[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/vLd6wmB.jpg[/img][/center]

Freddy ignored his surroundings rather single-mindedly, watching the [i]machine[/i] with an intense lack of satisfaction. It was a thing, and he knew not what this thing's purpose was. [color=662d91]"[i]I'll make a point of finding the answer to my question through you. I want your purpose known."[/i][/color] If it even had one [color=662d91]([i]It most certainly had a purpose[/i])[/color]. The conclusion was simple, as far as Frederick was concerned: [color=662d91][i]It didn't matter at the moment.[/i][/color]

No, certainly not. Priority one was the avoidance of capture or death. The Mutes, for as long as they had lived, represented threats to those goals. So, he had given them his attention. When they had called for his getting down, he had obeyed. The Speedster had been ignored. Whether the man had a better sense for the situation than Freddy was uncertain, but at the moment our fisherman felt it best to do as he was told. It would be a simple matter to handle things afterwards. When the Mutes too had fallen to the ground, he remained, though his attention was towards the newcomer. Despite himself being of a more [i]ancient[/i] cut of cloth, he had no extrasensory abilities [i]at the moment[/i]. The only hinting towards the presence of a God-kith for Frederick was the speaking and the following suicides. 

That was no small feat. Full biologicals were simple things, yes, but to have that much control over them was exceptional. It was no hallmark of humanity. That suggested enough for Frederick to become quickly disinterested in the situation. Nothing would disturb his old bones more than having to face something as old as himself, or [i]older[/i]. So then, he pushed off the ground and moved with the Speedster. He caught up with a [b]ghastly[/b] alacrity, and an [i]off-putting[/i] speed of sprint. It was out of character for the otherwise reserved and set-back figure. Upon nearing the Speedster, Frederick extended his left hand down for the machine's offender. 

[color=662d91]"I'll take it. Focus on finding our way. He won't slow me down, with the [i]flesh willing.[/i]"[/color] The man's voice was warbley and cold, and reminded of the sound made by fish slapping against a cutting board or table, though sped up thousands of times and used to modulate something akin to a right proper voice. Perhaps it was the distance, or fear, because he had sounded fine enough only earlier. Matching his statement, he had moved to seize up the downed man by the chest. His left hand hovered about a foot over the man's chest, awaiting permission to pull the stranger up.

[color=662d91]"And I'm Frederick. Freddy. Lead the way, yes? I've little interest in being around when more come and trounce those that remain."[/color] There it was. Normalized. Again that nondescript voice of a gentle American south-easterner. 

Frederick felt again that certain draw to the machine. The idea intrigued him. He'd need to find it and toy with it given time. It had done more ill of the people in the penal colony that week through accident than most of the murderers had. With the rations closed, people would face pains not of their own wishing. What would drive something, [i]apparently made in that clumsy human way.[/i] Perhaps it wasn't of human craft. That was always an option. The infinite horrors of the cosmos leaving a mechanical marvel in the middle of a worthless star in a worthless place.

[color=662d91]Perhaps a hune was the answer. An escape. But this planet was so [i]quaint[/i] wasn't it?[/color]

[sub]Interacting with [@MegaOscarPwn], [@Utrax], and to a lesser extent, [@LordOfTheNight][/sub]