[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]

[right][sub]With [@Opposition], [@MagratheanWhale], [@SandyGunfox], [@Firecracker_], and [Withdrawn Player][/sub][/right]

[center][hider=Exit Baolei… With Haste][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmGpr-BMDt8[/youtube][/hider][/center]

[b][color=coral] “I could never parse the monks' motivation. They seemed to mean well for the Reclaim, so I kept my campaign on friendly terms. That's it. Spend too long in that temple, or whatever it might be, and every seems to start feeling like they see something that others don't.”[/color][/b] 
[right]—Dexter Campbell[/right]

[h3][color=orangered]𝔹𝕒𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕚 ℂ𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕔[/color][/h3][color=008000][b]ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝[/b]
[b]𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝕟𝕕, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟝 :: 𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ℤ𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕖[/b]
[b] [𝕄𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜] ℝ𝕖𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

[color=chartreuse][b] “Wake up [i] ‘Angel’[/i]...”[/b][/color]

The voice sounded almost malefic... Playful and familiar, but perhaps it was just a distortion—as though spoken through a haze of smoke. The smoke, though, gave way to the dull colors of the Medivan’s sterile walls. Two floating red globes stared back at him, and based on the visual trails still clearing from his eyes Gabe could see the thing had emerged from a little rectangular slot conveniently carved into the ambulance’s wall near the ceiling. 

[color=chartreuse][b] “Gabe.”[/b][/color] The drone croaked through a blast of static before that black sliver of its body opened up beneath the rotors and lofted a small screen in front of Gabriel. The sinewy form of a familiar stick-like torso filled up the display. His pale torso was unmarked by metal or medicinal intervention, but his visage was covered by a mask with cylindrical red eyes above a protruding beak. [color=chartreuse][b]Insect[/b][/color] had the mask custom built to mimic some old medical motif, a symbol for doctors of that Insect would tell rich stories about to Gabe during their days together under lab lamplight. Even his drone looked a bit like the mask, with the screen pushed forth from within an avian beak. In the Reclaim, it was ubiquitous as a sign of the ripper doc’s reach, recognized only by those seeking his black clinic.

[color=chartreuse][b] “Gabe,”[/b][/color] he said, then paused for a long moment, staring through the blurry display at his friend.[color=chartreuse][b] “You should take a day off...”[/b][/color]

“I don’t have time, man...” Gabe muttered, barely conscious.

Insect waved a hand through the air to disregard the sentiment. He leaned forward, pressed his elbows hard against a reflective metal table.[color=chartreuse][b] “Looked into the Dust you sent me. Compared it to some stuff on the street. Got it from a guy. Same sort of shit—told me it came from space or something. [i]Void Dust[/i]”[/b][/color] He stretched his limbs and contorted his torso like he was wringing a towel. With each offhanded flex, the muscles and tendons looked like steel cords beneath his skin, even despite his stick-like, gaunt build. [color=chartreuse][b] “Thing is, Gabe,”[/b][/color]

[color=chartreuse][b] “The two samples are completely different. I mean, they’re the same thing at the core, but your plug’s is cut with something.”[/b][/color] Another long pause. Insect stared directly into the Medivan, like he was there, just beyond Gabriel’s periphery. Like he could hear the uneven, labored breaths of the dosed doctor. [color=chartreuse][b] “You alone?”[/b][/color] Insect asked, but he already knew. Insect turned to his side, mask lit up by a display out of the drone’s view. Then he started to fade from the feed, and a video came to replace him.

The video showed an amalgamation of cybernetics and gelatinous molds that seemed to mimic flesh, nerves, and tissue around an old E-Brain implant. Gabriel could have sworn he’d caught a glimpse of it moving. Insect injected an IV into the crude simulacrum—[i]Stella’s Dust[/i]—then zoomed the lens in on the video, focusing down on a specific cable jacked into the E-Brain that branched out into the mold. The cable shimmered, like rippling water more than metal alloy. The video cut off and Insect’s red eyes reappeared on the feed.

[color=chartreuse][b] “And maybe it’s not showing up on a microscope slide.”[/b][/color] He drummed his hands on the table, clattering a beat to occupy space while he thought, then deviously steepled his hands together. [color=chartreuse][b] “You still got that blood filter? Can you simulate a circulatory—”[/b][/color] 

But he cut himself off, shook his head. He righted his crooked, hunched spine and it caused him to smack his head into a swaying lamp.[color=chartreuse][b] “You know what? Keep cool around your spacemen friends, Gabe. Maybe you want to know what’s going on in their heads, but keep cool.”[/b][/color] 

Gabriel laid on the floor, wondering if the drone which had appeared before him was merely a hallucination caused by the synthetic drug, or a real corporeal thing. When he finally worked up the presence of mind to respond, he pushed himself up off the ground and said: “... Fuck, okay, so my sample was cut with something else? That explains why I was having a tough time with the formula. But I didn’t get this from a dealer, I got it from an addict looking for an alternative.” Gabriel stood up and began fiddling with the aforementioned blood filtering device. While its purpose was more diagnostic than anything, it could be used to analyze the contents of alien bloodborne substances, including drugs. Gabriel bent down, removed a vial of pre-filtered blood from his miniature fridge, and using his free hand added a very small pinch of the sample that Stella had given him. “Maybe something in the compound I dismissed as an ‘impurity’ is only active while bloodborne. I’ll see if the filter can detect it.” Using the touchscreen on the futuristic device, Gabriel began to isolate the antibodies and chemicals in the plasma, until he had a rough idea of the substances in question.

As soon as Gabriel deposited the dust sample into the vial, his eyes saw a shimmering of their own within the blood. It looked like a web of sparks, but so small; so fragmented, it could hardly be discerned from floaters in the eye of any onlooker. The sample was, at first, about as expected. The machine would return readouts corresponding with Gabriel’s selected blood type, though it detected no foreign substances aside from metal alloys, trace offworld rocks and minerals, and a laundry list of psychoactive compounds—most of which matched Gabriel’s homebrew. Nonetheless, the results were distorted. The expected antibodies were gone one second, replaced with newly synthesized blood proteins, then the sample read clean again. The process repeated, like the machine itself was reading more than one sample from the same vial.

“This shit is almost [i]supernatural[/i],” Gabe mused, “no wonder I can’t replicate it...”

