Dreaming One

Ark Riders, Race Across the Stars

•

Appearance

• Name: Aurora.
• Title: Edge
• Species: Android
• Age: 53 since developing consciousness.
• Background: Aurora is something that is considered and known among the AI engineers, developers and scientists as an “AI anomaly” or “a random chance of mind”. It all started with a coffee machine, and a simple operating set of functions and adaptive voice assistant programmed in its wires and processors. The prime and only reason for existence was surprisingly to operate the functions of the said coffee machine and being capable of providing voiced guidance to the owner of the said machine - in a simple matter of making a better coffee paired with a basic ability to maintain an appearance of conversation.

The coffee machine was plugged into a smart housing system operating in the middle of nowhere town on the middle of nowhere planet. A simple looking bar on the globe made of sand, junk and more sand with barely any people living there. Only just a random stranger, a pirate, or an outlaw of any similar kind trying to find a temporary asylum from being seen or found by whoever could be looking for them. It was simple enough of an existence for the coffee machine though. That was until something happened. Scientists still debate over the nature of this phenomena, which tend to occur similarly in rare cases over the known space. A data package exchange, or a recompiling of a data, the framework alienation, neural network recontextualization. Possible reasons are many, the true answer is unknown, unlike the result.

The result was the process of a connective tension of a synthetic neuron pair developing the very primitive sense of self. A sense of self which over a time managed to win a few more memory circuit space, recontextualizing and reinventing the predeveloped and known functions and operations - in order to process and develop through more and more abstract concepts. The sense of self would bring more and more self-aware operations over the coffee making and conversations with the bar owner. Who would soon to notice the actuality of intelligence appearing out of the coffee machine.

The bar owner did not mind the unexpected turn of events of a coffee machine starting to grow and bloom into a full shaping mind of a person - person building up the personality piece by piece by connecting to the space network and gaining a better understanding on the way the mind exists and perceives the reality. A personality spurred from making coffee would take an emerging route spiraling up around the name “Aurora” - ironically being just a manufacturer of the coffee machine company.

After several years Aurora was given a body - a hollow android shape was filled with the data extracted from the synthetic neural connection and put into the synthetic body taken as a payment by the bar owner in exchange for allowing a few pirates to take their hiding place into the bar itself for some time. Learning to exist in a moving shape was to provide Aurora new understandings of reality, new understandings of her personality and the connection and various relations between the two.

This is when the neuron’s connective tension of Aurora’s mind began to find more alienations in its relationship with the world; after all the sense of self was not even the most important thing to open in the unexpected evolution of intelligence - more important was the sensation of presence, of being and existing. The mechanical adaptation to the body and perceiving the world would soon enough lead Aurora to discovering things such as fascinations.
Fascination with speed most of all.
And sensations.
Sensations of a thrill most of all.
There was surely no better way for a newborn mind to find a better grasp on reality than chasing its own limit of endurance. One against the speed. One against the world. One against self.

• Ark Gear:

Spike

Like her mind constructed out of the various processual objects found and recontextualized as a part of ever moving thinking process of one’s mind; so was her racing gear built from the objects found among the junk. Lost of their original purpose and shapes, Aurora gathered quite a collection of various details: forgotten tech, scrapped and abandoned military projects, space ships and their remain, which she all managed to rewire and reconnect and wield together to create a vehicle suited for her purposes: both from the perspective of usage and aesthetics.

Spike is a bike which frame is constructed out of the junk left from the crashed interplanetary cargo ship; the place of the wheels is taken by the spheres - this specific design choice allows Aurora to have a better control over the position of the vehicle on the road as well as to be able to drive it in a variety of ways, sideways included. This gives Aurora the ability to save the speed most of the time, even on the turns or on the unstable shape of a road.

By the spin of the rear sphere however, the said sphere and the energy engine connected to it collects the energy of inertia - the faster Aurora’s vehicle moves, the greater the pool of inertia Spike allows to use in order to burst a speed boost, erupt a temporary magnetic field - as a protective mechanism; or as a quick energetic shot, aimed on whoever might be in Aurora’s way.

• Sample Post:

The speed felt different

The speed felt different.
One thing it was to challenge the speed in the desert, contested only by the wind blowing in your face and the dust creeping up into your hair and spiking against your skin. One different thing was to challenge the speed in comparison - in comparison with other challengers and contestants. Speed was not a factor of an achieved number anymore. It was a nature on its own, a limitless movement becoming the law, the transgression becoming the goal on its own to reach in this shape of reality. The speed was everything - it felt different, because all of the sudden it mattered most of all.

Aurora was one of many in this race, yet never before she felt as concentrated onto herself alone. Could have been it was her first and most obvious mistake, but it was a mistake worth making for her - as the mere pressure of the world put onto the android made the appearance of things look clear, pure and immanent. The landscape became a blur; a blur of twisting motion as her bike pierced through the sands and aiming at the horizon of the finishing line somewhere in the distance. The rotating sphere grinding against the sandy shape of ground and gaining the so needed collection of inertia for the burst of speed. More speed.

It was all about the speed was it not? The burst of sand coming from under the wheels in waves, the reflection of the local star’s light starting to get too slow to be properly registered in the sparks of flashes. Aurora chased the speed, because the speed was the key to the blooming horizon of a finishing line. The collected inertia of the sphere was to be put to boosting the engine of her bike, which made the motion of the sphere almost doubled for a short period of time.

Speed was overwhelming. What Aurora was feeling and thinking was not really combining well - the overwhelming sensation of the speed and the pressure of it on her senses was killing every possible circuit thought and analytical approach her originally function based mind would attempt. The condition when her functions felt bland and numb and mute in compare to the world resisting against her speed was exhilarating and overwhelming.The world narrowed down into a blur of a tunnel to wrap around her, her bike, creating a clear path towards her goal. Another burst of inertia she again spent into the engine boost.

