[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]𝕥[/color][color=#3EDD39]𝕚[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]𝕚[/color][color=#39CB34]𝕥[/color][color=#38C532]𝕪[/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]𝕞[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center]

[center][hider=It Watches][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAH-hpxKh_k[/youtube][/hider][/center]


[color=#00e6e6][i]Welcome to this place,
The Hellscape!
Shit’s dangerous,
But here we are still grinding.
Still stepping in time.
Still somehow unified?

Sister, get woke to the fancy games everyone is playing. It’s amazing, how chaos is still reigning, but we keep on blasting back against that strange force that keeps us all down. Without whatever psychokinetic connection goes beyond gravity and attracts the companionship of biotic life, the Alexandria would have dumped us generations back. Be active. This is an extropian realm, here in space, and we’ve got to stay intact! So—[/i][/color]

[color=purple][h3]𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕠 ℂ𝕝𝕦𝕓[/h3][/color]
[color=008000][b]ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕆𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔸𝕝𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕒[/b]
[b]∞∞∞, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝[/b][/color]

[b]”Wake up, sister!”[/b] His Mixologists’ cybernetics alternated slapping either side of her face in rapid succession. Her eyes rolled back. Limbo’s tables were drenched in velvet red, but took their toll on any patron or player that didn’t make it back to the exits. The whole bar was on fire. He was on fire. She was on fire. [b] “Get ready. That was only night one. The Mixologists are mounting a siege on Casino Dorado.”[/b]

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Just…” she started, “Leave me. I’ll just…”[/b][/color] Stella squirmed on the table, doing her best to curl into a ball. Her muscles hardly reacted to commands.[color=#00e6e6][b] “I’ll stay here and let death take me.”[/b][/color]  

[b] “Not an option sister.”[/b] He turned into a demon, tripled his size, and grew deadly sharp spikes. He jammed one of the spikes into her arm. The pain receded. The fire receded. As if having rested for a few infinities, she sat right up.[b] “No one gets left behind. Can’t let the world win, Stell. [i]Extropy[/i]. It’s just a bunch of humans, but it’s all futile unless we’re bunched up. Does that make sense?”[/b]

She didn’t respond, but he started backstepping, waving his hands as he went. Little clouds of sparkling blues and purples hung in the air, fired from his wrists to entice his old friend.

[b] “No Mixologist left behind! That’s one of the only keys! It’s time for Dorraaaaaaaddddooooo!”

“Smell the Dust, and just—[/b]

[color=gold][h3]𓇽𝔻𝕦𝕒𝕥𓇽, 𝕃𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕕[/h3][/color]
[color=008000][b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟙𝕤𝕥, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝   𝟙𝟠:𝟚𝟘[/b]

[b] [𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝔾𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤], 𝕋𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Wake up.”[/b][/color] 

Stella sequenced a series of commands, Mixologist’s forearm slapping against the bottle in her grip with just the precision to graze its cap. The little glass top spun, slid off, and clinked against the helmet she had safely tucked next to the pair in the open street. Vodka—cheap vodka—was all she had to do the job of the medics. She started waterboarding him, just like the movies, until the bottle was empty.

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Wake up and drive another day. Death is waiting in the wings and it’s up to you to fight it off.”[/b][/color] Stella thought the rain might have played a part in his refusal to awaken at her commands. The aesthetic though, backed by the blaze that still raged in spite of any fireteam calls, was just lovely. The fallen driver’s head was propped up on the pristine briefcase. [i]The perfect hiding place,[/i] she figured. The Goons hadn’t emerged from the fires. She hadn’t seen them escape, at least. Goons had one of those dark, faustian pacts with resilience, though.

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Wake up,”[/b][/color] she said. [color=#00e6e6][b] “Combat Entropy.”[/b][/color]  

As if his day couldn’t get any more aberrant, Olex’s mostly calm walk to the Duat was interrupted by a ground-shaking explosion that almost knocked him off his feet. The explosion he heard walking away from the Square could easily be shoved to the back of his mind and ignored, but this one was much too close and loud to do the same. As he gathered his bearings, and began scanning the surrounding street as a few of the other citizens scattered, he thought he saw something. Some lucky patron had managed to exit the bar at the exact moment it exploded, but now that Olex looked around, he was nowhere near the street. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air.

Shoving yet another thought to the back of his head, Olex bounded across the street, pulling open one of the doors with his left, as he right reached inside and pulled his handgun from it’s holster, weary of what further surprises lay inside. 

The onyx black handle on the door was hot, absurdly so, and Olex instinctively yanked his arm away before simply turning his arm’s sensors off. The heat was further exacerbated when he fully opened the door, a wave of warmth washing over his chest and face, causing him to recoil for a moment. The usual multicolored neon lights were accompanied by an unfamiliar orange glow, the light of multiple open flames and a-

[color=darkorange][i]Giant flaming car?[/i][/color]

Dead center of the Duat sat the burning carcass of what seemed to have been a nice car, and beyond it a similarly sized hole in the side of the bar. The entire club was absolutely destroyed, patrons still stuck in booths covered in rubble. A few people here and there crawled from under tables or sat on the floor trying to either mend their friends’ wounds, or to shake them awake. Though, many looked like they weren’t going to get up any time soon.

