[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=A Finale Wherein They Head Back to the Beginning][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9tUn084zWI[/youtube][/hider][/center]
[right][sub]With [@Atrophy] & [@Opposition][/sub][/right]

[b][color=palevioletred] “The Reclaim is dying ground.”[/color][/b] The Artist knew. If anyone knew, it was her. She’d seen it before, but hadn’t quite seen the Reclaim’s descent—not the whole of it. Her friend, the former street samurai, had though.

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Why does a human so easily stake claim to it, then? For everything you have—for everything you could have—you’d give up everything for Scorched Earth.”[/b][/color]

The Artist took a step closer to the street samurai, and sat next to her on the edge of a high rise. Two blocks away they saw the block of old factories turned to campaign suites and government offices around Central Square. It buzzed with lights and sounds. Every time the samurai let her gaze rest upon it too long, she became disoriented and started to shake, like her whole body was full of haywire cybernetics. It wasn’t. That was just how she was.

[b][color=palevioletred] “This is your home, isn’t it?”[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Ash and Toxin.”[/b][/color]

The Artist crossed her legs as she sat. The fiber of her cloth mask crumpled as she chuckled silently. [b][color=palevioletred] “But it’s just the concoction your people want. You say you want what they want, right? You say you see its end…[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “In cacophonous motion. In its tremors… It rings,”[/b][/color] she paused and leaned forward so her torso was mostly over the open air, [color=mediumvioletred][b] “like an Anvil against my eyes, my eardrums, my skin, my teeth…”[/b][/color]

[b][color=palevioletred] “Like a—”[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Death knell...”[/b][/color]

[b][color=palevioletred] “But you think it—”[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Entombed. Flesh beneath barbed alloys, steels, syncretes, plastics. The City’s a Golem overtop of it all. Even beyond its end, the Reclaim breathes in its tremor. And I can’t yet be sure if its artifice was the cause of it all.”[/b][/color]

The Artist laughed again, lofting her gaze to the dancing sigils and designs that plastered across her AR glasses. The street samurai, so often described as irrevocably detached, played the Artist’s game of metaphors perfectly. [b][color=palevioletred] “For someone so perceptive, you seem to forget a lot. What’s in front of you, you know… The steel skeleton of the reclaim is covered in a layer of its own biotic concoction. Really, your people are biohazardous… and whatever’s left of the dead, when they reach their end, will saturate your entombed city with the seeds for its new mutant iterations.”[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Sublime… Everything you say.”[/b][/color]

The Artist would have said it the same. [b][color=palevioletred] “But you see it—the city and what’s to come… or something.”[/color][/b]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “You see it too, don’t you? Your art, your words… Doomsayers silk, spun from a weaver that sees fate all the same.”[/b][/color]

The Artist stood and swiped a hand through the air, accessing an interface unseen. The samurai, she figured, saw it though. She saw—or rather felt—it all.[color=palevioletred][b] “Maybe I see beyond this little ledge, but nothing quite like you, Cas. I speak the City into existence, mutant iterations of my own malformed imagination, but you hear it in the tremors and speak back. I manipulate with paint and mandibles, but you are just—”[/b][/color]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “A watcher.”[/b][/color]
[indent][indent][b][color=palevioletred] “A watcher.”[/color][/b][/indent][/indent]

[color=mediumvioletred][b] “Or so it seems that way...”[/b][/color]

The Artist’s eyes traced a street bike as it raced through the Reclaim maze-like streets without a rider. It skidded to a halt 34 storeys beneath the two of them. They shared a final glance, or rather, the Artist looked towards her friend. The samurai’s gaze hardly changed no matter the circumstances. So distant, but omnipresent.

[color=008000][h3][ℂ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕖][/h3]
[b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟛𝕣𝕕, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: 𝟚𝟘:𝟘𝟘, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞  ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖'𝕤 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝔻𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕖[/b][b] 
[color=black][𝔻𝔼𝔸𝔻 ℙℍ𝕆𝔼ℕ𝕀ℂ𝕀𝔸][/color][/b][/color]

[indent][b][i][color=#ffdf12]ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕒 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖[/color][/i][/b]
[hr][hr][color=green]>>> …[/color]
[i][color=#ffdf12] “Hart Media’s continued coverage of the Reclaim Zone brings us to Central Square for the final debate of the Twin City Sprawl Council seat election. With the Reclaim as the last zone to be polled and counted, the election’s results are scheduled to be announced before midnight.

