide away, and not for the first time, to be fantasized over at a later date. For now, she had work to do. A lot of it, from what she was starting to understand.
"Well, no obvious ties from the outside. The problem is making the connection apparent," she said to herself, resuming her analysis, raising a hand to lightly caress the edge of her hood, "and rounding up the people who can do something about it." An idea had come to her, of course, but it was a risky one. It had come to her the moment she had materialized just outside the City's boundaries, as though it had been planted there all along; simply waiting for her programming to acknowledge it. "But still...that seems a bit much..." Mahin shrugged helplessly, after a moment, closing her hands and folding her arms. "There's no helping it, I guess."
The Guide didn't stand, nor did she move for a long while. Instead, she cast herself into the tempestuous, ephemeral noise created by the Prime Entities; grating against the very fabric of Corporeal Reality until her temporary shell was abandoned.
Where before a false twilight had twinkled over the divided city, Mahin now drifted through a particularly heavy vein of sluggish Resonance. To her, it was a comfort, a buffer against cold Corporeal Reality. She pushed phantom limbs against the current and swam along it, a slow process to her senses; where a Prime Entity would be broken down to their core data and dispersed throughout the Zone. Flickering chroma surrounded her, indeterminate in their primary hue; the roots of ever ything that would 'exist'. The city its self was a small sphere beneath her, an errant cloud of reds and dangerously wavering greys; the fog of corporeal existence broken only by pinpoints of light within. She slowed herself, struggling against the flow of Resonance.
Here Mahin divided, a silhouette cracking and breaking; her pieces, save a remaining mote, speeding along the Resonance before being cast out. She watched herself, through various angles and perspectives; each fragment of her consciousness seeking out the most vibrant points below. Technically, this action was prohibited to her by the Observer, but the Guide was always lax with such restrictions...and knew well that this was the best way to expedite the apprehension and subsequent erasure of this developing anomaly.
Somewhere in the core that remained of her, Mahin felt a growing sense of dread. As her lights spiralled downward, beyond the beauty that bordered Esoteric Reality. It was dangerous, to allow herself to become unrestrained in this manner. Yet, the risk was little compared to what was asked of her. Her 'life' was not so important as the stability of Corporeal Reality.
She would have smiled ruefully, if able, with the thought that followed. Instead, fractured Mahin watched herself invading the monolithic Restech Beacons of East City. Her interference would certainly be noted, and her presence possibly uncovered by their unknown foe...but so, too, would others soon know of the Guide who had need of them.
"But first..." her voice was a tiny whisper, even inside her mind, "there must be a moment of chaos."
So she spoke, to herself, seeking the best place to begin the monumental task set before her.
"It starts with a name, whispered from a secret place...probably a Semi-Corporeal Space...for the entire Station to hear. That's assuming they're tuned in, though. One of the interesting things about this anomaly is...it sticks to a pattern and has a very specific method of attaining its goal...whatever that is. Mama O was right to be worried about it..there have already been..." Mahin walked among the Prime Entities for the first time in what felt like ages, stretching her legs with long strides; drinking in the sights and sounds of East City. Most of it she could do without, wishing the noise would abate while she was trying to piece together the solution to a problem most of them would never know about. "Six potential victims, with no obvious ties." She had found the number, albeit slowly. "And at least one of those has something to do with what's going on." This place was certainly slowing down her capacity for utility. She sighed at length, throwing her back against a storefront and sinking to the ground; earning a few sidelong glances.
Somehow, the Guide could never quite pick out a singular conversation amidst the static, even when surrounded by voices. Too many veiled thoughts or animalistic outbursts scented the air, making the entirety of Hati Station feel like a Decaying Space. It was not unnerving, but it did set her on guard. Delusions had been her primary enemy since the moment of her creation, and the possibility of their presence made Mahin ever wary. Despite this, she still enjoyed her idle roaming among the grid of mortal endeavors. She did not appear much unlike the others who inhabited the Station, dressed in standard garb; a too-large hoodie of appropriately neutral color, purple-and-green striped leggings and a pair of ragged sneakers. This was wholly for the sake of slinking among the Prime Entities, however, and gathering information wherever it may present its self. Though, perhaps, a part of the Guide did wonder at what it was like to be a Prime Entity.