Gabe’s focus on his work was snatched away by a cacophony from the drone’s speakers. It sounded like a vacuum or the drone’s rotors themselves amplified. On screen, Insect pressed a glass flask to the seal of his mask and the flask’s solution started to disappear into the beak. Insect cleared his throat beneath the metal visage. [color=chartreuse][b] “But Gabriel… You[i] ‘pilgrimaging’[/i] with the monks tomorrow? The debate, or something… Dao definitely appreciates your help, so I figured he might want you around.”[/b][/color] 

[color=chartreuse][b] “You know they’re bound to have that guy souped up with new wetware if any of the monks actually care about what he’ll say out there. You should try and get a scan on his augs. We can see what he’s got plugged in. Maybe even tune him up once we see what we’re working with. Of course, that’s up to you, as an official patron of the shrine, or what have you.”[/b][/color]

Gabe nodded at this suggestion. “I know what he’s packing already, more-or-less. Some of the stuff in his arms I actually made myself. If he’s gotten more plugins lately, I’m not aware of it.” He paused. “Why do you care what implants the guy has? It doesn’t impact anyone else one way or another.”

[color=chartreuse][b] “Don’t know why it’s on my mind,”[/b][/color] Insect said through a brief, splintering static on the screen. [color=chartreuse][b] “Dao’s a good guy. Was a good friend for a short stint. Maybe I just figured the dude’s got more impact in the Reclaim than people think. Running Baolei and other clinic operations… With no Black Clinic fees. You think he’s enlightened or there’s something more to it all?”[/b][/color]

Gabriel thought amidst the silence. Insect had a point, and Gabriel had heard rumours of his connections to Gaea Naturae. If the mysterious biotech company were distributing anything particularly new and shiny, Dao would be among the first to get it.

Insect paused for too long, and Gabriel’s vision wavered again, like the static from Insect’s drone rippled out into the MediVan. The return of the Ripper Doc’s voice only seemed to amplify the distortion, if only for a moment: [color=chartreuse][b] “Just might be something worth looking into. If he’s got new ice, maybe you’ll notice. Maybe there’s schematics around the place somewhere. Or maybe you could scan him yourself if you’re clever enough. You think he’d mind?”[/b][/color]

[color=chartreuse][b] “Oh, and I’ll keep in touch about your little addiction project as well. I’m sure I can dig something up, friend.”[/b][/color] Insect’s face faded away, and the screen retracted back into the drone which promptly fell to the floor as its rotors followed suit. The thing scuttled like a spider across the van and scaled the wall until it popped back into the slot next to the ceiling. In an instant, it looked like it had vanished altogether, or become part of the van. Gabriel couldn’t quite be so sure. The ripples intensified, then he heard a pounding from the back of the van.

“Fucking hell,” Gabriel muttered. He hated the cryptic manner in which Insect spoke, but odd as he was, he was one of Gabe’s most useful informants. Gabriel would follow through with the scan, but there was no way in hell that he’d divulge the results to Insect without some sort of incentive. As the effects of the drug began to wear off, finally, Gabriel turned around to answer the knocking at the door. “Yeah... yeah I’ll be there in a sec. Fuck. Wow. Just... gimme a bit.”
 


[b] “Of course.  All are welcome to gaze upon the operation, take part in our practice, and lend aid to the destitute of the Reclaim Zone. Allow me to introduce you to someone who may be able to better direct your inquiries, miss…”[/b]

"S'venia," she started as she looked over the monk in front of her.  Her eyes flashed over the robes, the metallics of his body, and his face.  Scanning the machine's intricate nature, S'venia could only describe the monk's look in a singular word; creepy.  She found it weird how no matter which monk she encountered, that word was the only one ready on the tip of her tongue.  She was sure one of these days she would meet a normal monk like the old told stories.  Dressed in black, with a weird white-collar, that liked to preach about a man in the sky.  She would not feel safe next to that type of monk either, but at least they were more upfront with their affronts.  "S'venia Skor, but you can call me S've-.."

[b]“Welcome to Baolei Clinic, Reclaim outpost of the Mekanedo Monastic Order,”[/b] another monk interrupted.  This monk looked more threatening than the last.  More corporate even. "Oh no," S'venia thought as she looked over the woman as the new monk began to walk back through the doors, "monk human resources."

[b][color=darkorange]“You’re welcome to examine our operation yourself, and while the other monks may be busy taking care of those in need, I believe I could answer any questions you might have.”[/color][/b] Dharma said.

[color=FFDAB9]"Thank you so much,"[/color] S'venia responded as she flashed her smile.  [color=FFDAB9]"I hope you don't mind,"[/color] S'venia spoke as she tapped the control panel, turning her eye red.  S'venia then unwrapped her computer and typed a quick command to her camera drone, sending it out to capture videos of those receiving care.  She shifted her focus back to the human resource augmented monk and flashed another smile.   [color=FFDAB9]"My name is S'venia, reporting for the South City Blues.  This disaster that has befallen our city is unfortunate, regrettable, and devastating for those genuinely in need.  I am not here to figure out what got us to this point,"[/color] she paused as she flashed her arm across her body in an attempt to draw a line.  [color=FFDAB9]"But I am here to show the people what good the Mekanedo Monastic Order is doing,"[/color] S'venia paused as she did a quick spin around as she followed the monk further into the compound.  [color=FFDAB9]"These people need help, and your order is providing it,"[/color] S'venia started as she shifted her focus back to the monk. [color=FFDAB9]"I hope to help my viewers understand in simple terms what exactly your order does to help ease the pain of our fellow citizens,"[/color] she paused as she smiled another 'genuine' smile.

Turning the drone's camera towards her face, S'venia paused it’s movement as she focused her attention on a figure in the background.  With a twist of her wrist, the camera extended its neck out of its shell and focused.  There was an individual here that she knew.  How did she know this geriatric looking, clean clothes missing, old looking geezer and how was his face so remembered.  And then it hit, it was Methuselah.  It was the old man himself, S’vei long forgot his actual name and had since relied on that ‘old’ nickname she had created for her fellow believer in Dex.  What was he doing here?  She left that question lingering for a second as the drone camera lingered on the aged face before it hit her.  He was augmented.

Through the change in his facial expression, she could see that he also saw her, but the look on his face was confusing.  It was not the confused look that perplexed her, he was old, and his memory was probably fading.  No, this look was much more concerning.  It was like he saw a ghost.  

[color=FFDAB9]“So,”[/color] S’venia started as she shifted the drone back towards the corporate monk, [color=FFDAB9]“can you tell me how your group has handled the influx of patients in such a short time?”[/color]

As the monk started to answer, their head would shift from side to side before turning its attention to one of the many instances of the [i]‘helping the people mantra’[/i] they recently adopted. S’venia, noticed the lack of awareness, shifted her focus towards the relic and attempted to wave and send one of her trademark smiles.  The sight of the monks’ head-turning their attention back around forced her back to her job.

[color=FFDAB9]“That seems like a challenge that you were not expecting. Have others offered their support to help?”[/color]

[b][color=darkorange]“The Mekanedo Monastic Order primarily works alone, but other HyperHuman Monks from around the coast help, as do the people of the Reclaim of course.”[/color][/b]

As S’venia finished the statement, she tapped an icon on her screen, and her drone locked its focus on her old [i]“compatriot”[/i]. The drone’s lens latched onto the face of the older man.  [color=FFDAB9]“What has life brought on you,”[/color] she thought quietly to herself. 