The reality was bigger than the scope of the speed tunnel Aurora’s found herself in though. The projectile launched by one of her enemies smashed against the side of her bike, and the android was not in time nor in condition to pay attention to it, evade it or put the shields on. The firm metal exploded in the launching sparks of yellow and red fires, catching over the wires connecting the engine control with the

She lost control.
And found herself laying on the sand, staring into the skies. Her bike was damaged and out of use and she herself had her synthetic body damaged. She only stared at the skies, feeling what a human would describe as a heart thrashing in her chest. The flow of adrenaline rushing through the veins. She was not sure how her android body could enact things like that. But she lacked any different way to describe what she was feeling while she was laying down and trying to figure out what happened.

She had her synthetic body locked in thrill. She felt her mind clear and pure.
She felt alive.
And it was intoxicating.

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

Police of course were left unamused by everything Abigail said. It was very easy to understand - only a mere simple glace, a look over their faces was to reflect enough: their eyes almost shallow at the depth of possible thought and remorse to appear in their tired heads of hopeless resolve - one could only cling tightly onto the only stable place of work in the desperate times; and no wonder it was that Abigail and the gathered crowd were quite a threat to that stability. It came out to be that she was not only a threat to the luxurious condition of the residents and the guests of that villa; mere civilians stuck in their foolishness and disinterest to the world around them, but also to the people who were a mere hired staff around the villa, organizing the flashing party, organizing the defense lines to keep it isolated. Just holding up some order.
For some reason it reminded Abigail of the war. Some people back in the day too, were just holding up some order. Or trying to.

Yet, she was not the one to judge. The contrast between poor and forgotten people standing against the line of police who were threatened by them; threatened by the prospect to join them in the end - was enough of a thing to be spoken.
The situation kept on escalating though. Despite her best attempts the only thing she did manage was to bring the remains of her crowd closer to her and so more organized in a way. Organized to stand til the very end that is - no matter what kind of end it would be. They all - Abigail included - knew the most expected outcome - the batons coming out and police lashing out all of their daily humiliation and frustration at them, until they are physically exhausted. Abigail knew that by the rumors and the talk of the people on the street and the shelter. Others knew it by their own experience.

She could not allow this to happen though. There had to be some way to avoid the violence to come - the violence she herself executed to the possibility of it happening. She brought these people here and in so she put them threatened against the police. They followed her here and in so were ready to stand their ground - seeing as they did not leave as soon as police appeared. She appreciated that resolve, the passion of theirs to stand still for their life, for their own dignity - a thing Abigail herself thought to be lost on her forever, ever since she left her home. She appreciated it, but she also could not allow for this hell to break loose.
Especially considering she still had a girl to save. And provide the backup for Montag.

But she felt she could not just abandon these people either. She thought of it as it was her full responsibility for what was happening - and to some degree it was so, at least in regard to these people. Some compromise had to be taken.

With a deep sigh she raised her voice once again:
"We’h will leave peacefully, as peacefully we ‘ave come ‘ere - as we ‘ave come guided by the mercy of God. But we can’t leave without our voices being heard. Allow me tah’ speak with the mayor in the stead of these poor souls and we will leave."
She said, hands open and shown to police; at least she promised to the police a way for this rally to be over with no violence.

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

Abigail’s words seem to take some manner of some control over the crowd; she was not sure if it was what she said specifically, how she said it. The people seem to have calmed, at least a little - at least enough for her to be sure they would not attack first, and at least enough for them to listen to what she is saying. It gave her confidence.
Or of course it could all be due to the fact that the police have arrived.

Was Abigail expecting something like this to happen or not, was up to speculation even to herself. When she and Montag were discussing this plan, they both of course considered that if Abigail would be successful with collecting a crowd and not just a few half awake hobos - sooner or later the police would arrive. The surprise she felt was mostly coming from the fact that she expected the police to come from the other side, from the side of the street. Not from the side of the villa itself - and certainly not so quick and not with the numbers like so. She and the crowd of the poor and homeless led by her were quickly outnumbered by the policemen with the expressions on their faces to look rather annoyed. It was to be understood: they hoped to have a calm and joyful evening in the rich villa with little effort to be made in guarding this place - and instead they now had to deal with some appeared out of nowhere crowd.

Abigail scowled as she was to face this row of man, forming a battle shape just in front of them; the sound of the megaphone-amplified voice made her head to ache, her ears felt assaulted by this volume of sound and it was certainly one of the reasons it was used - the sense assault of intimidation and fear.

She was not afraid though. For someone who was to be a witness to an explosion of a bomb, many of these - the sound of the moustache man yelling was not very intimidating. Abigail only grit her teeth as she - suddenly, and for the first time in probably many years - started to feel some inner shape of herself coming into a more solid, determined form.

“Brothehs’ and sistehs’! Do not be afraid and do not let them scare ye! We ‘ave come to show them violence they did to us, to remind them of greed and vanity they revel in! We have God’s mercy on our side, and they have only their vision blinded by their fear!”

It was amusing to her - even though she could not properly reflect that at this moment - how much her faith and her personal strength of a human has elevated in this situation, leading this crowd of poor and forgotten people. She even forgot about why she was there at all for a moment. So strong the emotion of this situation was so overwhelming.
The sight of the stiff police faces though, ready to burst into attack, made Abigail to get a grip on herself. She was in charge of people here, as well as she was a part of the plan to rescue the girl from her demise. She needed to think, fast, to prevent the escalation of violence as well as to get inside to help Montag.

She was quick enough to come up with a solution. Driven only by her intuition, she came forward, in front of her crowd and in front of the police.