“Anticipation for the event is palpable in the air. Central Square and Swathe Street have been overtaken completely by foot traffic. It’s as though the zone’s whole population is here, but people from all over the Sprawl are in attendance to promote and show support for a variety of causes.

“It’s hard to keep track of him, but incumbent Joshua Gatch and his team have been dug in for days in the Central Square’s attached block of old industrial warehouses turned campaign suites. In a statement to Hart Media correspondents, a publicist for the Gatch campaign cites fears of increased danger in manufacturing facilities for an increased number of APEX contractors on site.”[/color][/i]

[indent][[The broadcast cut to a skeletal woman in a dark suit sitting rigidly on a stool, neon jewelry interfering with the glow from the key lights to make her skin glow a troubling nuclear waste green. A graphic over the lower third incorrectly identified the woman as “Lotte Ramona , Central Party Rep”. Dead eyes reflected the dead air, the broadcast entering into a standoff before the off-screen interviewer breaks the silence to repeat their question. The privacy curtain for the interview wasn’t quite pulled shut all of the way. Behind the woman an out-of-focus brigade of private contractors readied themselves to protect democracy while polishing their heavy artillery. Somewhere a producer was yelling at someone. 

[b][color=lightgray]“In light of recent events, the Mayor has seen fit to increase the level of security for tonight’s debate to assist the Enforcers and ensure that there are no unwanted interruptions to the democratic process. Knight Enterprise, a subsidiary of APEX Industries, as well as other APEX peace contractors will be present to see that this evening runs smoothly.”[/color] [/b]Raised voices could be heard coming from behind the curtain as the interviewer prompted the rep. [b][color=lightgray]“Is that true?”[/color] [/b]Behind her the crowd of goons seemed to thrum and vibrate with anticipation for violence. The rep turned to look over her shoulder at the action. Perhaps she’s looking for an escape. The interviewer prompted her again. The rep’s almost able to wipe the look of panic off of her face by the time she turned back around.

[b][color=lightgray]“Sorry, what was the question?”[/color][/b] asked the rep before the question was repeated for the third time. [b][color=lightgray]“The presence of APEX’s Bomb Squad is news to me, but rest assured the safest place you can be is here at tonight’s debate.”[/color][/b]  Another question, muffled by the sound of large vehicles. [b][color=lightgray]“No, there isn’t a bomb.”[/color][/b] Another question, this one drowned out by the sound of a helicopter flying overhead . [b][color=lightgray]“Probably in case there is one. I can’t say why they’re here.”[/color] [/b]Another question, silenced by a rallying warcry. The rep’s eyes were darting back and forth, her hand fumbling with her wristwatch. 

[b][color=lightgray]“My NDA with APEX has nothing to do with this, I work for the Mayor. No, I’m not avoiding the question, I’m saying I cannot answer the question. Please, just stop asking me questions and listen: there’s no place s-safer tonight than the debate, I can assure you. Please, if you’re out there, ple—”[/color][/b]

The image cut away from the representative, who was on the verge of tears, back to the smiling, plastic-faced interviewer as they thanked Ms. Ramona and informed her that they were unfortunately out of time. ]][/indent]

[i][color=#ffdf12] “Serena Petrukov arrived first thereafter with a small entourage—what she called an ‘envoy’ of the Pirate Party. Candidate Walter Faren, representing the NLP has not yet arrived and hasn’t been located for further inquiry by Hart Media Enterprises for several days. While plenty self-identified HyperHuman Monks and their supporters have shown up to the event for Chen Dao’s campaign, but Hart correspondents have confirmed that Dao himself is still at the Baolei Clinic, a few blocks away from Central Square.

“NTP candidate Samsara Washington has been caught in brief—er—interviews, he has been constantly on the move throughout the Central Suites facility, coordinating the arrival of a group of supply trucks that have flanked the facility’s nearest lots and garages with deliveries.”[/color][/i]

[indent]

[[[i][color=#ffdf12] “Mr. Washington, do you have any statements on your debate plans today?”