That thought, however, was one very much discouraged by 'Mama O'. Mahin let it slide away, and not for the first time, to be fantasized over at a later date. For now, she had work to do. A lot of it, from what she was starting to understand.
"Well, no obvious ties from the outside. The problem is making the connection apparent," she said to herself, resuming her analysis, raising a hand to lightly caress the edge of her hood, "and rounding up the people who can do something about it." An idea had come to her, of course, but it was a risky one. It had come to her the moment she had materialized just outside the City's boundaries, as though it had been planted there all along; simply waiting for her programming to acknowledge it. "But still...that seems a bit much..." Mahin shrugged helplessly, after a moment, closing her hands and folding her arms. "There's no helping it, I guess."
The Guide didn't stand, nor did she move for a long while. Instead, she cast herself into the tempestuous, ephemeral noise created by the Prime Entities; grating against the very fabric of Corporeal Reality until her temporary shell was abandoned.
Where before a false twilight had twinkled over the divided city, Mahin now drifted through a particularly heavy vein of sluggish Resonance. To her, it was a comfort, a buffer against cold Corporeal Reality. She pushed phantom limbs against the current and swam along it, a slow process to her senses; where a Prime Entity would be broken down to their core data and dispersed throughout the Zone. Flickering chroma surrounded her, indeterminate in their primary hue; the roots of ever ything that would 'exist'. The city its self was a small sphere beneath her, an errant cloud of reds and dangerously wavering greys; the fog of corporeal existence broken only by pinpoints of light within. She slowed herself, struggling against the flow of Resonance.
Here Mahin divided, a silhouette cracking and breaking; her pieces, save a remaining mote, speeding along the Resonance before being cast out. She watched herself, through various angles and perspectives; each fragment of her consciousness seeking out the most vibrant points below. Technically, this action was prohibited to her by the Observer, but the Guide was always lax with such restrictions...and knew well that this was the best way to expedite the apprehension and subsequent erasure of this developing anomaly.
Somewhere in the core that remained of her, Mahin felt a growing sense of dread. As her lights spiralled downward, beyond the beauty that bordered Esoteric Reality. It was dangerous, to allow herself to become unrestrained in this manner. Yet, the risk was little compared to what was asked of her. Her 'life' was not so important as the stability of Corporeal Reality.
She would have smiled ruefully, if able, with the thought that followed. Instead, fractured Mahin watched herself invading the monolithic Restech Beacons of East City. Her interference would certainly be noted, and her presence possibly uncovered by their unknown foe...but so, too, would others soon know of the Guide who had need of them.
"But first..." her voice was a tiny whisper, even inside her mind, "there must be a moment of chaos."
Old Earth music was hard to come by, in this day and age. A handful of people on Hati Station had ever even bothered to look for the stuff. Darrius had it in spades, stored away on various mediums; all adapted to work with the monstrous, patchwork radio he had cobbled together. The song playing now was a long time favorite of his, a jaunty tune that laid bare the roots for modern music. He couldn't recall the name, immediately, but that was rarely an issue with The Starlit Broadcast. People didn't phone in and request the names, or complain about it. Instead, they simply listened; as he often did, himself.
He extinguished a cigarette as the final bass-blow came to gradual cessation. With that, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on a cluttered desk, letting silence linger a moment before activating his microphone. It was about time to begin his ritual. One day of each week had a segment devoted specifically to his 'Death Roll Call'. A prophetic 'list' from which he would read...and await the results.
"Tonight's the night you've all been waiting for," came a voice from the shadows, smoky and smooth all at once, "yep, that's right, it's Tuesday night, baby. That means the Death Roll Call is at hand, my friends. Now, tighten ya belts and hold onto ya hats...because who knows when it might be you?" He gave his most haunting, cartoonish laugh and sat back; the distant sound of objects being shifted punctuating the silence that was to follow.
Instead, a peal of static burst from a host of his collected machines. Those listening would have heard a soft swear, once the squall subsided, and, again, the distant moving of objects.