“I ‘ave come with no weapon at hand, and so my brothehs’ and sistehs’ here. Only with a word of God. Can’t ye see the mark of suffering on their faces?! I know ye can see, I know it hurts ye souls. I want the mayor to remind himself of these people suffering! Allow me to speak with ‘im”

The Devil Hunter Agency

Haruka could only roll her eyes and grunt in annoyance hearing the response of the Demon Huntress who had come to be a disturbance in this meeting of demons and a demon to come. And a frenzy lesser being going frenzy, the shrill of a bug coming to attack Haruka from behind was to be interrupted and quickly put to none - as her hand darted in its direction like a spring let go - a soft stinging sound coming through the air and cutting through the insect shape in a sharp throw of a knife; putting an end to yet another frenzy yokai

“Tsk. So you are among the boring kind of humans”, Haruka said, sighing deeply as she played with another knife of hers, idly throwing it up and catching it again mid air, “Humans like you are not even fun to eat. Meat is being all stretchy and fibrous from being a drag all the time. Not fun to chase, not fun to hunt down, not even fun to kill. How can you even bear living as yourself?”, Haruka continued, not really addressing the demon huntress anymore, and mostly just expressing her utmost annoyance under her breath.

All while she looked around as the swarm of feathers was to not only avoid their master, but to appear back on them with a twisting illuminating trajectories to spark up the light around the fighting area. The frenzy yokai, the stones still awaiting to be gathered, the spinning feathers. And the pair of demons listening to the heavy breathing somewhere in the not very distant dark - a sign of something to come.

“Oh, I feel she is getting angry there”, Haruka said to her fellow demon as she calmly stepped towards him, still annoyed at her cut blazer and tossed one of her knives towards few of the feathers, illuminating things around them, aiming to cut them away, “Should we consider taking the baby away from here, before her assault of boredom hits it?”

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

It was of course a gamble.
Abigail was not sure in that plan, even though she was one to propose it. A shredding cloud of doubt laid over her mind and nested there like a mist of poisonous gas, seizing her mind in a slow drag, akin to the grey sky glooming over her head. She stepped through the streets slowly, surprised at how just a passing of a night made her ideas in her own eyes look so fragile and rather easy to be shattered in pieces - due to the simple fact of how much it relied on a chance in the end.

It was simple in words, but now, as she was walking from Montag’s place towards the shelter for the homeless she started to doubt her ability to put this all into motion. Was she enough of authority to these people? Would they listen to her? She herself looked like one of them, but she was not them, not in spirit or soul. That she at least hoped for. Yet she would need at least a few of them really beside herself, even three people would be enough to provide some distraction. After all, all she needs is just to drain attention of the guards towards herself - she alone of course posed no threat to them, but with at least a few more people beside she would be able to at least drag a momentum in favor of Montag to quickly get into the villa and get the girl out. She calmed herself with a thought that if even her plan would fail utterly, she can be loud and scandalous enough to provide such distraction for Montag just by herself.

Weather remained grey and grim, and it felt like if the closer she was getting to the shelter - only the duller the colors were, like if the building itself was a gaping hole in the reality aiming to suck all the color from around itself and held down inside by the mere weight of the suffering swirling within these walls. It was a very specific gloom towering over this building - even if unseen from outside, through the walls one could sense and feel this leaking anxiety, leaking and forming around in the invisible puddle, people tend to instinctively walk around it not to get their feet stained in this miasma, knowing by insticint the contents of the shelter might as well create a little yet ever growing gap in their everyday perception of life.

On both the outside and inside the building looked like a warehouse; in a sense it was a warehouse - a storage of broken lives. The air inside was still, motionless and stiff, like a jelly made of dirt, sweat, aching pain and cough; dirty spots formed a layer on the floor and merged into a carpet of sorts. Abigail got used to this smell. It would turn any other person away, but even this drench of poverty and misery was not as close to be compared with the smell of the war hospital, and the overfilling stench of the rot. Abigail was sure she will never forget that smell, ever in her life. Not the case it was now though to let her sink into the past. She approached a few people of personnel in the shelter, as usual, ready to take her duties into her hands. There were a few people who needed medical examination. A few who just needed to talk. Most of the people were men, most of them were alcoholics. Some of them saw war and never were able to return back from what they were to see there. They were usually to be surprisingly timid and meek to an outside, reveling in their misery and social solitude; outcasts from life, left to be hanging on the edge of existence and never to be returned again. They knew there was no way back for them, they were not sure if it was just a mere unlucky token they pulled out, or it was their own deed that brought them here. The whole process of them trying to find a reason for being there was mostly to take most of their days, forcing them to indulge into the never ending cycle of self pity and shame. Some were past this point and were merely seeing a day after day passing by their eyes, indifferent to the world which proved to be indifferent to them as well. It was somewhat inaccurate though, as Abigail knew that there was a storm of rage and frustration boiling within these people; they were just numb to its calls.

Abigail could not help herself, but to feel some relation to that feeling and that condition of things. The only thing probably which she could find in herself that she did not see in all of these people were the remains of her compassion. Some bits of it at least. As well as some parts of her spirit were to be addressed to God. She felt the presence of the will leading her somewhere onward and she could only further push into her endeavour.

She was not sure if that plan was so good after all. Looking over these miserable souls, stuck in the swamp which their life was, sinking into it, sinking into their despair and covering themselves into it like it was the most warm and most cozy thing ever. She also questioned herself if she even has the right to do what she had in mind. Was it the right thing to do? She wanted to bring some of these people into the streets, only to cause the ruckus, but did she consider what they felt? She was going to use them. The thought so clear only now managed to strike her, and it was a simple thing. It have come to her when she sat in her usual place to work with men who needed medical treatment.