[hr]Darts missed the board left and right. Everytime Proctor reeled in the line, the hook was empty. His feet were locked in place, his mind being wrought in vain attempts to form some connection or fish some semblance of a memory out of the fog. The feeling of seeing a violet blur rush around the room, accompanied by her orbish camera imp, was so familiar it made him sick to his stomach. Between the two of them sat so many other empty husks of men and monks tending to them that to try and run across the room felt impossible, but the smile and wave told him he had been noticed too.

[color=slategray]”So she does remember something.”[/color]

Something resembling jubilation fluttered up from his stomach, as if a small lantern had finally been lit within the fog. Before he waved back, she turned back to the tour guide that led her across the room, but he kept his hand up, ready and eager to return the attention as soon as her gaze returned to him. 

A deep whirring in his ears told him his heart was beginning to beat with a pace that it hadn’t matched in a long time, and the cyborg would’ve been woozy on his feet had he not learned to master his palpitations long ago. Still though, control had decayed over time, and his heart continued to whir something fierce. His stance widened to maintain balance, thanks to his knee finally listening to what his brain said after the repair. Surely to everyone around him he looked like a mad man, and few monks threw him glances that said as much. He hadn’t noticed, as his sights were still set on the violet blur across the room. [hr]

[color=FFDAB9]“A curious development,”[/color] S’venia thought to herself as she focused in on the corporate monk ahead of her.  [color=FFDAB9]“If you can say, what are some of the biggest challenges that your order has overcome to this point?”[/color] S’venia finished and listened to the response.  Once again, the monk started off their response and eventually pointed towards an area.  Using the timing, S’venia turned her attention and locked her eyes with the older man.  She flashed him a big smile and a short wave before she turned her attention back to the monk.  [color=FFDAB9]“I thank you for answering my questions today,”[/color] S’venia started as she tapped a button on her computer, [color=FFDAB9]“if you don’t mind, I will take a look at your operations, take some stills and video, and I should be out of your hairs before long.”[/color]  S’venia smiled and waved and turned her attention back around towards the lost soul.

Dharma’s smile seemed to grow even wider as S’venia’s questions came. She resided exactly where she’d prepared to be. Perhaps that was why Dao was so fond of her running front-end operations like this. She spoke:

[b][color=darkorange]“Back when America was a fledgling state, its people turned against one another formally—to fight en masse in order to settle disputes. Before bombs and bots and lasers and smart weapons and psyops, there was a man who volunteered in the field hospitals. Before medical science and biomedical technology were even named—he was The Wound Dresser. He wrote famous poems of what he saw, but dressing wounds was hardly enough. Most of his work, then, became not to dress wounds but to act as a chaplain—administer rites and offer comfort in the last moments to the mutilated, shellshocked, living dead.”[/color][/b] Dharma paused and took a silent, breath, but S’venia nonetheless felt a sliver of cold air pass across her skin.

[b][color=darkorange]“What will you do when the Reclaim hemorrhages blood and severed limbs, crying for help and ridden with infection? What will we do?”[/color][/b] Dharma’s eyes drifted, and dissociated into a distant nothingness.

The repeated acknowledgement drove Proctor forward, the restored mobility of his legs a welcome feeling. He began to weave his way across the room, not trying to draw too much attention as he made a bee line across the room.

[color=FFDAB9]“Is he,”[/color] S’venia thought to herself as she spotted the old man meandering his way across the room, [color=FFDAB9]“I think he is,”[/color] S’venia completed the thought.  A large smile crossed her face, and she shot the man another wave.

[b][color=darkorange]“I’ll leave you to it,”[/color][/b] Dharma said, and walked off. Despite the metallic sheen to her legs, she had no footsteps.

A few of the metal husks on mats began to protest as Proctor roughly strode past them, a few unintentional connections between his legs and their backs.  Unwanted gazes began to scan the old man as he caused a sort of ruckus in an already chaotic room. He slowed his pace and with a sheepish grin motioned for the S’venia to come to his mat as he slowly retraced his steps back to his resting place. He sat crossing his legs as tightly as possible to leave room on his map for his old friend.

[center][b][u]---[/u][/b][/center]

As S’venia squeezed in place to share his mat, Proctor scooted back bit by bit to give her as much room as they could get between the two suffering robots flanking them. He heaved an anxious sigh, and looked deep into S’venia’s eyes.

[color=slategray]“Okay, so you’re S’venia. Could you, er, remind me who you are again, please?”[/color]

S’venia stared at the older man before her as a breath escaped her lips.  He had forgotten who she was.  While it was true that the two were never extremely close on the campaign trail, S’venia was still taken aback by how quickly he had forgotten her.  For her, it wasn’t all that long ago. She thought of the many interactions they, as a team, had.  She remembered back to the many nights they all stayed up trying to plan an election. The many days spent working together. It had not been long for her, but it may as well have been a lifetime for him.   Her eyes shifted to the ground as she pondered the request.  How can you help someone remember when they are gone?  More so, how can you introduce yourself to an old friend when you don’t know who you are?  S’venia’s eyes lingered on the mat for a brief moment before they slowly rose back up, locking in place with Proctors, and a small smile spread across her face.

[color=FFDAB9]“I am the journalist,”[/color] S’venia spoke as she shifted her focus down to her wrapped-up computer.  Unfurling it in a quick motion, S’venia waited for it to power on as she kept Proctor in her peripheral vision.  [color=FFDAB9]“There was a time when we worked together.  We tried to elect a good man to be the mayor of this district, Dexter.”[/color] S’venia paused as she looked back at her companion.  [color=FFDAB9]“Do you remember the campaign or Dexter,”[/color] she asked as she pressed a few buttons on her computer.  Various pictures floated into view on the screen, and she shifted her position so that Proctor could look at it.  She flicked through the photos at a pace that was almost impossible to track.  Eventually, she pulled her hand off the screen and pointed down towards it.

[color=FFDAB9]“There you are,”[/color] S’venia smiled as she spoke.  [color=FFDAB9]“You’re in the background in a lot of these photos,”[/color] S’venia continued as she swiped on the screen again.  [color=FFDAB9]“Here you are with Dex,”[/color] S’venia paused as she let the image sit for a moment, [color=FFDAB9]“and here we all are in a group photo.”[/color]  S’venia shifted her focus back to the elder beside her.  

[color=FFDAB9]“Do you remember any of that?”[/color]

Proctor’s own eyes looked back at him from the screen down in S’venia’s lap, his own gaze as strange as the rest of the group. Some faces he recognized, yet couldn’t name or recall the stories of. It was reminiscent of all the times he had looked over embarrassing photos after a night of barcrawling. These memories were missed. He wanted them back like nothing else.