"Just a sec, good folks. Papa's gotta check on somethin'." A gloved finger shut the microphone down with a swipe and a figure stood in the darkness. The apartment Darrius used was a strange maze of cables and modified Restech that both dimmed and illuminated the room all at once; making the figure who stood in its center difficult to discern. It was clear, however, that Darrius was somewhat distraught. "This is a fu-...this is a mess. Who would have created a distortion like this?" He had taken to talking to himself, as of late, a habit he did not entirely enjoy...but one that abated the constant silence that seemed to surround him.
"Do they not know...?" He considered for a moment, standing perfectly still. There were things at play, things he was partially responsible for, that threatened the entirety of Corporeal Reality. However, having the Observer and her Guides interfere only meant that he had become a target. A target they were trying to flush out. He had felt their attempt at observance, earlier, and had laughed at them. Now he was not certain that they were so weak as they had displayed.
"Very well, two can play this game. I had hoped not to escalate things so quickly, but you are forcing my hand." He knew well what would transpire from that singular interference. Restech rarely suffered such malfunctions, and he suspected that his devices were not the only afflicted. With a grimace he approached his station, again, and sat without ceremony; resurrecting his broadcast with a slight chuckle.
"Sorry 'bout that, folks. Looks like we hadda little bitta tech trouble. But ya know this broadcast can't be kept down! Ya know we gonna keep it goin'! If ya still here, I wanna thank ya for stickin' through. Now...we gonna get to the meat of this segment. The motherfuckin' Death Roll! Ya know it, ya love it and it's back again, boys n'girls." Darrius reclined, putting his hands behind his head. He had no list. There never was a list for the Death Roll Call. It was preordained. It always had been. It was data...just like everything else.
"And lemme tell ya, friends...this week's gonna be a big one. Too big for me to name names, tonight. So, in an unprecedented move, the likes'a which ain't never been seen on this broadcast before...! I'ma make y'all wait until tomorrow." No one knew exactly how long the Starlit Broadcast had been running, except Darrius, but since his introduction of the Death Roll two weeks ago; he had heard whispers on the street, had seen posts about it. It was catching on. Eyes weren't open, just yet, but the dreamers were starting to take their first steps; even if they didn't know it.
"Don't worry, lads and lasses. It hurts me just as much as it hurts all'a you. Stay tuned, stay tight and stay vigilant, East City. We're all in for a bumpy ride. As always, Darrius is here to soothe them wounds and ease them burdens. Keep it easy, keep it rollin' and keep the future in mind, E.C. This is papa Darrius, cutting the show short, and signin' out for the night. Y'all be good, out there. The Death Roll is rollin' out tomorrow night, so remember to tune in...I'll be waitin', baby. For now, just enjoy the music."
Darrius had taken those steps a long time ago. Treading that well-worn path again and again, though he doubted that such a unique phenomena was known to any but himself...and a select few prying, neutral eyes. He felt a distant pity, as he let the next song roll. One that spoke of a journey through hell to obtain heaven, one he felt vastly appropriate for what was surely transpiring just outside his veiled window.
He extinguished a cigarette as the final bass-blow came to gradual cessation. With that, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on a cluttered desk, letting silence linger a moment before activating his microphone. It was about time to begin his ritual. One day of each week had a segment devoted specifically to his 'Death Roll Call'. A prophetic 'list' from which he would read...and await the results.
"Tonight's the night you've all been waiting for," came a voice from the shadows, smoky and smooth all at once, "yep, that's right, it's Tuesday night, baby. That means the Death Roll Call is at hand, my friends. Now, tighten ya belts and hold onto ya hats...because who knows when it might be you?" He gave his most haunting, cartoonish laugh and sat back; the distant sound of objects being shifted punctuating the silence that was to follow.
Instead, a peal of static burst from a host of his collected machines. Those listening would have heard a soft swear, once the squall subsided, and, again, the distant moving of objects.