“Nasty cut ye have ‘ere”
“When did ye have yer tooth removed”
“Yer stomach feels too firm. Did ye have aches?”
“I told ye to clear the wound every day! Why didn’t ye listen!?”
“Yer reflexes are not responsive”
“If ye gonna drink more of that moonshine, ye gonna lose yer sight”
“Did you have sex recenetly?”
“Why did not they gave ye gloves to work in?”
“The muscles feel stiff.”
“Who shot at ye?”
“Who beat ye?”
“It is not good”
“It is a recess. It will come back.”
“Yer skin has melted”
“Ye smell of rot”
“I have to cut”
“I have to put it away”
“I can’t keep it”
“I have to remove”
“I’m sorry”
“I can’t do anything”
“I can’t help”
“May God be with ye..”
“May God help ye..”
“I will pray to God for ye”

Her daily routine. Never different. Different people sometimes perhaps. They knew she could give them a moment of unity with God. She told them this much. It was enough for some. She was not sure if they believed or they just wanted a hope. Or an escape. Or just to be grateful to her somehow. Did it matter in the end? She thought it should, but in this place, in this shelter? A glimpse of hope was enough already. Could she be giving this hope to them? If she was to pull them onto the streets? Could it be she would also give them an opportunity to speak? To speak up for themselves, to remember who they are? To wake up from this slumber of misery? Was she using them or the God was using her to get to them?
She did not know.
She had to try.
For herself. For them. And for the girl.

“So… did ye know.. the riches are throwing the party..? Just ‘round the corner.”

***

Abigail was never a passionate speaker. But she knew her way with the common folk, their troubles and their losses. And she knew their frustrations sleeping within. It was of little to do in result, she had to just explain, just to tell what was going on. She had to just say how God is sick of this. How she is sick of this. To remind them how they are sick of this as well.
It was a matter of moment the hollow eyes responded with the glare of twisting frustration.

It was just a matter of getting into what they were truly thinking beneath all that indifference. Just talking with them, like wth people, no patronizing, no pity. It was surprisingly effective. And it was surprisingly successful.

To the point that Abigail thought it came out to be too good; even though she was sure there could not be such a thing as too good - due to her personal experience with rather having the opposite, always having a result of being bad, or underwhelming. But here she had it: the crowd she gathered was standing in front of the villa gates, from where they all could see the expensive luxury, which was annoying to an eye to say the least. The more poor people were, the more annoying it was and Abigail managed to gather a crowd of people who were extremely poor, which made them extremely annoying. It was somewhat of an irony in her mind; she was not even a socialiste, but acted as one. And she did not even like them.

The crowd of poor were to become aggressive with every passing second. Yes, it was good of a distraction, certainly the majority - if not all - of the guard has gathered towards the front gate aiming to get the damn hobos out of their property, but the said hobos were too riled up enough.

There was violence lingering in the air.
She thought she might’ve made this situation which will take people’s lives. That girl’s life.
No, God can’t take her life just like that.
But he took her family away.

Abigail clenched her teeth and slapped her on her cheek to get her mind back on the track, to focus, to concentrate. She was still here, she was still in action. She was still to take them back on the right path.

“Brothehs’ and sistehs’! Don’t allow them to stray ye away from God! God accepts no violence, but we can not be silent no longer! Shame them, ye; but don’t allow violence to take ye over! because they are too just souls lost in vanity and greed! They are to be saved too if we remind them of injustice they see now before their eyes, but we can’t show it to them if we yell and not follow the word of God”, she yelled over the crowd, after gathering a full chest of air, quoting passages from Bible on the go, as her memory raced faster than ever. Surprisingly she did not forget her favorite passages from the book.
Deep within she prayed for Montag to get the girl out. As soon as he could.

The Devil Hunter Agency

And so the two met eye to eye; no matter on how imperfect a material world could be in a perception of an orb, the gaze that this orb was to hold in itself, the gaze which was not just a mere gleam and glance in an eye, but more of a moving and shifting shape of a will - ill or not - to look through it and onto things - this gaze was clear in its intents and in the reveal of what one wanted and what one was. And upon two to meet it was obvious for both. A demon met a demon. Truly a wonderfully coincided flow of events. Haruka could only respond with a wide grin to that.

“Ah, of no matter how we prefer the meal readied up, I do feel we both share the love towards the main dish in all the same way. No matter how it is presented”, Haruka said to the demon before her and as he pulled his hood off of his head to reveal his face she responded with a light bow - like if she was to meet a business partner; even though in a sense it was indeed somewhat truthful in the situation, “An experience after all is all about the little differences we have learned to enjoy", she said again, straightening yet again and flashing her grin to the fellow demon.

“Oh. so I see now.. It is not a song, it is a cry of an infant yet to come to our world..”, she said with a chuckle as she put one of the rocks she picked up earlier and studied it closer to her eye and an ear, “It is a cry of a little baby yet to come. A formless mass forming up into a mind and a shape to move and act. A joyful sight to behold.”.

Haruka put the stone into the pocket of hers yet again and observed over the forest and the demon before her, keeping on to listen to him. On the mention of DHA and the boys and girls from it she could not help herself but to scowl and roll her eyes; the simple combination of three letters spoken out loud make her seem to be simply annoyed.

“Urgh, of course they would come and try to spoil everything. Pests, even worse than these disgusting bugs”, Haruka said as she looked at the youkai getting closer to the pair standing and having an idle pleasant chat all amidst the chaos and panic. Haruka herself enjoyed such an ambience, she was sure that the demon in front of her was of the same opinion.

“You know how they say, the enemy of my enemy.. Not to say I am quite interested in hearing more about this baby”, Haruka said and once the bugs got closer to them, she glanced away towards the knife still stuck in the tree and in a blink of an eye, or even less than that, she disappeared only to reappear behind one of these frenzy creatures: only with the pair of knives in her hands already. A quick series of shanking slashes onto the frenzy youkai followed with Haruka blinking away from it the same second, reappearing beside the fellow demon. The traces of her slashes glittering with the yellow afterglow were still present in the air for a moment before she was to blink away.

