[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]π•₯[/color][color=#3EDD39]π•š[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]π•š[/color][color=#39CB34]π•₯[/color][color=#38C532]π•ͺ[/color][color=#36BF31]:[/color] [color=#32B32E]𝕋[/color][color=#31AD2C]𝕙[/color][color=#2FA62A]𝕖[/color] [color=#2C9A27]𝔾[/color][color=#2A9426]𝕣[/color][color=#288E24]𝕖[/color][color=#268823]𝕒[/color][color=#258221]t[/color] [color=#21761E]𝔾[/color][color=#20701C]𝕒[/color][color=#1E6A1B]π•ž[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center] [center][hider=Get Caught In The Vortex And You Can’t Escape!!!][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzdHoFObxrg[/youtube][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0ZCgOOj_Tg[/youtube][/hider][/center] [color=#00e6e6][i]Ohhhh no. Not again. Hustle sister, shit is rough. It’s dangerous. Cumbersome. Another oneβ€” Another thunderous moment is coming up. Run. I’ve seen it before. I wasn’t one of those that wept. I saw it, inflicted with a twisted, different, wicked curiosity. You see it as a speckβ€”a seedβ€”a little piece of the void peeking into this reality with its threats. It’s like an embryo of chaos. I call it The Vortex. Spiralling. Spiralling. That sort of thing, it’s infectious, relegating any safe environment instead to a place of dangerous intent. Alsoβ€”it’s odd. It’s odd how often you find that the loss of total controlβ€”the spiralβ€”emerges from this world’s most ordered elements. It’s like finding death at the site of a resurrection. I saw it first hidden in infrastructure, coming forth, evoked from the crumbling crevices. Even in space, there is decay. You can’t avoid The Vortex. Everyone has their day. I didn’t think I’d find it in my safest place. Right there in the walls. I thought I was safe, that I could escape the chaos. Nay. It came. But instead of fleeing, I embraced it, And there was never again a place where it could get the jump on me. [center]S A V E Y O U R B R A I N 𝔸 π•Š π•Š 𝕀 𝕄 𝕀 𝕃 𝔸 𝕋 𝔼[/center][/i][/color] [color=purple][h3]𝕋𝕙𝕖 π•ƒπ•šπ•žπ•“π•  ℂ𝕝𝕦𝕓[/h3][/color] [color=008000][b]β„π•šπ•˜π•™ π•†π•£π•“π•šπ•₯𝕒𝕝 π•Šπ•₯𝕒π•₯π•šπ• π•Ÿ π”Έπ•π•–π•©π•’π•Ÿπ••π•£π•šπ•’[/b] [b]∞∞∞, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝[/b][/color] [center][color=green][b]| | | | |[/b][/color][/center] [b]β€œNonono! Do [i]not[/i] touch the console yet. We barely use it unless bossman gives us the go ahead to go full entropy-mode during parties. The type of events where he gets enough money to redo the entire joint.” [b][color=#00e6e6]β€œWhat does it do?”[/color][/b] β€œOh sweetie… Let’s wait for tonight. Trust me.”[/b] [b][color=#00e6e6]β€œTonight?”[/color][/b] [b] β€œBohemia motherfucker! You have no idea.”[/b] [right][color=gray][b] β€œOhhhhhβ€” It’s a celebration.”[/b][/color][/right] [center][color=green][b]| | | | |[/b][/color][/center] [center][color=#00e6e6][b]ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠 π”»π•šπ•€π•”π• π•£π••. ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠 𝔻𝕖𝕒π•₯𝕙. ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠 𝕍 𝕆 ℝ 𝕋 𝔼 𝕏.[/b][/color][/center] [b] β€œIt’s the ventilation unit, Stell. Ever think about that?”[/b] He stumbled forward, both hands pressing desperately into the counter. His world was turning in circles, but he was glued to the floor. His expanding pupils were concealed behind mirrorshades, but Stella could still see themβ€”stare into their depthsβ€”somehow.[b] β€œIt’s a biosphere… β€˜Biosphere’. Closed system and all that. All recycled.”[/b] The world tilted 45 degrees. He was leaning no longer on the counter, hands instead pressed against the lip of the open ventilation shaft. Like a dragon spitting flames, he exhaled long and loud into the mystery shaft.[b] β€œA biosphere. All the microbes, germs, viruses, grime, and infectious particles. All of them, all the time, dispersed and shared by everyone lost in Limbo.”[/b] [right][color=gray][b] β€œLike communism…”[/b][/color][/right] [b] β€œCommunist Bio-warfare…”[/b] The vent teleported to Stella, or she teleported to the vent. Her colleagues' eyes watched on in amazement. They saw it too. They wereβ€” [color=#00e6e6][b] β€œLike a collective...”