"Just a sec, good folks. Papa's gotta check on somethin'." A gloved finger shut the microphone down with a swipe and a figure stood in the darkness. The apartment Darrius used was a strange maze of cables and modified Restech that both dimmed and illuminated the room all at once; making the figure who stood in its center difficult to discern. It was clear, however, that Darrius was somewhat distraught. "This is a fu-...this is a mess. Who would have created a distortion like this?" He had taken to talking to himself, as of late, a habit he did not entirely enjoy...but one that abated the constant silence that seemed to surround him.
"Do they not know...?" He considered for a moment, standing perfectly still. There were things at play, things he was partially responsible for, that threatened the entirety of Corporeal Reality. However, having the Observer and her Guides interfere only meant that he had become a target. A target they were trying to flush out. He had felt their attempt at observance, earlier, and had laughed at them. Now he was not certain that they were so weak as they had displayed.
"Very well, two can play this game. I had hoped not to escalate things so quickly, but you are forcing my hand." He knew well what would transpire from that singular interference. Restech rarely suffered such malfunctions, and he suspected that his devices were not the only afflicted. With a grimace he approached his station, again, and sat without ceremony; resurrecting his broadcast with a slight chuckle.
"Sorry 'bout that, folks. Looks like we hadda little bitta tech trouble. But ya know this broadcast can't be kept down! Ya know we gonna keep it goin'! If ya still here, I wanna thank ya for stickin' through. Now...we gonna get to the meat of this segment. The motherfuckin' Death Roll! Ya know it, ya love it and it's back again, boys n'girls." Darrius reclined, putting his hands behind his head. He had no list. There never was a list for the Death Roll Call. It was preordained. It always had been. It was data...just like everything else.
"And lemme tell ya, friends...this week's gonna be a big one. Too big for me to name names, tonight. So, in an unprecedented move, the likes'a which ain't never been seen on this broadcast before...! I'ma make y'all wait until tomorrow." No one knew exactly how long the Starlit Broadcast had been running, except Darrius, but since his introduction of the Death Roll two weeks ago; he had heard whispers on the street, had seen posts about it. It was catching on. Eyes weren't open, just yet, but the dreamers were starting to take their first steps; even if they didn't know it.
"Don't worry, lads and lasses. It hurts me just as much as it hurts all'a you. Stay tuned, stay tight and stay vigilant, East City. We're all in for a bumpy ride. As always, Darrius is here to soothe them wounds and ease them burdens. Keep it easy, keep it rollin' and keep the future in mind, E.C. This is papa Darrius, cutting the show short, and signin' out for the night. Y'all be good, out there. The Death Roll is rollin' out tomorrow night, so remember to tune in...I'll be waitin', baby. For now, just enjoy the music."
Darrius had taken those steps a long time ago. Treading that well-worn path again and again, though he doubted that such a unique phenomena was known to any but himself...and a select few prying, neutral eyes. He felt a distant pity, as he let the next song roll. One that spoke of a journey through hell to obtain heaven, one he felt vastly appropriate for what was surely transpiring just outside his veiled window.
Noel slowed her pace, the slapping of shoes against concrete eventually becoming nonexistent. She had been listening closely and found no joy in tonight's Starlit Broadcast. "Fuck you, Darrius," she said, taking a moment to look around. It was her usual 'roadwork' route halfway mark; 'The Neon Strip'. Though it sounded like a 'gentleman's club', the Neon Strip was more an amalgam of recreational shops. People came here from all over East City to catch a break, to play games or hit a bar. She didn't have much interest in any of that, though she had been known to stop into an 'Immersion Station' to play some of the fighting games.
It was unsurprisingly busy and bright. People moved through the area constantly, groups laughing and talking. Her perpetual scowl deepened slightly, observing them. Fuck all of them, too. Malicious loneliness laced the thought, but she quickly let it go; turning her attention to the small device in her hands. It was nearly transparent and just as thin as a Cred-Chip, laced with green veins that would sometimes light up. The device, its self, was just a cheap Restech 'phone'; though even Noel knew that its capabilities were far beyond that, in the right hands.
The lights cast by the Neon Strip were myriad, coming from nearly every angle. It had become something of a tradition for each shop to adorn their entrances, or, in some cases, their entire storefronts, with glaring, shifting, alternating lights of undulating chroma. Personally, she found the lights to be wonderful; when she wasn't annoyed. They gave the place a sense of life and mirth; along with the music that constantly played. The people gathered there reveled in it, while Noel simply watched. While she couldn't explain it, if asked, the girl felt like something was about to happen.