[color=slategray]“Dexter Campbell.”[/color] His index finger hovered over the visage of the mayoral candidate, smiling amongst the colorful cast of outcasts and rejects that had been running his campaign. [color=slategray]“I owe him. Just let me find the bastards that killed him so I can repay them in kind, and maybe then I can finally rest these weary old bones.”[/color]

Proctor’s eyes shifted over to the blue eyes to the left, S’venia standing prim and proper with a large, charismatic smile on her face. The version of her that sat in front of him looked hardly different. Perhaps a mite less energetic with slightly darker circles around her eyes. She still exuded a sunniness uncharacteristic to the Reclaim. It stirred something reminiscent of comfort in him, knowing that someone else that had shared the ill-fated campaign as him hadn’t allowed the relentless destruction surrounding them to drag her down to the depths of despair that Proctor had come to know all too well.

[color=slategray]“Do you know anything? About what happened to Dexter, I mean.”[/color] His perplexed gaze returned to S’venia’s.

[color=FFDAB9]“I know more about what I don’t know,”[/color] S’venia started as she flicked through a few more photos on her computer.  [i]‘Do I know anything,’[/i] S’venia thought to herself as the smile began to fade.  S’venia knew the monster that assaulted the debate was unlike anything else unleashed on the Reclaim.  It was fast, adaptable, and it was a ghost. There were never any leads she could find, no sources to track down, and she was no further along locating it today than she was on the day of the attack.  What would she do if she was able to find it?  Would she confront it in a dark alleyway as it returned home from the bar?  Would she send an anonymous tip to the Enforcers?  No.  

S’venia’s eyes drifted back down to the tablet below.  She paused the swiping for a second, her hand hovering just an inch above the screen.  S’venia knew if she found the one responsible for the attack on the debate stage, it would not be her actual target.  The world saw the beast for what it was, S’venia wanted to find its Frankenstein.  

[color=FFDAB9]“I tried to track down any information I could, Proc,”[/color] S’venia started as her smile returned faintly.  [color=FFDAB9]“I checked under every nook and cranny, offered up a substantial reward for just the smallest crumb of information.”[/color]  S’venia paused as she allowed her hand to return to the screen.  In an instant a code was typed, prompting a hidden folder to open up.  Proctor would see many thumbnails with many interesting names.  In a fast tap, S’venia opened the one titled [i]“The Truth About the Dark”[/i], and a slideshow of pictures began to play.  The subject would be a familiar, if not terrifying, look at the assassin.

[color=FFDAB9]“When the assassin was on the debate stage, I did what I could to stop it from killing anyone else,”[/color] she paused as she exhaled sharply, [color=FFDAB9]“all I got for it was these photos.”[/color]  S’venia paused as she allowed her smile to return more to full.  She knew she had gotten more than any other reporter there that day.  As they all ran for cover, as they all hid from the fight developing around, S’venia managed to do something.  She managed to save someone.  At least that is what she told herself. Sure, it may have been the corrupt Gatch.  Sure, that may have ended up causing more harm to the district than the good that she did.  

[color=FFDAB9]“I’ll tell you what, if I ever locate whoever was behind that attack we can go after them together.”[/color]  S’venia nudged the shoulder of Proctor with her own.  With a few taps, she closed out of the slideshow and closed the folder it originated from.  She swiped for a second, eventually resting on a group photo once again. [color=FFDAB9]“Maybe that righteous firefight is what your old bones need, Methuselah.”[/color] 

Proctor attempted in vain to absorb all the various details of the assassin. The wall of fog in his brain would surely deny him any later recollection, despite his best effort. He finally broke his long glare at the screen to lock eyes with S’venia.

[color=slategray]”You help me get ahold of a few doses of Neurosynth, you’ll have your own personal Watson. Without that, I’ll be just as useless in the gunfight as I am now.”[/color] His gaze returned to the screen as he continued to talk. [color=slategray]“I mean, look at me. The time since the campaign has not been kind to me. Some days I can’t even remember my own name. The only thing I remembered about you was your name! It’s all so….far away from me. Like I have to grasp at straws to remember what city I’m even in. I’m in no shape for a fight”[/color] His eyes fell to the exposed piston which had been freshly installed in his leg.

[color=FFDAB9]“Say less, Methuselah.”[/color] [hr]

Perhaps it was a trick of his mind; perhaps remnants of a visit to [i]Limbo[/i] were reflected in splotches and specks of color crossing Gabriel’s myopic gaze.

[color=chartreuse][b] “Just bring the aug scanner with you, Angel. Just in case...”[/b][/color] Insect’s voice echoed back. Gabriel couldn’t be sure it was in his head—fading away with the last remnants of visual trails as his eyes adjusted to the Reclaim streets—or if that spider-like drone still lurked somewhere nearby.

[i]... but why does he need it?[/i] the doctor wondered. He tried to think of the reason for Insect’s insistence.

[b][color=darkorange]“Doctor Gabriel,”[/color][/b] Dharma called him. She had a habit of doing that despite his rather unofficial post at the clinic. A lot of the monks had similarly obscure backgrounds—some schooling, some certifications, but mostly they knew their way around man and machine from tradework in the clinics. Dharma was like that too, or at least, that’s what most assumed when Gabriel asked around. Dao hired her on, welcomed her into the fold and she quickly integrated, but she had no other references.

She greeted him at the doorway and gestured within. Her movements were like waves. [i]First the flow, then the crash. Graceful, then abrupt.[/i][b][color=darkorange] “Lots of new patients—and visitors. Some of your type maybe. Grinders with heavy mods, but not monks; classic Reclaim types; even a reporter today, so maybe keep an eye out. Oh, and some girl off the wire came and crashed her way into the dojo downstairs, I think.”[/color][/b] Dharma smiled, but her stonework gaze went past Gabriel. Her optics tremored like they were refocusing or pouring over an over-stimuli unseen outside of her AR.

Gabriel cracked his fingers and glanced around at the cavalcade of patients. “Alright, let’s cut into some people,” he joked, “what types of augs are they packing?” He pulled out his augmentation scanner.

A man stepped through the vagrants outside, scarcely acknowledging them. Combat boots too new for a run-of-the-mill Reclaimer, suspenders and a black polymer jacket to match, but it wasn’t rough-make recycled polymer. It was fresh, albeit scuffed up just enough to conceal a weave beneath. [i]Off-duty kevlar[/i].

[b][color=darkorange]“And he’s got a strap,”[/color][/b] Dharma said under her breath, more to herself then to Gabriel, but she looked at the doc afterwards. [b][color=darkorange]“Anything specific on your agenda today? Just let me know if you need some help or need to find anything. Or you can always play my sidekick for the day.”[/color][/b] She smiled at her own banter, perhaps to draw attention away from her continued scans.

