[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Qt9DFLQ.gif[/img][/center]
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As Noel bid Daimyon farewell, she cried. He [i]hoped[/i] she did at least, because he certainly was crying. Even still, he forced a smile and mustered a vigorous nod at her final request. “I'll keep your memory well...” he muttered, unsure if she could hear. Then, all too soon, she was swept away, and paraded for the survivors' twisted curiosity like so many others had been.He had stopped watching the executions a long ago, or at least he made no note of them beyond the first. [i]‘So it goes’[/i] had become his closing phrase in entries about trials, and his tomorrow-self always knew better than to pry further. He wondered if he would do the same with Noel—what did ‘keeping one's memory well’ really mean anyway? He could write a reminder to copy her personal entry into his next notebook, maybe even some poetic memories of their all-too-brief time spent together. Yes. That would be a way.

He was in the middle of scribbling the reminder when Davis emerged again. He was firmly in Daimyon's memory now, though he still struggled to believe that he [i]was[/i]. An abstract evil—or even a mechanical one—was easy to despair at; the poet would regularly shake his fists at it and speak of its indescribable, unending malevolence in a million and one ways in his head. But the real evil was not like that: it was a man, wearing ill-fitting clothes, a loose tie, and a bad stubble. [i]One[/i] man.
As that man stood and gloated just metres away from the remaining group, a hundred different scenarios ran through Daimyon's head, none of them particularly pleasant. There was an encompassing feeling of impotency that he was trying to keep away, the thought that no matter their various skills, brawn, and intellect, there was nothing they could do to end the game. Because it still was not over, no matter what the mastermind was saying. All they got was a new objective—a new quest, one with great potential for hope that would inevitably end in even greater despair. And, worst of all, they could do nothing but pursue it. They would adventure to the end, suffer, then do the next one.

At least [i]this[/i] quest had some personal connection to him.

[center]————[/center]

They went straight to Noel's room, of course; she had set them up for it very well. Daimyon led the way with Cyrus, and he was even offered first entrance.
[color=seagreen]“Thank you,”[/color] he nodded to Denis and stepped inside. He was instinctively careful—perhaps too careful as the entire rest of the group stacked up on his back—but his fear turned out to be misplaced. The journalist's room was typical, stereotypical even, with papers and the like scattered around. People fanned out to pore over every inch of it; Daimyon's first instinct was the sealed crate in one corner of the room. There was something on it, a crumpled piece of paper that he gingerly took in his hands and straightened as much as he could. He scanned it, noting the name and signature at the bottom.
[color=seagreen]“What...?”[/color] he murmured. He did recognise the name, having come across it during his morning read-through—he just did not expect to see it. [color=seagreen][i]“Shona?”[/i][/color]
[b]“Did I hear that right—Shona Moffett?”[/b] Cyrus came over, peeking at the letter. [b]“Noel wasn't even with us yet when she died. Are you sure it's hers?”[/b]
Daimyon weakly nodded as he read the lines more carefully, eventually looking up at the politician to say, [color=seagreen]“I think everyone needs to see this.”[/color]
[b]“Listen up, everybody! We found a letter from Shona, the first Infinite to die in this god-forsaken place. Daimyon will read it out loud—it might interest you.”[/b]
Suddenly, all eyes were on the poet. He was not too nervous about it, diving right into the letter's contents with a dignified flair that he had always imagined Shona had. [color=seagreen][i]“To my companions...”[/i][/color]

He just barely finished with the letter when an announcement came. Daimyon did not pay much heed initially, still focused on the letter—but when the old introduction sounded, he had to listen. He looked around the room at his peers: most were shocked, all were in disbelief. Zachary—perhaps the most cynical of them all—quickly took charge of the situation and led most of the group out to the elevator.

Daimyon stayed himself. His curiosity burning, he nonetheless stayed in Noel's room for a little longer, until he found what he was looking for: her camera, hung up on the bed. He took it, feeling its weight in his hands. One did not need to know anything about cameras (he certainly did not) to understand that this was a machine as exquisite as it was expensive. Scared to drop it, he hung it in his neck. [color=seagreen][i]‘Develop the pictures,’[/i][/color] he wrote the note. Was there even a way to do that in the building?
Having found the object of the late journalist's final request, Daimyon could no longer ignore his curiosity. He hurried after the group.

[center]————[/center]

By the time he had reached the infamous elevators, the confrontation was well ongoing. He stayed at the back of the group, craning his neck to see, though it could not make him believe what he was seeing. Sure, the person standing before them matched Shona's picture in the e-handbook exactly, but it was impossible, [i]absolutely impossible[/i] for it to be her. It was impossible because Daimyon was [i]there[/i] when she died; he [i]saw[/i] her die. Frantically paging through his notebook for the details, he confirmed all of it: he was there—everyone was there—in the first major confrontation with the robotic Carnage Sisters. Shona sacrificed herself for the good of them all—he even wrote a long, dramatic poem to remember it, for crying out loud! Yes, the poem described everything, right as it happened, all the way to the very end...

Hell, maybe it would finally be useful for someone other than him.

[color=seagreen]“We may not remember, but it [i]is[/i] remembered.”[/color] He stepped up to the woman, his notebook open on the page she died. [color=seagreen]“I made sure of that.”[/color]

[center][color=seagreen]The flame rose to the highest heights
Where it was snuffed out in cold blood
And yet! yet she smiled! in her dying breath,
[b]‘At least I die a true knight’[/b], a true death, she said,
May her flame burn eternal in the heavens
Shine on! so that we may never forget![/color][/center]

[color=seagreen]“That's how it ended. That's how [i]you[/i] ended—a flame, eternally burning, showing us the way. Freed from her mortal coil...so what is happening now?”[/color]