And it did. Very quickly. For a moment, she thought she'd gone blind. The Neon Strip was suddenly wrapped in darkness, each of the lights extinguished as one. Her heart beat more quickly, her throat tightening and her fists clenching. People cried out; some panicking, others joking loudly, a couple of surprised sounds. She remained silent, but looked around frantically. The rows of squat buildings seemed strange, without their radiance. While Noel surveyed, she caught, barely, the sound of someone calling for the E.C.R.D terminal.
The E.C.R.D consisted of some human officers, though Noel knew that most of them never involved themselves with the problems of East City directly. Instead, they would send Morph Frames. As far as she knew, the Morph Frames were just highly advanced robots; very fast shape-shifting robots. Black, sleek, fast and terrifying. A few run-ins with them had taught her that fleeing was almost useless, once they had managed to scan you; and one instance had seared into her that resisting them was just as useless. As much as she disliked people...Noel could honestly say that she hated the E.C.R.D and their toys.
While she considered this...the Neon Strip came alive once more. As it had been before, music, lights and a loud cheer from the group. Ignoring them, and fighting her rising irritation, Noel's thoughts turned to the strange noise she had heard during the broadcast. Her phone had gone haywire, for a moment, producing a piercing peal of static before returning to normality. I wonder what that was all about, anyway...I thought these things weren't supposed to malfunction...and the lights... She moved away from the main street and leaned against the less-exposed side of some Restech shop. Maybe it had something to with-...Nah, couldn't be. How the fuck would a radio station send out a signal to fuck up a...but...then again... she shook her head violently, putting the thin translucent thing away. You're just too worked up. It's nothin'. Just calm up.
She took slow breaths, folding her arms across her stomach and tried to let the tension leave her. Noel rolled her shoulders and lowered her head, noting a bead of sweat that fell from her nose. As it hit the ground, a heavy sound pierced the air...followed by dozens of screams. Her head rose sharply, panic seeping into her core. While Noel wasn't the brightest student, she had learned a few things about Restech during her life. What she had just heard was the decompression of concentrated Resonance; a slug of energy that would tear apart anything in its path.
What the fuck is happening?!
Fortunately, Noel was not in the projectile's path; but she watched as it passed by. Ripples followed in its wake, distorting the air. Automatically, she ran. It was not a wise move, but it was what her instincts demanded. Taking to the main street, along with several others, she saw the source of the attack. A Morph Frame stood at the center of the Neon Strip, just in front of a large fountain. It was easily twice as tall as an average human, currently in a bipedal but completely inhuman form. Thick legs, covered in a heavy plating, supported and anchored it; talon-like 'toes' pierced deeply into the concrete. A squat, squarish body swiveled; nodes lighting up across the strange bulges that served in the place of arms. At the front of the body was a singular ocular, purple and pulsing in time with the arm-nodes.
The air around it was heavy with Resonance, quivering in outward ripples. Noel turned, knowing well what was coming next. Despite the running she had done earlier, she was only technically half-done, and this was more than enough to send her sprinting. Despite the distance between them and the frantic cries of the fleeing crowd, she could still hear the Resonance Slug's baritone progress. It tore through the air and struck three people behind her. Blood sprayed on the back of her legs and the meaty thud of landing body-parts overpowered the sound of her flight.
That could've been me! Run! Run! Where the fuck do I go?!
In the distance, a low hum permeated the air. Noel cried out, in fury and in desperation, lowering her head and pushing herself. She had made good progress, outrunning most of the others caught in the slaughter. Against her better judgement, she turned to look.
It was unsurprisingly busy and bright. People moved through the area constantly, groups laughing and talking. Her perpetual scowl deepened slightly, observing them. Fuck all of them, too. Malicious loneliness laced the thought, but she quickly let it go; turning her attention to the small device in her hands. It was nearly transparent and just as thin as a Cred-Chip, laced with green veins that would sometimes light up. The device, its self, was just a cheap Restech 'phone'; though even Noel knew that its capabilities were far beyond that, in the right hands.