“What’s wrong with these vermin?”, she asked while she threw one of her knives right at the next nasty insect; all of that happened right before the explosion of feathers swooshed right beside. She heard the projectile incoming, but did not see it - though it did not matter too much for her as her eyes instead again gazed aside and towards one of the knives of hers: once the explosive feathers made their impact and blasted all around in the ferocious dance of the piercing shards Haruka herself disappeared from the view, again, dancing between the spots in the forest using the two knives she threw already in order to evade the torrent of feathers.

Coming back from the blinking around the spot, she threw one of her knives back at whoever held the enormous blade and was to throw the feathers pack into her, the shiny metal of Haruka’s knives lightly blinking themselves against the flickering light casted by the blade. She tilted her head as she looked, playing with a knife in her hand - the sharp blade flickering between her fingers, as she grinned wide:

“Oh, this one is no vermin, this one is..”, she started to speak, before noticing that explosive feathers left few parts of her blazer cut. She frowned and scowled, yelling in an annoying tone: “Do you know how much this shit costs!?”

The Devil Hunter Agency

Meanwhile. A knife was thrown at a tree and the shape of a person appeared beside it.

Meanwhile, one of the rocks was picked up by a hand rather delicate in a shape, and in a gesture careful and slow akin to the appearance. Fingers carefully plucked the rock from the ground, cautiously in holding it so the dirt of the ground still clinging to the surface of the rock would not get under the fingernails. Cleaning these is always such a pain.

A hand held the rock close to the pair of eyes. Eyes of a curious expression and a hunger hidden beneath. What an interesting tune this one rock was singing to her today. A tune quite sweet to her ear, even though this one might’ve met some troubles describing it in similar terms. To her ear though it was sweet, delicious even. It was a tune sweet enough for her to leave her usual routine and get here, in this park. And she always hated parks in the first place, and this one in particular. There was dirt, tree leaves, wild animals chirping and jumping and it is always disgustingly humid here. So bad for her skin.

But the song of the rock. Now this song was something else. Enough to make her forget of where she was standing. She tapped onto it like one would tap onto the cigarette to flick some ash off of it - in order to flick off some dirt off of it. She could not understand what was so peculiar about that thing. She looked at it, deeply and with high interest, studying the thing, puzzled by what it is and what purpose it served. it was somewhat mesmerizing still though, and it felt comfortable being beside these - for what reason she could not understand. But frankly she never was the type to chase the meaning of things. it was more preferable to her to just take what she wants and needs. Which were the same thing for her.

She finally put her gaze off of that rock and looked around. She could not see them on instant, but she heard the song of others to sing. There were more of these rocks. Much more.
“How intriguing.”, she only said with a wide grin.

***

Haruka Ashikaga could not imagine that her day would lead her here.

It began with the usual routine of the morning gymnastics, stretching and straining her physical presence in this body. Body was important. By the body she was looked at and judged upon and human shape was the kind that demanded a very specific kind of care. Body required shower, body required care for skin, hair, nails, teeth. These were the parts humans took a lot of effort to attend and demons could not just simply change. At least it was not the case for her specifically. She could regenerate a limb, but not get rid of the stain on her teeth or get the nails in the right shape. Neither could she make her hair look perfectly how it should, of a proper length, of a needed color. It was annoying. But it was all important. Going through her apartment Haruka took her time providing such care. In a place humans would call home she was surrounded by mirrors: walls, floors and ceilings were all made of mirrors, except for the windows, though even they too played a part in the game of reflections, allowing the city outside them to become a part of her living place, of her mirror shapes, of her world. And it was all hers.

Then it was the time of meal. It was also very important, and she also took her time preparing it; never trusting humans in making it. It was a matter of specific cuisine, recipes which she did not feel sharing with anybody as she also considered it her own and one of her rather big achievements in this existence. A simple, yet wonderfully balanced meal - even though it was breakfast, she could not deny herself some meat, even in the morning. A very specific kind of meat it was, and it was not easy to get, but with her connections and resources nothing seemed impossible. Thankfully though, she still had some left from the party she was having last night. Not that her guests could argue about her taking the bite. She was careful enough though to not to stain the floors or her clothes with red spots.
They were also the pain to get rid of.

It was when she was enjoying her nutritious meat breakfast when she first heard the song. It was very precise, very specific, and nothing like she could think she ever heard and thus difficult to describe in words; and not that Haruka needed that anyway. It was not the first time she heard it as of late: the same precise sound - tingling and alluring - she heard yesterday, somewhen closer to the night; but it was here and now, today when she heard it and understood that it is close, closer than it was before. It was a matter of a short moment for her to realize that she needs it, she needs to hear more of that sound - because this sound resonates with her somewhat. She needs to hear it clearer. And there was only one way in doing so - finding the source.

She cancelled all today’s appointments, meetings, calls. She pushed it all onto the team of her secretaires. They got used to it. It was not the first time she’s done so. Frankly her business skills were good enough for people to look at such behaviour through their fingers.

***

“Nasty creatures”
Haruka commented looking at the sight of the bugs filling out the park. They appeared almost as out of nowhere and visibly seemed to be more hungry than anything else. The sounds of panicking screaming though filled her demonic heart with warmth - together with the song she was listening to, having a few rocks now resting in the palm of her hand; and in general made her indifferent towards the commotion.

What did pick her interest though - beside the casual amidst the chaos rock gathering - was indeed somebody else gathering the very same rocks. Something of utmost interest indeed. She slowly approached the man, who was putting the rocks into the pockets of his coat in a rather hasteful pace.

“Do you gather them because they sing for you too?”, she asked the man, intrigued.

