[center][h3][color=ec008c]Subject 17, Archon of Sound[/color][/h3][/center][center][hider=Status]Location: Apartment
Notes:[hider=Description]
[url=http://tv-community-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/00c895f150324ac78f2047a81b8060eb.png]A pale, eyeless, mouthless man.[/url] Wears tinted goggles, a bandana, jeans, headphones, rugged clothes, backpacks full of parts.[/hider]
[/hider][/center]	“Would you like to play?” asked the homeless man on the street corner, apparently holding out his guitar for Subject 17 to try. The thought resonated through 17’s mind before he signaled “no” and went on his way home from the workshop. He lived a few blocks north in the run down 7th Octant, towards the outskirts where he wouldn't be bothered as much. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at an apartment building patched with sheets of metal instead of proper repairs. As he opened the door to his apartment, his roommate Stravier greeted him in a run down, rough tone: “Hey, 17 want to play?” 17 wasn’t in the mood for chess as he fought off a sudden migraine. He shook his head, sorry to disappoint Stravier after he sounded hopeful. He wished he could communicate the feeling more effectively, but the thought left quickly as it always does. He made his way to his room, where he could put on his headphones and exit the world. 
	The migraine only got more intense as he grabbed a [url=https://www.estarland.com/images//Extra_Product_Images/Anime_Merchandise/Figures/MAY10/eve_hypo_syringe.jpg]nutritional hypo[/url] from the cabinet. He quickly poked it through the familiar vein on his forearm as he does twice a day. Hypo technology was meant for those too unfortunate to afford real food, but it was the only thing 17 knew.
	He sat down on his bed and shuffled through his bag. He happened upon a pair of metallic headphones with thin sharp gears protruding from the sides in a methodical manner. Shard, his boss, must have misplaced them when he was cleaning up today. With curiosity getting the better of him, he examined them more until he knew every facet and detail that had been skillfully crafted into it. It's metallic body, soft padding, and intricate mechanical workings sparked his interest along with the polish of the metal itself, as if the pair had been kept in mint condition. He went to feel for the cord, but his hands grabbed air. Confused, 17 fumbled his hands around the edges, looking for a way to plug in and leave reality. No cord. How do you listen to these?
	
	He put them on anyways.

	“[color=ec008c]Would you like to play?[/color]” 
	
	What happened next can only be described as having your mind invaded by that of another. A painful rush of sound and, for the first time in 17’s life, color, flooded into his mind. His skin burned from the attack of thorns and needles, his ears bled from the screeching sounds of someone else’s pain, and a vast variety of scents overwhelmed his mind. I would say he blacked out from the pain, but that has little meaning when referring to someone with no eyes. The pain all turned to sorrow, to a sickening warmth of regret across his skin, sadness in his nonexistent eyes, a bitter taste in his mouth, and a terrifying lament of sadness through his ears. The color got increasingly intense and vapid as he was paralyzed with fear. He heard the yells and screams of several people dying, followed by a voice in his head begging for his life. The taste of blood filled his mouth and his stomach turned at the metallic taste. Finally, though, he felt happy. Sweet aromas of thousands of flowers, the taste of delicious feasts, the laughter of the same voices who he heard die moments before, and the warmth of another’s lips on his own came with the soft and slow flush of colors. 
	Three words calmed the flow of memories, ideas, thoughts, and passions through 17’s head: 

	“[color=ec008c]I am Echo.[/color]” 

	17’s face resembled something similar to a grin. It was unnecessary to introduce himself. 17 knew who he was, his story, his sorrows, his joys, his fears. “[color=ec008c]Echo The Maestro[/color],” he was called in another long life. A master of sound. The headphones he wore housed an artifact of crystal that embodied the Power of Sound. “[color=ec008c]Solitude[/color],” he called it. The metal is otherworldly, refined from the souls of fallen stars. The mechanical work was done by a craftsman from the realm of Atlantis, infused with power before their gates were closed. The leather padding came from a fierce world eater known as Ragnorok that the old Archons of the universe had to deal with.

	The headphones came off. 

	17’s companion entered the room, intrigued by the incessant clicking the gears made while spinning and ticking. 17 hadn’t even noticed until the headphones were off. He sat up suddenly and grasped at the air. Stravier was familiar with the way 17 behaved when you removed headphones, so he was already a few steps away.
	“What are these?” Stravier asked.
	17 shrugged. He didn’t have the means to communicate all he had just experienced. 
	“What happened when you…”
	17 knew what was about to happen. He didn’t wish that pain on anyone else. He tripped off the bed in a panic to keep Stravier from putting the artifact on his head. He was too late. 
	This time was different. 17 felt a strange sensation, a connectedness that was unfamiliar to him. All he heard was a short gasp followed by “Oh.” It wasn’t Echo’s consciousness he felt, but Stravier’s. For the first time in his life, he was able to communicate: not in words, but in thoughts.