“I’m nobody’s sidekick,” Gabriel retorted, a sly smirk spreading across his face, “though if I had to pick someone to play lackey for, it’d definitely be you.” Gabriel adjusted the Red Cross satchel on his hip and nodded. “Just the usual; give me whatever patient is worst-off and I’ll do my best. I’ve got enough spare parts in my van from last month to fix damn near anything.” It is unclear whether he was talking about mechanical or... [i]organic[/i] parts.

The newcomer ran a hand along his jacket, to smooth out creases made by the bulk beneath. His eyes flashed past the monks and their charges like they were pipework in the background of the Reclaim streets, but as he passed Howland, almost bumping into the psychiatrist, he smiled and bowed his head. Perhaps it was because he recognized Howland, too, was observing. Howland, too, could see his friends—same style black jackets, freshly scuffed polymer, moving tightly together. A small team of them circled the clinic while another posted themselves near an alley access door.

[b][color=gray] “Smog’s got the sky darker, even in the evening, doesn’t it seem?”[/color][/b] The lone jacket spoke to Howland, as though he thought he’d picked the right time, place, or target for small talk. He gave another friendly smile and started towards the doorway, but looked back.[b][color=gray] “Got business with the monks or just here for the spectacle?”[/color][/b]

[color=C0C0C0]”Call it a professional interest,”[/color] Howland replied, without looking at the unwanted interrogator. He’d abandoned the electric-green Reclaim-punk disguise and approached the clinic from another angle; having rejected targeting the clinic directly, there was no need to hide any personal presence. Perhaps the monks would be less guarded towards a medical practitioner. 

“Is that...?” Gabriel muttered to himself, squinting at a figure across the room, “Howland?” The doctor smiled, waving a hand to beckon the other doctor over. “Howland! What are you doing here?” He seemed genuinely happy to see the man, despite the direness of the circumstances and the mounting injuries which surrounded 
them. Gabriel had seen too much blood in his life to be phased by it.

Howland turned at the more recognizable voice, bringing forward a disarming smile. [color=C0C0C0]“Gabriel!”[/color] The doctor provided a good excuse to put some distance between himself and the black jacket, so Howland walked towards him. [color=C0C0C0]”I came to see if I could help - but with things turning violent, I thought it prudent to avoid getting myself hurt in the process.”[/color]

Gabriel nodded. “Not a bad move. I’m glad I picked a less violent lifestyle,” he continued, “Though I still spend a lot of time dealing with blood.”

[color=C0C0C0]”Can’t say I don’t miss my office right about now,”[/color] Howland said with a wry grin. But his expression didn’t last, and his tone turned serious. [color=C0C0C0]”How can I help?”[/color]

Gabriel nodded. “How’re you with surgery? I’m sure lots of folks around here need it.”

Howland shook his head firmly. [color=C0C0C0]”I can render first aid, but I’m not a surgeon. I’ll leave the cutting to you, but I’ll lend my support.”[/color]

[b][color=darkorange]“There’s always someone looking for your assistance if it’s there. Are you a friend of Gabriel’s?”[/color][/b] Dharma said to Howland as she approached the pair and tapped Gabriel on the shoulder. [b][color=darkorange]“And in terms of your work, it seems we’ve got a few candidates that need more than your spare parts. This could be a good place to start, your friend can join us.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=darkorange]“The one with the reporter—[/color][/b] She gestured towards Proctor. [b][color=darkorange]“Full set of deteriorated limbs. He’s some old merc type. APEX Furytech limbs and plenty of tin on the inside, too. Usually his type gets by, but it seems like Neurosynth deficiency.”[/color][/b] Dharma paused and took a few steps towards Proctor and S’venia. She raised one of her prostheses to wave Proctor over. When her arm moved, it was like liquid in the air, then straight back to a solid foundation though still subtly swinging with the resonance of harp string. Proctor saw the flash of her matte-black industrial limbs in his peripheral—a single hypnotic pattern, just distinct enough to be recognized as something other than visual aberration.

[b][color=darkorange]“Symptomatic dementia from… deficiency. No Neurosynth.”[/color][/b] She hesitated over mentioning the drug at all. [b][color=darkorange] “Got SPECS. At least I think so. Probably wouldn’t go so well if we really started opening him up Ship of Theseus style.”[/color][/b]

The sound of a small blast came up from the tatami beneath them. Dharma smiled, though hardly acknowledged the sound as she approached Proctor and S’venia. The man in the black jacket had entered the temple once Dharma had left its entryway. He went straight through the crowded room of mats and descended a staircase in the back. A series of soft orange lights flickered around a ring that carried the sequence around the temple’s interior walls. Dharma eyed it as it passed.

[b][color=darkorange]“Good to see you’re already back on your feet. Did what I could with your Striders,”[/color][/b] she said to Proctor. [b][color=darkorange]“How are the rest of your augs? How’s your head?”[/color][/b] Dharma, like the rest of the monks, sometimes had the habit of being circuitous in their verbal diagnostics. 

“... Good fucking Lord,” Gabriel mused. Both his eyes and his bio scanners told him that this individual’s body was dying already. “Alright, can we get this guy on a bed? I’m gonna need some... everything...” the doctor trailed off, muttering to himself as he began to gather his tools and augment parts from around the clinic. He came back with what looked like a bin of scrap metal, but upon closer examination contained various spare parts that Gabriel had salvaged from augs over the years, most of which had small modifications and modernizations made to them. Anyone wondering what the doctor was working on in his van for so many hours every day now had their answer. “Hey buddy,” Gabe addressed Proctor directly, “how many neural implants do you have?”

“I’ve got alternatives to Neurosynth we can use in an emergency, but all the knockoffs I’ve made are toxic in more than the lowest doses,” Gabriel admitted, “And this guy looks like he’d need a lot.”

A few moments elapsed. Proctor’s jaw sat slightly agape, eyes shifting back and forth from the various silhouettes that had approached him and S’venia and interrupted his visit to the past. Mouth shut and brows raised as he began to consider the litany of questions sent his way. He tried his best to ignore the shadows. Deep, pure black figures that stood amongst the crowd around them. They all stared at Proctor, even in spite of the absence of eyes. They hadn’t been there before. Their odious presence was all Proctor could focus on now. It took a moment, but his wandering gaze returned to Dharma standing in front of him.

[color=slategray]”My head?”[/color] A chuckle, meek and unsure, escaped his lips. [color=slategray]”Foggy. Like usual. The legs feel much better, thanks for that, but… Not much to speak of when it comes to the head. Everything else feels alright, about as old and creaky as usual”[/color]

Another voice cut in after the monk’s but it wasn’t immediately audible. Proctor’s attention had again been pulled away from those who stood in front of him, and towards the others that had shifted forward. Dark shadows had closed ranks around him. Proctor knew there was no way they could be corporeal beings, but that didn’t stop an intense dread from crawling its way up and down his spine.