The lights cast by the Neon Strip were myriad, coming from nearly every angle. It had become something of a tradition for each shop to adorn their entrances, or, in some cases, their entire storefronts, with glaring, shifting, alternating lights of undulating chroma. Personally, she found the lights to be wonderful; when she wasn't annoyed. They gave the place a sense of life and mirth; along with the music that constantly played. The people gathered there reveled in it, while Noel simply watched. While she couldn't explain it, if asked, the girl felt like something was about to happen.
And it did. Very quickly. For a moment, she thought she'd gone blind. The Neon Strip was suddenly wrapped in darkness, each of the lights extinguished as one. Her heart beat more quickly, her throat tightening and her fists clenching. People cried out; some panicking, others joking loudly, a couple of surprised sounds. She remained silent, but looked around frantically. The rows of squat buildings seemed strange, without their radiance. While Noel surveyed, she caught, barely, the sound of someone calling for the E.C.R.D terminal.
The E.C.R.D consisted of some human officers, though Noel knew that most of them never involved themselves with the problems of East City directly. Instead, they would send Morph Frames. As far as she knew, the Morph Frames were just highly advanced robots; very fast shape-shifting robots. Black, sleek, fast and terrifying. A few run-ins with them had taught her that fleeing was almost useless, once they had managed to scan you; and one instance had seared into her that resisting them was just as useless. As much as she disliked people...Noel could honestly say that she hated the E.C.R.D and their toys.
While she considered this...the Neon Strip came alive once more. As it had been before, music, lights and a loud cheer from the group. Ignoring them, and fighting her rising irritation, Noel's thoughts turned to the strange noise she had heard during the broadcast. Her phone had gone haywire, for a moment, producing a piercing peal of static before returning to normality. I wonder what that was all about, anyway...I thought these things weren't supposed to malfunction...and the lights... She moved away from the main street and leaned against the less-exposed side of some Restech shop. Maybe it had something to with-...Nah, couldn't be. How the fuck would a radio station send out a signal to fuck up a...but...then again... she shook her head violently, putting the thin translucent thing away. You're just too worked up. It's nothin'. Just calm up.
She took slow breaths, folding her arms across her stomach and tried to let the tension leave her. Noel rolled her shoulders and lowered her head, noting a bead of sweat that fell from her nose. As it hit the ground, a heavy sound pierced the air...followed by dozens of screams. Her head rose sharply, panic seeping into her core. While Noel wasn't the brightest student, she had learned a few things about Restech during her life. What she had just heard was the decompression of concentrated Resonance; a slug of energy that would tear apart anything in its path.
What the fuck is happening?!
Fortunately, Noel was not in the projectile's path; but she watched as it passed by. Ripples followed in its wake, distorting the air. Automatically, she ran. It was not a wise move, but it was what her instincts demanded. Taking to the main street, along with several others, she saw the source of the attack. A Morph Frame stood at the center of the Neon Strip, just in front of a large fountain. It was easily twice as tall as an average human, currently in a bipedal but completely inhuman form. Thick legs, covered in a heavy plating, supported and anchored it; talon-like 'toes' pierced deeply into the concrete. A squat, squarish body swiveled; nodes lighting up across the strange bulges that served in the place of arms. At the front of the body was a singular ocular, purple and pulsing in time with the arm-nodes.
The air around it was heavy with Resonance, quivering in outward ripples. Noel turned, knowing well what was coming next. Despite the running she had done earlier, she was only technically half-done, and this was more than enough to send her sprinting. Despite the distance between them and the frantic cries of the fleeing crowd, she could still hear the Resonance Slug's baritone progress. It tore through the air and struck three people behind her. Blood sprayed on the back of her legs and the meaty thud of landing body-parts overpowered the sound of her flight.
That could've been me! Run! Run! Where the fuck do I go?!
In the distance, a low hum permeated the air. Noel cried out, in fury and in desperation, lowering her head and pushing herself. She had made good progress, outrunning most of the others caught in the slaughter. Against her better judgement, she turned to look.