Silhouetted amongst the chaos were two figures on the floor, not a far distance directly in front of Olex. The familiar face, albeit covered in soot, of Stella, emptying a bottle of alcohol over the face of a man who looked to be nearly dead. Olex’s breathing stood still, as the image almost drew a laugh. A cold, rather emotional woman very hastily emptying an entire bottle of vodka over a still, lifeless body. The cherry on the large, burning cake that he stood in front of. From the doorway, he spoke up.

[color=darkorange]”Stella! What the fuck happened in here? Did you guys get attacked by a terrorist or something?”[/color]

[hr]

Loading…….Drift_Demon v1.23.exe

[hr] 

Drowning. Torn asunder by a dying world. Going onboard a capsized ship. Drowning again. Rising to the fire. The burning. The heat - 

The foul odor of spirits opened Keah’s eyes, making him sputter. He pulled himself up, gasping and retching for sweet oxygen. Everything before seemed like one of those shitty matrix interrogation programs, designed to psych you out. He wasn’t 10 years old. He wasn’t in Hawaii. He was too busy wandering in the Reclaim Zone. 

[color=red]“Helmet, need - “ [/color] His gloves pawed the clammy skin of his cheeks. Ignoring the UltraBartender, he grabbed his helmet, his breathing slowing down to a calm pace in the disinfected, pressurised safety of EngiTech’s oly-laminate headgear. The indistinct boundaries and borders of the Reclaim Zone, muddled all the more by the rain, became sharper through the helmet. Made thinking easier. 

OverDriver was linked with Samsara. Samsara was linked with the missing Islanders. The Ark. The Pirate Party. Him. The election. Shortcuts and roads between all of them he couldn’t make out. Deciphering them now was useless. He clenched his fist in anger, OverDriver’s last words mocking him. 

[color=red]“ Amalgmation” [/color]He hissed out, clenching his gloved fist. [color=red] “ It’s always been Amalgmation…..” [/color]Amalgmation who ferried them away. Amalgmation who set up homes for them. Amalgmation who experimented on them. Kidnapped them. Used them. 

Keah turned to look at the burning remains of the Duat and signed. The bar was currently smouldering, a bonfire of burnt dreams and excess going up in smoke. So much for a simple delivery job. What Keah now feared more than conspiracies and the games of giants was having to explain to the Iron Itamae about his unsuccessful delivery. Hopefully, the Jury Rigg was unscathed throughout the whole incident. 

[color=red]“ You could say something like that.” [/color]he spoke to the figure in the doorway. He then glanced upwards at the porcelain expression of the UltraBartender [color=red] “ Sorry about your bar.”  [/color]

He began to pull himself up from the ground, but pain pulled him back down. The adrenaline from his encounter with the OverDriver wore off, revealing the fragilities of his body. Broken ribs. Shards of glass stuck in his ankle. Burns on the side of his neck. He coughed, a splatter of red coating the inside of his Iconoclast.  

[color=red]“ I...need repairs. Quick.” [/color]

Stella let the bottle fall from her hand as the driver sputtered to life. He’d reached for his helmet just in time for the glass to clunk off of its metal and split in two on the wet asphalt. She dusted the fragments around with her foot as Olex approached. 

[color=#00e6e6][b] “I got attacked by a car,”[/b][/color] she said. [color=#00e6e6][b] “And a clone of this sorry state.”[/b][/color] Stella leaned in over the Drift Demon. His ramblings weren’t that of a madman. Rather, the sort of a mad man. It almost angered Stella. The destruction almost angered her. [i]Almost[/i]. Alas, staying unphased was too easy. Wasn’t her bar. Wasn’t her enemy. She got the briefcase. Her habit-haven was sustained, if only for the foreseeable future. Addicts had a practice of not looking too far ahead.

[color=#00e6e6][b] “It’s always megacorps that you Earth-folk blame for your problems. Maybe it’s an issue with perspective. Amalgamation hasn’t ever heard of [i]you[/i], Car Guy. Just like the bar.”[/b][/color] She stepped back from the near-corpse and stared into the fallen eye of 𓇽𝔻𝕦𝕒𝕥𓇽. That was a perk of her optics. She could gaze into the neon, let the light-stimuli overwhelm her, ignite a series of sensors that signified pain, but there was no pain. [color=#00e6e6][b] “It’s not mine. I’m not from here. The Mixologist is a distant, eldritch creature.”[/b][/color]

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Should have dodged that car, too,”[/b][/color] she added.

[color=red]“ Try it yourself, [i]ultrabartender[/i] ”[/color]  Keah grunted, not even bothering to correct her misinterpretation of his situation. Though it was hard to admit, her ramblings had a speck of truth in them. His word enough wouldn’t be enough to take down Amalgmation. Luckily, the OverDriver was stupid enough to show him photographic evidence.. All he needed to do was get it to the Pirate Party and - 

Wait. Something was off. The evidence. He craned his head slowly to look at the smouldering inferno of the Duat. The evidence which was currently burning along with everything else in there. 