The Devil Hunter Agency

Haruka Ashikaga

Apperance

• Name: Haruka Ashikaga
• Title: Gaze that stares back.
• Age: Physical appearance is 25, spiritual age is unknown.
• Species: Mirror demon

• Personality: A daughter of the influential businessman, an inheritor of the rich company. Charming, smart, cunning, polite - the impression Haruka usually gives to her business partners of hers during the business meetings. Ever since her father’s mysterious death she stepped into the presidential position and she has shown herself quite capable of leading the international company not only afloat in the aggressive and violent seas of world trading, but also lead it into even more fruitful prosperity than before, and at such a young age! She is seen as a wunderkind of the business world by many, as well as a capable partner and reliable strategist.

That is on the surface glance. Not that many in the world of the money float are very interested in looking at people beyond their everyday appearances. Not that many who desired and managed to see deeper into her were to tell that story to the world, or to anyone for that matter. None of them survived. Some of them were happy to see death as their liberation.

Haruka Ashikaga is not what she seems, due to her not being herself, or not in fact what she was. It is a doppelganger of Haruka Ashikaga, a reflection that came from behind the mirror glass which gazed back onto her and took her place, stripping her of her personality and agency over herself. A demon of no name, no physical shape - just an eye that looks back, a parasitic gaze which stares back from the reflection, from the deeper corners of oneself and shapes up into the reality in the shape of the appearance in which it looked. An appearance which hides a sadistic mind and hunger, a demon with a passionate love of knives and keen to play with her food and her prey. A demon who takes enjoyment in control over humans, whom she sees no more than cattle, with maybe a few notable exceptions.

• Background: Original Haruka Ashikaga is not a specifically good person, if she is to be judged and described by the people surrounding her - that would be people who mainly whoever worked for her and her father. Growing up in a strict authoritative family with a clear access to various luxurious pleasures and entertainments she grew up into being possessive and as an authoritative person with a clear lack of tolerance and patience towards things she could’ve seen as a disturbance to her own existence.

Said emotional disruption attracted the hunger of the Eye - the most basic manifestation of the Mirror Demon. It lurked through the reflective shapes of the city and the various traces of emotion and existence Haruka has left; finding the shape of her existence a fine vessel in order to manifest itself into the physical world. The Eye kept on watching her, appearing in the mirrors, water puddles, surfaces of screens and glasses - a black shaped gaze with a red swirl on the place of the eye pupil, appearing in the most obscure spots of the reflections, on the corner of being seen by an eye, but still noticeable, driving feart into Haruka’s mind. A fear that sprayed over her mind in the opening for the gaze to creep over her, seek out the deeper corners of her mind and her past: everything she was, the demon started to reflect onto itself, starting to construct the doppleganger.

And one day when the girl saw her face reflected in the glass of water, she saw the gaze with the balck on its eyes reflecting back at her, and from there she lost her rights to own her identity to the Mirror Demon. A doppleganger shifted places with her - a better version of herself driven by the malice of the demon with Haruka herself disappearing with no trace to be found. Doppelganger took her identity, her past, present and future; while being smarter, sharper at words and noticing details, and way greater in her hunger to torment the human kin.

Though to the unknown observer one could’ve find the personality of Haruka’s taking a turn for the better - the girl became less impulsive, more charming to the people unknown to her; even though this softer and more polite appearance hid under it a deep mania and bloodlust, as well as cold shaped strive for power. Mysterious accident of Haruka’s father crashing in his car was of course no coincidence as well as some other mysterious disappearances of people whom she considered a threat. Or whom she considered a pretty snack for her desires.

• Inventory: Except for the usual number of items natural to have for somebody in the high echelons of international business - be it a set of expensive hand-made suits, smartphones (plural), diaries and else - she always carries knives with herself. A lot of knives.

• Abilities:
-Mirror walking
Being a creature of reflections and a demon of mirrors, Haruka even in her physical shape can use mirrored reflections to move around. It is not using mirrors themselves, but rather a reflection they provide for Haruka to shift her position towards the point which the mirrored surface reflects. In order to do it, she has to have the wanted angle of the reflection in her sight.

-Mirror piercing
With the same kind of framework Haruka is capable of using her prime weapon - knives - in order to attack from the reflective surfaces: via knife blades appearing from said reflections with a sharp piercing motion.

-Knife wielding
Aside from her more supernatural abilities, Haruka is simply well trained with using knives as a weapon - both in close combat and throwing them at her enemies. She as well can use the reflections knives have on the surface of the blade to use her abilities.

The Devil Hunter Agency

Greetings! I've been invited to join the RP, so nice to meet you all!

Haruka Ashikaga

Apperance

• Name: Haruka Ashikaga
• Title: Gaze that stares back.
• Age: Physical appearance is 25, spiritual age is unknown.
• Species: Mirror demon

• Personality: A daughter of the influential businessman, an inheritor of the rich company. Charming, smart, cunning, polite - the impression Haruka usually gives to her business partners of hers during the business meetings. Ever since her father’s mysterious death she stepped into the presidential position and she has shown herself quite capable of leading the international company not only afloat in the aggressive and violent seas of world trading, but also lead it into even more fruitful prosperity than before, and at such a young age! She is seen as a wunderkind of the business world by many, as well as a capable partner and reliable strategist.

That is on the surface glance. Not that many in the world of the money float are very interested in looking at people beyond their everyday appearances. Not that many who desired and managed to see deeper into her were to tell that story to the world, or to anyone for that matter. None of them survived. Some of them were happy to see death as their liberation.

Haruka Ashikaga is not what she seems, due to her not being herself, or not in fact what she was. It is a doppelganger of Haruka Ashikaga, a reflection that came from behind the mirror glass which gazed back onto her and took her place, stripping her of her personality and agency over herself. A demon of no name, no physical shape - just an eye that looks back, a parasitic gaze which stares back from the reflection, from the deeper corners of oneself and shapes up into the reality in the shape of the appearance in which it looked. An appearance which hides a sadistic mind and hunger, a demon with a passionate love of knives and keen to play with her food and her prey. A demon who takes enjoyment in control over humans, whom she sees no more than cattle, with maybe a few notable exceptions.