[/b][/color] She smiled, or her face was a mask showing teeth. She levitated her wrist to the vent, bent the wrist back. They watched. They couldn’t stop her. Time itself stopped. Who commands the magic of passing seconds save for chaosβ€”Mister Vortex? The way she cocked her wrist, it sounded like a shotgun. Then, Dust. It puffed forth, fluttering unto the mystery tube aloft into the ether, or wherever any such God of Chaos might send it off… She forgot to stop. Didn’t. Not until both her chambers were empty. Her new Mixologist friends were amazed, mouths agape. [b][color=red] β€œπ–‚π–π–Šπ–—π–Š π–™π–π–Š π–π–Šπ–‘π–‘ π–†π–—π–Š 𝖆𝖑𝖑 π–’π–ž π•Έπ–Žπ–π–”π–‘π–”π–Œπ–Žπ–˜π–™π–˜β€½ π•Ώπ–π–Š π–Œπ–šπ–Šπ–˜π–™π–˜ π–π–†π–›π–Š π–π–šπ–˜π–™ π–‰π–”π–ˆπ–π–Šπ–‰ 𝖆𝖙 π•¬π–‘π–Šπ–π–†π–“π–‰π–—π–Žπ–†, π–†π–—π–Š π–Œπ–”π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–™π–π–—π–”π–šπ–Œπ– π–˜π–•π–†π–ˆπ–Š-π–ˆπ–šπ–˜π–™π–”π–’π–˜, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 π–’π–ž π•Έπ–Žπ–π–”π–‘π–”π–Œπ–Žπ–˜π–™π–˜ π–†π–—π–Šπ–“'𝖙 π–”π–šπ–™ 𝖔𝖓 π–™π–π–Š 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖗‽”[/color][/b] Reality skipped. Everyone came back. He started rushing out towards the dance floor. Stella was frozen. There was a beat, then the conversation played in reverse. [center][color=#00e6e6][b] β€œLike a collective...”[/b][/color] [b] β€œCommunist Bio-warfare…”[/b] [color=gray][b] β€œOhhhhhβ€” It’s a celebration.”[/b][/color][/center] [center][color=green][b]| | | | |[/b][/color][/center] [center][color=#00e6e6][b]𝔸 β„‚ β„‚ β„‚ 𝔸 π•Š 𝔸 𝔸 𝔸 𝕄 π•Š 𝕃 𝕃 𝕃 𝔸 𝕀 β„‚ β„‚ β„‚ 𝕃 𝕄 π•Œ π•Œ π•Œ 𝔾 𝕀 𝕃 𝕃 𝕃 𝔸 𝕃 𝔸 𝔸 𝔸 𝕄 𝔸 𝕋 𝕋 𝕋 𝔸 𝕋 𝔼 𝔼 𝔼 𝕋 𝔼 𝔼 [/b][/color][/center] Calculate. Calculate. Calculate. Do it perfectly. The air was an amorphous aqueous purple sludge, she might have thought, but she didn’t have thoughts. The only places that were safe were occupied by tightly-packed people with bank accounts that looked like fake numbers. The Bohemians. People who shouldn’t exist, but because they did, they knew they were the only ones that mattered. A mass of [color=green]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒π•₯[/color] intellect, [color=green]𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒π•₯[/color] power, but now they were just amoeba, worming their way through a place that didn’t exist. A place in [i]Limbo[/i], and it was full of purple sludge. Calculate. Maybe that’s what she was thinking, but she knew that wasn’t true. That was automatic, a reaction of the eyes and arms and heart and soul. The real calculations were in the back, each Mixologist inputted their planned commands before the [i]air[/i], the [i]Limbo[/i] took hold. From there, what happened was like magic. It was out of their control. They were programmed, only expecting a thousand bugs and interruptions based on the wills of their loyal customers. Bohemia. Bohemians. [i]Welcome to Limbo.[/i] A place where the air itself sparkles with [i]magic[/i]. [b] β€œHold up—”[/b] He could hardly get a word in.[b] β€œI think my leg—”[/b] His dancing partner, a Korean idol magnate that had been controlling the game for at least half a century had him pressed against the wall. He wasn’t complaining. After all, she didn’t look a day older than her manufacture date. It wasn’t love, but something ravenous, the actions of an animal in captivity freed only in the land of Bohemia. He couldn’t resist either way. The 13th Saudi Hyperprince had jammed a sword through his calf earlier. It was still there, lodged in place. He didn’t really feel it. [color=#00e6e6]Calculate. No. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t calculations that’d save the day. Let the programmed commands guide the way. She just had to ride the wave. [/color] It was damn near levitation the way she surfed across the dancefloor. The ceiling mounted vodka dispenser was on full blast, angled 15 degrees from its perpendicular point with the ground and sailing across the ceiling on its own programmed line. It blasted a stream powerful enough to form its own small river, formed approximately 41 milliseconds behind Stella’s surfing tray that sailed her across the dancefloor. She dismounted at her exact destination, spread her arms wide with a glass in each hand. Another two dispensers fired off a full pour of