His eyes shot forward again.

[color=slategray]”Neural implants?”[/color]His brow furrowed.[color=slategray]”I’m… not really sure. I think this is the only one.”[/color]

He raised a hand which had begun to subtly shake, he hoped they wouldn’t notice, and tapped the large metal plate that encompassed most of the back and sides of his head.

[color=slategray]”Certainly don’t do shit for memory, that’s definite.”[/color]

Proctor peered down at the box full of spare parts, raising an eyebrow.

[color=slategray]”You a mechanic or something?  You don’t exactly look like a monk.”[/color] His voice sounded more distrustful than curious.

“Better than a monk,” Gabriel replied cockily, “I’m a doctor. Got a medical license and everything.” The doctor began to dig around in his bin, pulling out what appeared to be a robotic elbow joint. “Alright, so in layperson’s terms, SPECS typically hits in cases where someone’s augments don’t line up with what the brain wants to happen. The brain is highly adaptable, but not so adaptable that it can deal with a bunch of contradictory signals at once.”

Gabriel continues: “Most of your augments, from a purely mechanical and practical perspective, are working just fine--although they could definitely use a tune-up. Much like a computer, an old aug can still perform its basic functions, even though it might slow down a bit with age. The issue is, the brain doesn’t change at the same rate as an old machine.”

“The issue here is that these old augs don’t do a particularly good job accounting for subtle, almost-imperceptible decreases in performance overtime. Both the brain and machines change with age. A car or a computer slowing down a bit is fine, but when working with the human brain, that shit has to be EXACT. When augs started coming out, we didn’t fully understand the effect these had on the brain. Newer augs have some of that buffer built into them, which is why I’m about to replace your shoulders and elbows with something a bit more responsive.”

Proctor’s face curled into something skepticism and confusion.

[color=slategray]”Uhm. That sounds nice and all but what about some ‘synth? The hands and feet work fine, it’s just this…”[/color] A sharp, frustrated inhale [color=slategray]”...damn [i]fog[/i]! One day I can’t remember where I live, others I can’t remember my own fucking name. The street shit only does so much.”[/color]

Proctor gestured towards the disembodied elbow.

[color=slategray]”Maybe that’ll help the stiffness, but I need something more than just that.”[/color]

S’venia backed up slightly as the doctor started his assessment.  She kept herself close to be a familiar face to Proctor, at least for the time being. Howland backed up and stood next to her. Visible only to Proctor, just for a moment amidst the incorporeal shades around them, Howland’s clinical, detached look held something else in it. Not quite sympathy. [i]Pity.[/i] A moment later, Howland’s face was once more a mask of clinical concern. [color=C0C0C0]“This isn’t exactly a sterile operating theater,”[/color] he said to S’venia, under his breath. 

The doctor frankly looked irritated. “First and foremost, my work isn’t ‘street shit’. I worked with Gaea Naturae on their biomechanical interfaces, and I’ve seen this EXACT problem about a hundred times. Secondly, Synth is a great short-term solution, and can be used to treat SPECS with a proper supply,” Gabriel replied matter-of-factly, “But the more dissonance you have between what your brain says and what your augs say back to them, the worse your SPECS is gonna get.” He sighed, trying his best to explain as best he could to the poor old man. “If we just give you ‘synth and send you on your way, that’ll only slow down the progression of SPECS in the short term. If you let me operate on you, I might be able to slow it down permanently. That shaking in your hands? That’s the sign of a battle going on between the parts of you that are flesh, and the parts that are mechanical. We need to make them get along.”

“I can’t operate without informed consent, though,” Gabriel adds, “And I can do way, way more for you if you let me open your neural implant so I can re-synchronize your augs. What do you say?” Despite his coldness, Gabriel was entirely sincere.

[color=FFDAB9]“That voice”[/color] S’venia thought as she froze in place.  That voice was one she has heard before.  It was familiar if a bit unknown.  She fell into a memory pit as she thought over who it belonged to.  Dashing between thoughts of the explosion at the square, and the moments prior, she came to the realization.  [color=FFDAB9]”The enigma, or the curiosity?”[/color] She paused the thought as her head slowly shifted to take in the frame of the man beside her.   [color=FFDAB9]“Ahh,”[/color] S’venia whispered under her breath as she shifted her focus back towards Proctor.  [color=FFDAB9]“Indeed, but given the circumstances I don’t imagine we could find much better for Methuselah right now.”[/color]  S’venia paused as she unwrapped her computer again. 

In a furious motion a command was entered and her drone turned its focus towards the pair.  It hovered upwards a small distance before it settled in, and focused its lens on the pair.  [color=FFDAB9]“I don’t think we have met Dr. Parker Howland.”[/color]  S’venia slid her glasses over her face as she turned and faced him. 

[color=FFDAB9]“I’m S’vei, reporting on this ongoing tragedy, pleasure to make your acquaintance,”[/color] she finished as she shot out one hand towards the doctor while she pointed with her other at her drone.  He was a curiosity, an aberration even, and S’venia’s own curiosity outweighed her fear of discovery.  As well, his presence alone would be worth a few thousand interactions alone on a story.  

[color=C0C0C0]”Parker; it’s a pleasure as well, S’vei,”[/color] Howland replied. A smile flashed across his face just long enough to be polite before dropping; the circumstances hardly warranted an expression of happiness otherwise. [color=C0C0C0]”Although the circumstances could be better. I came here to help, but emergency neurosurgery is a bit beyond my skillset I’m afraid.”[/color]

[color=FFDAB9] “I understand that,”[/color] S’venia paused.  “I came here to show the good work that the clinic performs as the Reclaim sinks under her own weight, but all it takes is one look beyond the gates here to see that there isn’t enough room on this lifeboat to save all who drown.”  S’venia typed a command to her drone, causing it to pan across the crowd.  As it did, she spotted a fresh deviant in the form of a black jacket.  Interesting.  What would bring an undercover to these parts?

[color=FFDAB9]“I will do what I can,”[/color] S’venia continued as she turned towards Proctor.  [color=FFDAB9]“While emergency neurosurgery is out of reach for the both of us, I am sure we both have skills that can help. Mine is to remind the people that there is still enough hope to cling onto to stay afloat for now,”[/color] she paused as she shifted her focus down towards Proctor, [color=FFDAB9]“or to help remind one person who they are.”[/color]  As she finished speaking she watched the undercover man cross the clinic with a curious intent.

[color=darkorange][b]“You’re in good hands,”[/b][/color] Dharma said to Proctor as her eyes followed the man in the black jacket disappear from view. Once he’d descended the stairwell, four others with unmarked gear entered the clinic and headed after him. Dharma started moving after them, hardly turning from the group of patrons as she did, though her eyes were tracer-like, honed on her mark. There were glowing crescents like waning moons, and the shapes rotated in her amber irises as she briefly locked eyes with S’venia, reacting to a stimulus or perhaps PROCing a scan based on some internal parameters. She disappeared down the stairwell.