	“Do you have an official statement on the rumors of Amalgamation Corp.’s involvement with the NTP?”

	“Where’s the rest of your campaign team? And what are you transporting in all the trucks?”

	“Samsara, is that your girlfriend that keeps following you around or just a stalker?”[/color][/i]

	Samsara stood flustered and out of breath before the camera. He and Delilah hurried to unload crates and boxes from one of the NTP supply trucks like goons in a crime drama.

[b][color=lightslategray] “Amalga—... shit. The NTP will make all of its announcements during the debate. This is a restricted area for the remainder of the debate to protect suite staff, so please—”[/color][/b] Samsara could hardly get a sentence out before the questions came again. He was pushing a wheeled cart up towards the derelict back garage entrance to the Central Suites compound. As far as any of the Reclaimers or reporters knew, the complex wasn’t connected to the garage for security reasons. Nonetheless, Samsara seemed to be pushing two hefty boxes on the cart, which bowed in the middle from the weight of the boxes. He struggled to get it up a concrete ramp that led to a security door. [b][color=lightslategray] “Come on, Del! I need some help!”[/color][/b]

Delilah looked half-hunched with her skin a mixture of sickly pale splotched with overheated red. Despite her demeanor, she was unloading faster than Samsara, though she only carried degrading cardboard boxes filled with what could have been mistaken for scrap electronics. She was without the AMALGA Rig wrapped around her, wearing a thick jacket to keep the cold out in lieu of the weave of tangled cords. Delilah could have sworn she remembered being lighter on her feet without the heavy cyberdeck, but each step without it still made her shin bones creak and grind. She turned to the reporters and the cameraman flinched back, as though he thought it wasn’t human for a brief moment. 

[b][color=#035096] “Stay back, you pawns of Private Surveillance Equity! I’m his hit-woman!”[/color][/b] Delilah’s migraine was getting worse. A voice, which she thought was her own spoke:
[color=red][indent][indent]𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕨 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞,[/indent][/indent][/color]
[indent][indent][indent], but she had[/indent][/indent][/indent]
[color=blue][indent][indent]𝕟𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕜.[/indent][/indent][/color]

She felt powerless. Minute muscle fibers alternated, contracting and extending, as Delilah’s gaze flicked constantly between the doors and the reporters. She carelessly flailed her hand in the box and spilled a handful of microsofts from her box. The cameraman stepped forward and her sympathetic nervous system overloaded. It felt like she sprained her ankle when she jumped and backed up towards Samsara.

[b][color=lightslategray] “Please ignore my assistant. No time for questions,”[/color][/b] Samsara said as Delilah gave his cart the last push he needed to breach the door and duck from view. 

	Some of the reporters scrambled to grab at the microsofts, though each hesitated before one brave Hart Media rep. stuck the thing in the microsoft jacks along his neck. The broadcast went dead.[/indent][/indent][hr]

[b][color=lightslategray] “Sometimes—the shit you say in front of the press makes me wonder why you haven’t blown your little alter ego’s cover by now. But I suppose you got that typical Reclaimer look,”[/color][/b] Samsara said to his companion. Delilah couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by that.

[i]But he was right. Sweat beading over heat rash; still shivering despite being wrapped up in his trench jacket.[/i] She didn’t say anything.

[b][color=lightslategray] “It’s fine when you’re going around playing hacker, but this is business. You can’t keep doing it when I’m around—when Amalgamation is watching. And not in public. This campaign isn’t one of your RPGs. Makes me wonder why you still get a check from us while you spit in the face of NTP public relations… And [i]my[/i] public relations for that matter. And you tank—”[/color][/b] He wanted to say more—wanted to get personal—but at a time like this, he knew better. Samsara gritted his teeth, twisted away from the little quarrel and pushed one of the overweight carts towards the stage. Delilah followed him, but stayed a few paces back. He interfaced with the metal crates on a tablet and they lit up at the edges as the contents booted up. Delilah heard the things inside skitter to life.