pre-mixed cocktails just on target. One for each of the twin heads of the family that own the Japan Rail zaibatsu. She rode the Vortexβ€”or maybe succumbed to it was a better word. She couldn’t know. She couldn’t think. She could just spin and spin, a human spider serving sickly smooth spirits to the shadow demons. She gathered a tray and several glasses, somehow unbroken, and the game began again. Vodka and absinthe falling from the ceiling in torrents. The kickback of her wrist shot flames this time to ignite the trace poisons in the air while the second layer settled nicely into the glass for a very aesthetically pleasing, [i]Bohemian[/i] cocktail. It wasn’t long after the esoteric stone statue was wheeled into the center of the dancefloor before it was toppled over and cracked in half. Stella’s colleagues were uncannily reunited as the idol nearly took a hit. From atop the statue and pressed against the wall, two red-strings were reunited by none other than fate in the Vortex. They knew it probably wouldn’t happen again before Bohemia ended. [color=gray][b] β€œYou have a sword in your leg.”[/b][/color] [b] β€œThat explains a lot.”[/b] He slumped down onto an upturned table that had somehow been ripped from its bolts and thrown into the wall. She joined him.[b] β€œIf I leave it there, and he forgets about it, I probably get to keep it.”[/b] [color=gray][b] β€œHow do you think Stella’s doing at her first Bohemia?”[/b][/color] She tossed her glasses off and into the Vortex, looking towards their newest partner. [color=gray][b] β€œShe’s a machine.”[/b][/color] [b] β€œShe’s definitely enjoying herself. Still working, right in the center of the horde, unscathed, dangerous, dusted. That’s [i]bad[/i].”[/b] [color=gray][b] β€œShe’s got the make of an Ultrabartender for sure.”[/b][/color] In the Vortex, a dangerous place accepted as little more than fateβ€”that’s when you see its meaning in the game, and that’s what she learned that day. When you’re in the midst of the maelstrom, you engage it. Lost in the chaos, pop off. She’d seen into the spirals, and once you’ve looked within, it never leaves you. You’re just left, lying dormant untilβ€” [color=gold][h3]𓇽𝔻𝕦𝕒π•₯𓇽, π•ƒπ•’π•Ÿπ•• 𝕠𝕗 π•₯𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕕[/h3][/color] [color=008000][b]β„π•–π•”π•π•’π•šπ•ž β„€π• π•Ÿπ•–, π•Šπ• π•¦π•₯𝕙 β„‚π•šπ•₯π•ͺ π•Šπ•‘π•£π•’π•¨π•[/b] [b]π”Έπ•‘π•£π•šπ• πŸ™π•€π•₯, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 πŸ™πŸ :πŸ™πŸ˜[/b] [b] [π”½π•šπ•£π•€π•₯ π•Šπ•™π•’π•₯π•₯𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝔾𝕝𝕒𝕀𝕀], 𝔼𝕩𝕖𝕔𝕦π•₯π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜...[/b][/color] β€”it came back, and she acted like magic. Two objectives solidified in Stella’s head, and then she was readied, prepped, calculated, awaiting to begin the [color=green]π”Ύπ•’π•žπ•–[/color]. She didn’t think of her plan. It kind of just appeared in her head what felt like seconds before her shit got rocked. After the catalyst, it was all immediate action. [i]Oh god,[/i] she thought. The guy was fighting himself. One sushi-driver slammed the other’s head into the bar with the force only found in some mutant cybernetic hand. The table rattled and their drinks jumped a few millimeters into the air. Stella watched the lemonade mixture tilt and tap the counter, teetering too farβ€”just a tad. Then it was in the air, heading to the floor fast. Ultrabartender senses sounded the alarms with a series of synaptic zaps at the moment of the impact. That was the call to action! The Vortex suddenly attacked, Timed to the rhythm of the beat of the [color=green][indent][[[π”½π•šπ•£π•€π•₯ [indent][indent]π•Šπ•™π•’π•₯π•₯𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 [indent][indent][indent]𝔾𝕝𝕒𝕀𝕀…]]][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/color] Then came the crash. Stella’s optics took note of the pressure changes, the first bottles flung from the wall, the shockwave before she could even see what happened. She knew the wave was coming. It was the same feeling as Bohemiaβ€”just behind her, and it was time to ride the wave. Her legs were like springs and her hands were the needles there to guide the thread. Stella threw herself into a somersault over the bar