• Background: Original Haruka Ashikaga is not a specifically good person, if she is to be judged and described by the people surrounding her - that would be people who mainly whoever worked for her and her father. Growing up in a strict authoritative family with a clear access to various luxurious pleasures and entertainments she grew up into being possessive and as an authoritative person with a clear lack of tolerance and patience towards things she could’ve seen as a disturbance to her own existence.

Said emotional disruption attracted the hunger of the Eye - the most basic manifestation of the Mirror Demon. It lurked through the reflective shapes of the city and the various traces of emotion and existence Haruka has left; finding the shape of her existence a fine vessel in order to manifest itself into the physical world. The Eye kept on watching her, appearing in the mirrors, water puddles, surfaces of screens and glasses - a black shaped gaze with a red swirl on the place of the eye pupil, appearing in the most obscure spots of the reflections, on the corner of being seen by an eye, but still noticeable, driving feart into Haruka’s mind. A fear that sprayed over her mind in the opening for the gaze to creep over her, seek out the deeper corners of her mind and her past: everything she was, the demon started to reflect onto itself, starting to construct the doppleganger.

And one day when the girl saw her face reflected in the glass of water, she saw the gaze with the balck on its eyes reflecting back at her, and from there she lost her rights to own her identity to the Mirror Demon. A doppleganger shifted places with her - a better version of herself driven by the malice of the demon with Haruka herself disappearing with no trace to be found. Doppelganger took her identity, her past, present and future; while being smarter, sharper at words and noticing details, and way greater in her hunger to torment the human kin.

Though to the unknown observer one could’ve find the personality of Haruka’s taking a turn for the better - the girl became less impulsive, more charming to the people unknown to her; even though this softer and more polite appearance hid under it a deep mania and bloodlust, as well as cold shaped strive for power. Mysterious accident of Haruka’s father crashing in his car was of course no coincidence as well as some other mysterious disappearances of people whom she considered a threat. Or whom she considered a pretty snack for her desires.

• Inventory: Except for the usual number of items natural to have for somebody in the high echelons of international business - be it a set of expensive hand-made suits, smartphones (plural), diaries and else - she always carries knives with herself. A lot of knives.

• Abilities:
-Mirror walking
Being a creature of reflections and a demon of mirrors, Haruka even in her physical shape can use mirrored reflections to move around. It is not using mirrors themselves, but rather a reflection they provide for Haruka to shift her position towards the point which the mirrored surface reflects. In order to do it, she has to have the wanted angle of the reflection in her sight.

-Mirror piercing
With the same kind of framework Haruka is capable of using her prime weapon - knives - in order to attack from the reflective surfaces: via knife blades appearing from said reflections with a sharp piercing motion.

-Knife wielding
Aside from her more supernatural abilities, Haruka is simply well trained with using knives as a weapon - both in close combat and throwing them at her enemies. She as well can use the reflections knives have on the surface of the blade to use her abilities.

Gods, Angels and Demons in New Haven

As Abigail turned her head towards the staircase, she suddenly heard the voice to appear behind her back, from somewhere she could not see.

"Ah, hello, my friend!" A loud, welcoming voice resonated from further down the maze of desks used as office space for the newspaper on the first floor. Abigal twitched on place, and turned around in a sharp and rather nervous move, to face whoever held ownership of the voice calling at her, addressing her as a "friend".

Deniz was looking straight to Abigail with a large, warm smile, but with discerning eyes as well. After all, he wanted to make sure this was the person that Montag had told him about, even if she seemed to fit the brief description that he'd been given before. "You are here to meet Detective Montag, yes my friend?"

"Aye.. I am to meet 'im 'ere. And ye are..?", Abigail asked rather bluntly, not that manners were of any of her traits.

"Ah, my apologies, I am Deniz! I am a friend of Monty's, and well..." He gestured to the mounds of paper around his desk, "I work here at the paper. But do not waste your time talking to me, he is up there waiting for you now."

"Oi.. Pleasure to meet ye, mistah' Deniz", she replied in a still rather surprised tone. A friend of "Monty" and a paper worker. It made fair sense to Abigail that she was greeted like so - at this late hour given by how she looked to a person not knowing who she is exactly, she indeed looked suspicious, or generally like someone who one would not want to witness on the doorstep. She was not surprised by that; quite instead she got used to it already, quite some time ago.

Deniz gestured with a hand to the door Abigail was already half making her way towards. He was satisfied now anyway. Strange accent though, perhaps she was as far away from home as he was.

"Thank ye, mistah' Deniz.", Abigail replied and made her way up the stairs after that rather brief exchange.

"Please, just call me Deniz." Deniz called out to Abigail as she ascended the stairs, his voice tailing off as she got further up, before he put his attention back to working. Second person in a day asking her to drop the "mister" part. Abigail was not sure if people felt it was rude to be addressed like so - by her specifically, giving her rather poor looks? - or if they just wanted to make friends with her. In the end she was confused by the possibility of either option.

Once finding herself in front of the door leading to the detective's office, Abigail knocked on it. "Its'a Abigail.", she said as the knuckles of her fingers tapped at the door lightly.

After knocking at the door there was a few seconds of pause for Abigail to wait through, before the familiar voice of the detective responded from behind it, with the same, mostly flat, tone as before. "It's unlocked, come in."