[b][color=#035096] “Makes me wonder why you do keep me around. Is it just getting lonely around here? Or are NTP and the Amalga goons stonewalling you? I can’t help but notice we ain’t got no security personnel except for your personal detail from Extropy. Where the hell [i]is[/i] Amalgamation? Where the hell are the NTP?"[/color][/b] Her questions came one after another, tongue flicking like a snake’s between her teeth, but she could hardly control where she started and stopped. Somehow her mouth felt numb, yet filled with sharp pangs of pain at the same time.[b][color=#035096] “You need me just as much, especially now. Even with all your little droids and your tech company blood diamonds, you’re like a little cybersecurity baby.”[/color][/b] She raised her firsts and shook them above her head.[b][color=#035096] “In fact, [i]I’m digitally beating the shit out of you in the Labyrinth right now!”[/i][/color][/b]

[b][color=lightslategray] “What’d you take, Delilah?”[/color][/b] Samsara was only half-paying attention. He answered a comms call from one of their security personnel, who was guiding another truckload of goods from Amalgamation into the suite’s derelict bay.

[b][color=#035096] “Not much. [i]Not yet.”[/i][/color][/b]

[b][color=lightslategray] “Maybe that’s why you’re irritable.”[/color][/b] Samsara stepped closer, and Delilah realized how tense she was, ever since they arrived at Central Square. She softened her shoulders.[b][color=lightslategray] “I do need your help, especially now.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=#035096] “You didn’t answer me. Where are your corp. shill handlers? They really trust you and your droids to hand them the election with no help? You’ll get dropped as fast as Campbell, and Amalgamation won’t risk it.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=lightslategray] “Maybe you misjudge their reach.”[/color][/b] Samsara ran a finger along the metal crates.[b][color=lightslategray] “And maybe you misjudge what they’re trying to protect… The election. [i]This event.[/i] Its outcome. Not me. And for all that, they’ve done their due diligence.”

“[i]I[/i] need the position, for [i]my[/i] sake, for Extropy Inc., Delilah, and they know that. It’s just orders from here. And [i]you[/i] know that.”[/color][/b]

The voice of Samsara’s miniscule security detail came over the tablet intercom: [b] “Another two trucks are here. Same cargo. Finished unloading, now we’ll send ‘em back.”[/b]

[b][color=lightslategray] “No,”[/color][/b] Samsara cut in. [b][color=lightslategray] “Leave one truck in the lot. I’ll take care of it.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=#035096] “All this shadowy bullshit. What sort of stage exhibition needs four dozen of these things? And where are all the trucks going? Don’t you need to cart them all back afterwards?”[/color][/b]

[b][color=lightslategray] “We will.”[/color][/b] He cut her off quick this time, sighed, and repeated his words:[b][color=lightslategray] “We will… Just get them synced up, and make sure feeds are cut off from Labyrinth countermeasures, until—... If this goes wrong, Delilah, it goes [i]real[/i] wrong. I gotta find Gatch before he goes on.”[/color][/b] He was already headed backstage.[b][color=lightslategray] “And if something goes wrong, Delilah—”[/color][/b] Samsara took one last look back, a soft gaze upon her erratic eyes before his mirrorshades went opaque.[i] It was time for Business.[/i][b][color=lightslategray] “Find me. We stick together. For real. I’ll keep you alive in meatspace… So long as you don’t drop yourself first.”[/color][/b][hr]

[color=gray]𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕔. 𝕒𝕟𝕕...[/color]
[center]They called it MINDSLICER™ on the streets,[/center]
[right]—and even the dealer spoke to her in ALL CAPS from the moment they met.[/right]

She could feel it. Even now, the autoinjector in her hand vibrated with [color=gray][𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥] [𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘][s][𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕞𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝][/s] [𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖][/color]; a mind of its own. Or maybe Delilah was just trembling too much to tell the difference. Most people steered clear unless they needed it. Most netrunners who used it forgot why exactly they ever needed it. Delilah knew she needed it—now more than ever. The thought of [color=gray][𝔽 ℝ 𝔸 𝔾 𝕄 𝔼 ℕ 𝕋 𝔸 𝕋 𝕀 𝕆 ℕ][/color]—the horror it brought with it—was battled back by a feeling that hadn’t come around in a while.