An array of voices, whispers. Some real, some imagined. Proctor’s confusion was mounting. Between the barely audible murmurs between his old friend and a strange face that barely stood out from the shadows, or the jargon being flung his way by the doctor he was clearly annoying, his head was beginning to pound. The metallic angel spoke up, parting the avalanche for a moment.

Her reassurement settled him a bit, but the doctor’s words drew his attention back down to his hands, which continued with a slight tremor.

[color=slategray][i]When did this shit start?[/i][/color]

When his eyes met Gabriel’s again, there was little in the way of confidence to be seen. It was obvious he was frustrated and scared, almost in the same way a child in a strange place. What was there to be frightened of?

A strange place? Strange people?

There was no such thing as familiarity for Proctor anymore.

[color=slategray]”Fine. Let’s do this ‘operation’ then. What have I got to lose?”[/color]

S’venia’s concentration on the undercover enforcer, and the others that followed, was soon broken by the stunning stare of Dharma.  S’venia immediately shifted the focus of her drone on a random patient at the clinic.  Was there more behind those curious crescents than what met her eyes?  Or would this be just another example of how wondrous some augmentations were?  S’venia pondered the thought until the Dharma was well down the stairs.  

“Curious development.  Enforcers at the clinic,” she spoke softly but audibly.  “I wonder why they masked their presence from the crowds outside.”  A curious development that churned the waters.  The enforcers never appeared somewhere without cause, S’venia knew this all too well.  Whether this cause was just or not was made more clear by their apparent desire to blend in.  They had something to hide.  And when enforcers had something to hide, they had a story to tell.  And S’venia knew she wanted to be the one who spoke their Truth to the world.

With a quick wave, S’venia turned around and started to look for a way down that would not draw attention to herself.


[hr]
[color=#3467eb]𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖,[/color] she imagined.
[color=red]𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤.[/color]
[color=#3467eb]𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕.[/color]
[right][color=red]𝕌𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜[/color][/right]
[center][color=#3467eb]𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖.[/color][/center]

[indent][indent][color=008000]>>> 𝕊𝕠 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 [color=#3467eb][𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕][/color] 𝕒𝕟𝕕 [color=red][𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕][/color] 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥.
𝔸𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕠 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕟𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕.[/color]

[color=008000]>>> 𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝔽𝕝𝕦𝕩 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕟!
>>> 𝕃𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘…
[color=#3467eb]>>> 𝕀𝕟𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕊𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕤[/color]
[color=red][center]>>> 𝔽𝕠𝕣 ℝ𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕[/center][/color]
[color=#3467eb][right]>>>𝕊𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤[/right][/color][/color]

[color=008000]>>> ...[/color]
[color=008000]>>> 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝔻𝔼𝕃𝕀𝕃𝔸ℍ [color=red][𝕊ℍ]𝔸𝕄𝔸ℕ[/color]𝕆…
>>> 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕘𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕚𝕠 [color=orange]𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖[/color]...
>>> 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖—𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕖—𝕨𝕙𝕠'𝕤 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪…[/color][/indent][/indent]

The reason’s faded, but she knows it will [color=#3467eb]ℙℍ𝔸𝕊𝔼[/color] back in. Everything does. Pushing through the cloaked baldies and their homies was experienced more in still frames patched together with searing glares from bright lights blurring her sight.

The next she remembered, the studio was [color=red]𝔸𝕃𝕃 𝔼𝕐𝔼𝕊[/color], all around her. Delilah stood center stage and the human-machine ophanim half-surrounded ehr. In front of her was Shade. Through all the haze and hot, piping proselytism, she’d found him. Somehow. Like always. Because she was a fucking operator. Unconcerned. Unhinged. Periodically punctuating declarations with punches. Heart palpitations made her jump and jet torrents of flames and leaking coolant, spitting sparks from loose wires in the web of her AMALGA Deck and breathing in the fumes from its hot connection ports half-jammed with cement dust and particulate rubble.

[indent][indent][color=008000]>>> 𝕊𝕙𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕…
>>> 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪'𝕣𝕖 [color=red]𝔸𝕃𝕃 𝔼𝕐𝔼𝕊[/color]...
>>> 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕤…
>>> 𝔸 𝕤𝕪𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕…[/color][/indent][/indent]

The shaman, for a second, was forced to tear its gaze away from the Shade and, for a moment, remembered a connection to someone named Delilah. When she looked back, she saw Dao. His name conjured faith from a memory of fragmentation at Central Square. He spoke:

[b][color=orangered] “Where does your anger come from?”[/color][/b]

[i]He—Delilah thought, she was too dazed to speak—was haloed by white light trailing off in Mandelbrot tendrils, like the ghosts of firing neurons branching past his skull. Or was it just another malfunction, twisting the Prophet Array.[/i] She tried to think of Shade and recall what happened. What had he taken? Money or information? Shade stepped into the center of the mat. She was moving before she realized, breaking from Dao’s gentle caress, taking hasty, heavy steps until she met him at the center and pumped back her arm; threw it forward like the machine it was. Her fist met Shade’s face and blasted a cone of sparks like tracers in a shotgun thick enough that she feared it would ignite the tatami beneath them. The watching wall of spectators’ eyes lurched back and that pleased the Shaman.

[b][color=dimgray] “Delilah, wait—”[/color][/b]

She heard Shade’s words after the act, like her senses had lagged several seconds. His voice reverberated and the lights seemed to shift with it. More radiant flashbangs, triggering slowly in time dilation. She heard the overclocked fans of the AMALGA Deck struggling to keep up and spewing hot air against her skin. Then, Dao again:

[b][color=orangered] “Your whole setup’s shredded, Delilah.”[/color][/b]
[b][color=dimgray] “Your whole setup’s shredded, Delilah.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=orangered] “From mistreatment. From mismatched, incompatible cybernetics strung together. A cloud with no centrality.”[/color][/b]

She tried to ignore him and stepped to Shade again. He flinched back, still crumpled down to two-thirds his height on a leg prosthesis with broken servos. She remembered.

[indent][indent][indent][b][color=#3467eb] “You’ve got my datastore. Footage of the [color=red][[[𝔸 𝕊ℙ𝕃𝕀𝕋]]][/color] in Central Square, scripts from the Knights Enterprises Heistm and more… You think you can just avoid me, hold that shit over me, you—”[/color][/b][/indent][/indent][/indent]

She couldn’t tell if she or Shade had lunged first this time, but he caught her hand in his grip and bent it at the wrist. For the first time in years, the joint felt filled to the brim with frayed nerve endings and atrophying muscle that convulsed in his wristlock. Delilah fell to a knee and almost threw up. More sparks sprayed from her hand; tendrils of smoke almost imperceptibly slipped from the ports of her AMALGA Deck. 