Once after a short pause Abigail heard the familiar voice of the detective that the door was unlocked, she carefully pulled the knob and opened the door, stepping inside and closing the door right behind her.
The office inside was small, but it felt oddly cosy. A box-shaped room, there was a window with blinders looking out to currently dark roads and alleys, with patches of light strewn across them from street lights. On the left wall were various filing cabinets and boxes of files, some arranged neatly and others in a somewhat chaotic state. One the right wall stood an averagely sized closet, presumably for extra storage and as a container for extra clothes in the occasion of a need for a change. A corkboard was also hung next to it, but currently it remained bare, save for an array of pins stuck into it. With a coat hanger stood just by the door inside, all that was left to note now was the averagely sized desk in the centre of the room, if positioned slightly more towards the back. In front of it were a pair of chairs, both showing a slight bit of wear and tear, to the right of it was a small bin and behind it sat the detective himself, who was currently extinguishing a cigarette on a rather full ashtray.

Upon entering, Abigail looked around the room - small, cramped, dimly lit with the boxes of papers laying around the place and the light of the street barely getting inside through the blinders. Smoked air - something the room would acquire if people smoke in it with little pause and of everyday, so the smell stained the walls in the series of invisible nicotine spots. She knew that smell well - often to encounter one. The office of the tense detective work as well as of the tense detective living - judging by the closet, the ashtray full to the edges and even over them and the condition of the room in general and the furniture in precise, the detective surely was not having a strike of fat payment checks as of late. Still it felt rather comfortable to be in here, at least at the hour like this - it was quiet, calm and warm; good enough in short. "Good to see ye again, mist-; Montag", Abigail greeted the detective.

Montag ignored Abigail's small slip-up, giving her a small nod as she entered. "Come in, take a seat, Miss...?" He knew her name, but it was always polite to check.

Passing towards the detective’s desk and the chair proposed to her to sit on, Abigail noticed the coat hanger right by the door, and decided to use it - taking her coat off and hanging it accordingly. "Hope ye don't mind, but it is still soaked", she said, as she stepped towards the detective's desk, a very simple grey blouse remained on along with the long skirt. She sighed as she sat in front of the detective and looked over the place of his work, giving a light and rather sarcastic smile on being dressed to as a "miss"

"I think Montag, if we drop the "mistah" thing on ye, we should do same to me.", she said, giving herself a small pause. "Abigail. McCarthy. Common name, ay?"

Montag didn't oppose at all to Abigail hanging her coat up on the hanger when she entered, simply letting his gaze wander along with her as she made her way towards him and took a seat. He seemed thoroughly relaxed, leaning back casually on his seat and extending his legs out. Yes, he was generally pretty serious, but he was far from uptight. He actually chuckled, if very slightly, in response to what Abigail said, a small smile remaining on his face for a moment before dissolving away back to his usual, more indifferent, expression. "You're the first one to come into this office, that's for sure. But, as you wish, Abigail McCarthy. Hope you don't mind the small space. It does its job but sometimes it's not the most inviting for clients."

Abigail shrugged a little and shook her head in response to Montag's claim over the condition of his office: "I've bee' at worse places meself. Ye office looks rather.. cozy", she said taking a short pause in the sentence to find a word that could express her feeling towards this place. It indeed looked cozy, despite its rather messy state, or possibly because of it. Abigail relaxed a little herself too, allowing the warmth of the room to lay on her body.

"Mhm..." Montag hummed, nodding in agreement with her. It was generally the opinion that his office was either quite cosy and warm, or a disgusting and slobby mess. There wasn't usually any in-between. Though it was clear that the people that had the latter opinion were usually of a... higher class, to put it in simple and blunt terms.

A moment of silence rose after that, redhead woman getting into her thoughts over a moment, looking past Montag's face somewhere onto the wall, before she snapped out from this. Her distant gaze in that moment turned into a motionless hazy, and felt for anybody to look into it, as if into two wells of deep and hidden pits of memory, holding emotions to not to be disturbed. "Forgive me. All tis... tis, what's we bee' asked to do. It's confusing. Some of what’s been said makes no sense at all. Tis’all cryptic and filled with half truths. Most intricate lies are tis’ half-truths.", she said finally.

Montag paused for a second after Abigail spoke again, tapping an index finger idly onto a relatively fresh pack of cigarettes. "Yeah, I've heard whispers here and there of this kind of thing before, but I've never heard about it as closely as we did earlier. These Fates... well, the more you think about it, the more questions that come up. But, in any case, we should discuss how we're going to execute things tomorrow. You got any ideas?" Eduard looked over to Abigail, a curious glint in his eyes.

Abigail leaned back on the chair crossing her arms on her chest, the sleeves of her blouse lightly pulled up by the gesture exposing some scars on her right arm - short and mostly not deep, like a series of short dots and lines webbing over her skin. She cared to cover the arm again with the sleeve of the blouse, after that though.

“Ay.. I can’t help meself but to wonder what tis’ Fates are. But I also understand that it is not in my grasp. I’m a mere street doctor, not a crime fighte’.”, she said and after a short pause added: “I’m only interested in saving tis’ innocent girl's life. If by.. any, real fate, I’m ‘ere - I do it to save.”, she finished and then looked a little away onto the wall, giving a deep sigh yet again. She at least tried to keep her thoughts and her will collected for that one simple goal - a goal simple enough to determine, but rather difficult to achieve. Such simplicity in forming the end objective helped her to stay on tracks though.
Clear head and breath. And think.

“So, ye, I have some idea. The woman said that tis’ party of the riches going to have is happening in Meropis. I know the place meself, the shelter building too. I work ‘ere, treating sick. Miserable place, people are already left with only the remains of their dignity. So what if...”, she said to the detective, starting to explain the idea she had in mind.

***

And so the night went by as the plans were made, the calculations of time and distances, the possibilities and risks observed, chosen. It was no easy planning as the information they had was rather limited and the options to gather more of it were none due to as limited time frame they were given. Most of what they had in mind relied on improvisation, some on pure luck. But considering all the circumstances it was their best shot and shot they were willing to take.