[color=red]“ Fuck!” [/color] He punched the pavement out of frustration. Then, again. And again. He continued until a spider web of cracks began forming in the syncrete. It was only until his arm began to ache that he stopped. Nothing. That was all he got from the Duat. Everyone by now had scattered from the Duat. They were alone, but not for long. He could hear sirens in the distance, noise coming their way, eyes that saw more than they should. Causing such a ruckus brought unnecessary attention. He needed to leave the scene. 

[color=red]“ Return,” [/color] he whispered out, hoping that his helmet’s internal uplink to the Jury Rigg was still functioning. His car remained still, unmoving. He would have to drag his broken body across the wet pavements just to unlock it. He tried to stand up again, falling back down again this time hissing as his left arm hung limp by his side. Broken wrist. Great. He would have to drive with one hand. He then stared at both of them before settling his gaze again on the UltraBartender.

[color=red]“ Thanks for waking me up, but I’m didn’t come here to be lectured by you.” [/color]For the third time, he stood up, partially succeeding as his knees quivered. [color=red] “ If both of you don’t want to help me out, then stay out of my way.” [/color]

Nothing more had exploded, and the fires continued to burn, some already turning into smoldering piles of ash. Olex’s initial apprehension eased and he finally entered the Duat, taking the surrounding destruction in completely. The bar was nearly unrecognizable. Even the disco ball he’d spent many a night staring at as he drank was gone. In its place, just a burnt, crispy set of metal wiring, errant sparks flickering out every now and again.

The entire bar was in a state of complete ruination, few bottles had been spared in the mayhem. Underneath his boots, the floor was slick with a variety of spirits, a small dash of blood entering the mix here and there. The smell of exhaust and burnt rubber permeated every nook and cranny, slowly bringing water to Olex’s eyes. He finally holstered his pistol, and helped the struggling man nearby get steady on his feet. Wrapping an arm around the man’s back, Olex held him steady, giving Stella a closer look up and down.

The man Olex currently had his arm wrapped around was clearly injured, motors whirred quietly trying to maintain a steady by gentle grip. Stella had seen better days, but didn’t look as badly injured as biker helmet. Soot, glass dust, dirt and liquor. A coat of paint Olex was familiar with, but not used to seeing on Stella. Olex sighed before he spoke. 

[color=darkorange]”I’m sorry about the bar, Stell. Only place in town that had shit better than that swill they serve everywhere else.”[/color] More than a formality, there was genuine sadness in Olex’s now soft, quiet voice. Feeling nostalgic was strange, considering Olex hadn’t even been in the Reclaim for any sort of considerable time yet, but he couldn’t find any other way to describe the emotion that had washed over him.

A change of scenery was nothing new. He’d moved from region to region, town to town, many times over. Being somewhere new with no friends and no home was a familiar experience, one that he’d welcomed and thrived off of. But the Duat was something different. A small spot of luxury and intrigue nestled in the middle of another seedy hellhole, just like the one he’d left almost two decades ago.

Same as the luxurious mansion, fitted with polished doorknobs and a heated pool, the Duat felt like a small slice of home in the middle of ever present squalor. An ephemeral return to the luxury he’d shunned so far back in the past but had embarrassingly come to miss, even if only the slightest bit. A bit of familiar comfort in a life that had grown so accustomed to feeling strange and out of place. He could only hope this only meant the beginning of a new chapter and not the end of the book for his favorite slice of the highlife in the middle of Shittown.

Finally bringing his gaze back down to the people in front of him, he spoke again.

[color=darkorange]”I can tell you don’t seem eager to stick around for the lawmen, Biker Helmet. You got your own ride? ‘Cause if you don’t, you better get to limping away pretty quick. And what about you, Stella? Anything you need me to do?”[/color]

Stella smirked. She was tempted to say she [i]did[/i] dodge the car. It was a more roundabout way of not getting targeted in the first place, the sort of thing the odd Reclaim street samurai would babble about when drunk, but she thought it applied. [i]Earth[/i], she thought. It had the strangest sorts. Everyone with a complex story, a vendetta, something to gain, something to lose. Someone to kill. [i]This was Earth[/i].

Olex was eager to help the downed demon driver. Stella was hesitant, content for the moment to wistfully stare at her fallen place of work and then back to the broken man, wondering if this was really what the rest of her time on the planet would be like. She did help the struggling pair. They definitely needed it. While Olex did most of the heavy lifting, Stella leaned over with that immaculate posture and offered her hand for the dying driver to take. The stability in her grip was unwavering, but a single hand was all she could offer. The other was occupied by that briefcase and its ever-alluring, mysterious contents. She was sure to keep it back from the two men, concealed behind her body as best as she could. 

[color=#00e6e6][b] “Duat was just another name, Olex. Just a place for congregation for the people speaking in dirges. Another church. Another Land of the Dead.”[/b][/color] She met the gaze of Duat’s fallen sign one last time, letting that glow overload her optics and overpower even the dulling blazes. That hazy glow pervaded even through the thickening smoke. It watched them walk away as it did. [color=FFB700][i]Like an eye…[/i][/color]

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