[b][color=dimgray] “You know I’m a data archivist. I got that shit locked away, and it stays there.”[/color][/b] Delilah lurched and her wrist twisted in Shade’s grip—like muscle and clogged arteries morphed their way back into the chromium limb. [b][color=dimgray] “I had to go dark too.”[/color][/b] He glanced at Dao, with each word bubbling in his throat like he was choking on them.[b][color=dimgray] “You knew. Security,”[/color][/b] Shade said,[b][color=dimgray] “over paranoia,”[/color][/b] as though it were a rehearsed mantra.

Delilah tried to parse his words, figuring there might be some sort of epiphany within them. There usually was, she thought, if you dug deep enough at any mundanity or absurdity. Then Shade had a baseball bat—she wasn’t sure where it came from—and he cracked through her jaw before she could wrench her hand free. She collapsed.

[b][color=orangered] “What happens to people like you, try to play pawn of chaos?”[/color][/b]
[b][color=dimgray] “What happens to people like you, try to play pawn of chaos?”[/color][/b]

The Shaman growled something feral as a beast but unfeeling as a machine. She moved harmoniously, despite her wristed still pinned against her chest, sweeping Shade’s legs and pouncing on top of him. She hoisted the bulk of the AMALGA Deck constricting her with its cords and slammed its pointed corner towards Shade’s eye socket until the light in his optic went dark.

[b][color=orangered] “They become Lernaen.”[/color][/b]
[b][color=dimgray] “They become Lernaen.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=dimgray] “We were partners,”[/color][/b] Shade said, [b][color=dimgray] “We—”[/color][/b]

[color=#3467eb][b] “𝕣𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣…”[/b][/color] Blood dripped from her chin onto the mats. Delilah only heard the sputtering fans—the Deck’s omnipresent thrum of internal mechanical energy. It strained—the way it did when she ran the Prophet Array projectors too long,

[color=green]>>>𝔸ℕ𝔻 ℙ𝕆𝕎𝔼ℝ𝔼𝔻 𝔻𝕆𝕎ℕ…[/color]

The blood evaporated. Delilah was still kneeling, but the muscular agony was gone. Her wrist was ensnared in the cords of her deck. Shade was kneeling too, ten meters across the room. She looked back at Dao, who stood just beyond her.

But Dao had already turned away, leaving the murmuring monks to melt from their tight circle and talk in loose groups. Some of them conversed with Shade while others seemed keen on enlightening Delilah or discussing what had happened. Perhaps she should have stopped and took stock, to understand, but it didn’t quite cross the surface of her mind; whenever it did, she pushed it aside.

Dendrites of disconnected white wires still stood, though ethereal like floaters in her eyes. They receded, following Dao’s crown as he rounded a corner. She followed too, though tired, still carrying enough strength—or at least enough deadbeat determination—to bruise through any monks and denizens accosting her with curiosity like some treasured [s]or pathetic[/s] oddity.

[color=#3467eb]ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖. ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘. [/color][color=red]𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕔 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝔼𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕪.[/color]
[color=#3467eb]𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘.[/color]

Dharma nearly ran into Delilah as she stumbled through the halls, almost automatically calling out a warning—[i][color=orangered]You’re not supposed to be down—[/color][/i]but she stopped herself, and recentered, looking for Dao. Delilah could have sworn she’d seen those crescent eyes before—the way they glinted and spun in reaction to any new visage.

The basement walls—though looking like they were made of layered paper backlit by orange light—seemed to absorb sound. At times, Delilah followed only the remnants of the dendrites firing.

A dead end, and within, a storeroom.

Shelves of steel decorated with leftover medicine, old machine parts, and general maintenance supplies lined the walls. It was all sparse, the last bottles and buckets of the Reclaim, save for the black steel payload in the cleared away center of the room. It was like a trapezoidal prism, and nondistinct with its side clean of any labels. Whatever it was, the crate must have held a majority of the supplies, lest the monks were far deeper entrenched in the poverty of the Reclaim then they let on.

Delilah—and so Dharma stopped in the corridor just outside the storeroom to listen in, but caught only the tail end of some negotiation and subsequent orders issued. There was no door, so they saw clearly within. Other corridors split off throughout the Temple Underground, and one even led up a ramp towards a steel cellar door to the alleyway. 

The man in the black jacket—who Delilah, for some reason, recognized only by the name[i] ‘Tim Smith’[/i]—had met up with his four identically-strapped companions. The goons raised the payload up with a lifting frame.

Dharma was a ghost—no footsteps, dancing the distance between her and Tim Smith and seizing his shoulder before he knew she was coming. She pinned his elbow to his ribs and cranked his hand at the wrist. Delilah felt ghost ligaments of her own snapping like rubber bands stretched too thin as she stood stuck, struck by spectacle and lost in paracosm. Smith drew on Dharma as he dropped to his knees, but Dharma’s cyber arms struck like pit vipers even outside of her peripheral vision. She elbowed the pistol into the floor and Smith’s first round went into the tatami.

[b][color=steelblue] “Wait,”[/color][/b] Tim Smith choked out before another of the monk’s strikes connected. He dropped his gun, and gestured back towards the payload. Two of the Enforcers had drawn sidearms as well, still struggling to hold two of the corners of the payload. 

[b][color=darkorange] “You’ll destroy it,”[/color][/b] Dharma said. Her breath and her pulse sat at an unwavering baseline. Somewhere in her head, the altercation had never happened, or it wasn’t her skirmishing and she was still back topside tending wounds.[b][color=darkorange] “—if you drop it.”[/color][/b]

Despite her words, the Enforcers held steady their aim, though they exchanged concerned gazes with Tim Smith. If she engaged them, they’d have to set it down first, or risk leaving the clinic empty-handed.

[b][color=darkorange] “Whatever you think you can do with that,”[/color][/b] Dharma started,[b][color=darkorange] “Know from whose hands you pry it.”[/color][/b] She gestured towards the ceiling, concealing her own concerned scan for Dao. [b][color=darkorange] “And what resistance you might meet.”[/color][/b]   

[b][color=steelblue] “If they knew what you had—what you withhold—maybe you’d be surprised by how quickly your allies become your [i]opposition[/i] when you fail to deliver.”[/color][/b] Tim Smith had retrieved his weapon and leveled it on Dharma.[b][color=steelblue] “And maybe your master—and your mojo—aren’t all that you thought they were…”[/color][/b]

[b][color=darkorange] “Should you try to leave with our supply—[/color][/b] Dharma took a deep breath.[b][color=darkorange] “You can keep ignoring our patrons, and trust in [i]my deliverance[/i].”[/color][/b]  
[hr][hr][hr]

[b][color=orangered] “Wait, Dharma; please…”

“Trust my words.”[/color][/b]