catching sight of her beautiful, beautiful stock, for just a moment cascading across the air in the cacophony. All of the pristine bottles lost… Or maybe not. Her optics crossed, each tracking a bottle on the side of their opposite. A handle of overproof rum and a handle of classic Jack Daniels, so perfect. She couldn’t let them die, she thought, not even if all of 𓇽Duat𓇽 dropped. When she landed, her cybernetics acted without her, and the bottles joined her hands. The car busted straight through the bar and the counter’s contents became a mosaic of sharp shards carried by the wave over any and all patrons. It plowed straight into Goon #2 and flattened one of the dancefloor’s zombies in the process. Goon #1 drew his concealed handgun the moment he recovered from the blastback. Stella didn’t know why he aimed it at her, but it didn’t matter. Goon #2 was the competent one. What was one more shatter in the massive mess? A handle of Jack Daniels had the sort of shape that made her wonder if the manufacturers had expected it to be the bar-breaker’s weapon of choice. It was a heavy bludgeon long enough to shatter into a shiv, so that was just what Stella did. She smashed the bottle through the Goon’s gun and sent his shot rocketing off into the ether. The splash of whiskey was inevitable, and it seared his eyes. Stella was used to the smell, the taste, the feeling. In Bohemia, in the Vortex, to the Ultrabartender, the sting of whiskey was indistinguishable from pure oxygen. Stella had plenty of adversaries. No enemies. An enemy implied that they could ruffle you, or something like that. She was un-ruffleable, but the adversary that came closest was the car, and whoever or whatever was operating it. There was something she couldn’t escape, though. [i]Was that what fear was?[/i] Some unescapable bubbling sense of [color=green][s]𝔽𝕦π•₯π•šπ•π•šπ•₯π•ͺ[/s][/color], [s]inevitability[/s], anxiety that wrenched at your internal organs with an eight-fingered hand, which you look down to see, despite the pain, and it turns out to be your own hand? Kelvin didn’t even try to run out. Most of 𓇽Duat𓇽’s patrons hadn’t bothered. They made it, but their β€˜urgency’ was more of a zombie-shuffle to the skipping music, now accompanied by the orchestra of the Vortex, but his bum leg made him slow to escape. Stella grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the front exit, but she wasn’t quite done. She had to keep her focus split on all the [i]adversaries[/i] invading her bar and ruining its long-term-cultivated chill vibe. One of the clones stepped inside the car. Stella stared him down with dead 𓇽Duat𓇽 eyes. After she gave him and his other self a free drink, this was what happened. She took a few steps over the dancefloor, calculating, but her eyes were locked on the helmeted soulless disaster behind his tinted windshield. Each step cracked and crinkled with broken glass. Two free drinks, and where did the clone drones go with them? [i]The four-thousandth shattered glass,[/i] she thought. [i]What was two more?[/i] It took a lot of time to hang a neon-infused, glowing, golden disco ballβ€”not long to take it down. It was a well-placed half-handle of Jack. That’s all it takes. Her aim never wavered, but one on-target shot wasn’t enough. She spoke up, watching the bottles cascade through the air. She knew the arc was perfect, so she didn’t stay to watch. [color=#00e6e6][b] β€œOne more drink on the house. Overproof Rumβ€” [i]for the road.[/i]” The disco ball cracked, sent sparks streaming out of it like fireworks as gravity took the wheel. It met the rum right on target. The ball of flame flared up right over the driver’s windshield. The Land of the Dead became a momentary fireball. Stella glanced back only once, letting her optics bathe in the light of the flash and her hair ruffle in the wave of the bang. A sliver of glass clipped her temple and left a blood gash that spread a swathe of red down the side of her face. She held a metallic briefcase in her hand. [i]You’ve been served[/i].”[/b][/color] Any last sight of Stella from the interior would catch a glimpse of one of 𓇽𝔻𝕦𝕒π•₯𓇽’s eye-like signs crashing down and igniting yet another fire. The sign still glimmered as it sparked up another fire.