[center][i][color=#3467eb][DUTY?][/color]		[color=red][WITHDRAWAL?][/color][/i][/center]

On Samsara’s security feeds, she watched his detail step away from the last shipment of drones.

No waiting. No games. An ally’s fate—or legacy— could fizzle in absence or stand to remain. Delilah imagined another hacker turning a cheap pistol upon their own face, leaving quiet comms and no trace.

[center][i][color=#3467eb][NO][/color]					[color=red][NOT CITIZEN K][/color][/i][/center]

She yanked the cables jacked into her neck taut and stabbed the autoinjector through a spot along the cable patched with electrical tape. It’s payload melted on contact with the wires and followed the electrical current up to where her Electronic-Brain components met flesh. It bound to neuroreceptors and boiled or bubbled like that [color=green]GREEN[/color] brand rock candy that leaves your mouth microbiome feeling like a pit of acid. Or maybe she just imagined it.

She didn’t feel sad, but she felt [color=#3467eb][BLUE][/color].

Not angry, but the [color=red][RED][/color] seeped back in.

Like she was still wearing the glasses, but in a brief and swiftly forgotten fit of convulsions, the glasses had fallen off when the first wave hit.


[color=008000]>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘...
>>> 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝔽𝕝𝕦ü̶̡͎̟̬̤͔͕̙̔̆x̶̧͍̹̜̹͍͆͝ͅ ̸̞͇̫̭̝̫͚͑̉̄̾͑̑̿̒̚Ş̷̬̗̲͔̠͕͍̲̉͌̄̂̆̇̉̽̃͜͝\Ⱨ₳…!

>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕. ℝ𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘…

>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘...
>>> 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 [s][𝕃𝕐𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝔼𝔽𝔽𝕀𝔾𝕐]...[/s]
[indent][indent][s][𝕊𝕃𝕀ℂ𝔼ℝ][/s]
[indent][indent]>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕. ℝ𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘…[/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/color]

The AMALGA Rig was whirring and she was in the Labyrinth, but she still saw the crooked table with uneven legs, half-strewn with trash in the derelict suite that Gatch gave to the NTP. Still in multicolor. Pupils still dilated. With heart still racing from all the calories she still burned while just sitting up.

Samsara’s security feed of the trucks in [color=#3467eb][BLUE][/color]. A trembling hand clawed towards the screen.

The inside of the trucks through the [color=red][RED][/color] lens. The autonomous droids were unpacked and waiting, but all their sharp spindly winds collapsed in on their bodies, like they were crushed into coffins too small.

And in Labyrinth, too. There, it seemed like she could see herself, but she wasn’t sure how. There were no cameras in the suites, especially in the derelict ones. No cameras faced the little crooked table, crumbling in real time. Not red or blue but [b]ALL WHITE LIGHT[/b]. Like someone was watching her moves in cyberspace— someone there with her. At first, she thought it was the droids or Citizen K. But she was alone.

Then just the same way all her seizures started, there was a [i]CLICK[/i] and her neck collapsed back. Dead weight, but the droids felt it too, and to them it was a spark of life.

[color=008000]>>>[𝕄𝕀ℕ𝔻] 𝕊𝕃𝕀ℂ𝔼𝔻 𝕊𝔼𝕍𝔼ℝ𝔼𝔻 ℂ𝕆ℕℕ𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ 𝔼𝕋. ℂ𝔼𝕋𝔼ℝ𝔸.[/color]

[center]𝕀𝕋 𝔽𝔼𝕃𝕋 𝕀ℕℂℝ𝔼𝔻𝕀𝔹𝕃𝔼
𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕖…[/center]

[color=008000]>>>𝔽ℝ𝔸ℂ𝕋𝕌ℝ𝔼𝔻 ℙ𝔼ℝℂ𝔼ℙ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ 𝕎𝕀𝕋ℍ 𝔼𝕏𝕋ℝ𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝔸𝕄𝔼𝕊 𝕆𝔽 ℝ𝔼𝔽𝔼ℝ𝔼ℕℂ𝔼[/color]

Delilah’s effigy in the white light had long since vanished. But somewhere else, the AMALGA Rig still whirred, and the Prophet Array clicked on its projectors.

[color=008000]>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘...
>>> 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕫𝕖𝕟 𝕂…[/color][hr][hr]